NSFW | face*k | semi-public | romantic | 18+

“Coming about,” my husband calls, and I ensure that my hands and head are free of where the moving pieces will be as he turns across the wind.

We’re beating upwind through a channel between the islands, and I watch as he looks upward to check the instruments at the top of the mast to see if the wind is behaving as he expected. It funnels through the islands and has a tendency to be unruly, as I once did, shifting and bending as it winds through trees and rocks to reach our sails. He knows how to trim the sheets and the lines in order to keep us on course and stable. He knows where we’re going and how to get us there safely and comfortably, adapting to the conditions and the shifting winds and tidal currents, and for that I’m grateful.

It took me twenty years to learn to be grateful for it instead of resenting that things didn’t always go the way I wanted. The vagaries of life, the winds of change and the tides of emotions, the storms of illnesses and other people’s choices, they used to make it feel impossible to get to where we were going. But he steadied us through those, and will continue to do so for another twenty years. But did I fight and rage against it? Oh, yes. Most certainly.

I see him stand and stretch in the way he does, a way that is as familiar to me as my own movements are. He swings a leg over the tiller and tucks it between his thighs so that he can adjust his belt while keeping us on course. The wooden spar that forms it’s main body projects between his legs like a large phallus, and it makes me bite my lip with a sudden swell of arousal. The boat heels a few extra degrees as a gust catches us and he absorbs it, rocking forward and to one side before catching his balance completely. I don’t need to check the chart plotter to make sure we aren’t going to stray too close to a rock or a shoal, because I trust him. I can say that now. He catches me watching and gives a lopsided smile, probably wondering what I’m thinking. Who am I kidding? He knows what I’m thinking.

“When we get through the channel,” he says.

He always knows what I’m thinking.

I check my ponytail, making sure it’s still restraining my long hair. I take off my hat and set it aside, because the bill will get in the way. After a moment’s thought, I turn and toss it down the companionway into the interior of the boat. I like this hat, and I’ve lost too many over the side in this way. I sit back, turning to look at him, a cheshire smile stealing across my lips as I start to hum a happy little tune. He smiles at me, and I know he’s feeling an anticipatory excitement building very similar to my own.

The best thing about being out on the sailboat is the quiet. The second best thing is the open-air privacy of the sea. Even passing close to another boat, people are still hundreds of yards away, and there’s no reason to ever get closer. There are choke points every now and again among the islands, places where everyone has to go to pass safely, but otherwise, the cruising grounds we frequent have no lanes or traffic, no need to be close to anyone or even acknowledge one another’s existence beyond a casual arm thrown up in a wave from time to time. And that privacy means I can get what I want whenever I want, almost without exception.

We cruise up the channel, tacking once more to make the point that forms the eastern arm of the island to port. We pass the large masses of granite that stand sentinel under the shade of the scrubby spruce trees, making good time, and make our way lazily out into the bay.

I sit forward, my mouth watering slightly as I lick my lips. I am inundated with the smell of the salt on the breeze, the warm air off the land shifting cooler as we get closer to open

water. Good girls wait patiently, and I’m always a good girl--as good as I need to be, at least. And my own heart rate is picking up as I get closer to the moment when I don’t have to wait anymore.

“Do you need to tack again?” I ask.

He looks upward again, checking the instruments that spin and point against the blue sky.

“I can just let them out a bit. We can reach for awhile downwind,” he says.

“Good,” I say. I’ve had to learn a lot of terms over the years, and I know that a broad reach downwind means things will be calm and steady. A quiet time where the boat is flat and mama can play.

I watch, growing less patient by the moment, as he frees the mainsheet from the jam cleat and lets the traveler go as far as it wants before cleating it again. The boom goes far to starboard over the rail, and he lets the jib follow suit, careful to keep it out of the shadow of the main.

“Good?” I ask, rocking forward on the balls of my bare feet.

“Good,” he nods, swinging a leg over the tiller and leaning back against the stern rail.

I don’t pounce, but only because I’d more likely bark my shins or smash my toes if I did. I feel the warmth of true arousal and the bubbly energy of being so close to consummating my desire as I climb to him, grabbing a cushion to put under my knees on the unforgiving fiberglass deck as I go. He’s unzipping his fly as I get to him, and by the time my hands are on his thighs, his ever-hard erection is right where I want it to be: directly in front of my waiting mouth.

“Mmm,” I murmur, wrapping a hand around his length and gauging his hardness for myself. “Not quite there yet. But ready.”

“Always ready for you, Liv,” he says, stroking my hair with the hand not minding the tiller.

I plant a gentle kiss on the vein that runs down the right side of his shaft.

“Always,” I repeat, pressing my cheek against his length. I sigh happily, squeezing him in my palm, feeling the calm I always feel with his light-bringer near. This moment right here, with his desire manifest and my engagement sure, is a moment of purity between us. We are both completely clear on what we’re doing and why we’re doing it, the pleasure and satisfaction only seconds away and beyond doubt, and I always feel grounded and safe living in that feeling for just a few fleeting breaths. I nuzzle his manhood, feeling his pulse against my skin, his insistent hardness on my soft cheek, and I look up at him.

“Thank you,” I say.

He strokes my hair and smiles at me, brushing my cheek with his thumb and widening his stance slightly for stability. He looks up to check the horizon, to check for buoys and logs, to keep us on course. Always, he keeps us on course.

I give his vitality a stroke, and then I part my lips and plant a soft, wet kiss on his tip. His taste, salty and slightly bitter, as welcome to me now as a favorite treat, floods across my tongue. Any thought I had of going slow, of easing into this, slips away on the breeze. I take his cockhead into my mouth, feeling it press down on my tongue, and I push my head forward to sheath him in my warmth. My tongue slides under him as far as I can go, cradling the sensitive underside of his length and inundating myself with the musky flavor that I’ve come to associate with an inner peace that is almost sacred to me.

I breathe another sigh of satisfaction, through my nose this time, and a gentle hum that is part arousal and part music follows it. I close my eyes, relishing the feel of him, the reality of his ever-present desire, as he hardens fully between my lips. I hold him there, enjoying the moment, before I start to apply suction and begin to move my head.

“Oh, Livvy,” he murmurs, resting his large palm on my head.

I’m a tall woman, no pixie by any measure, but his girth stretches my lips and his hand makes me feel dainty. I love the way he flows into me in these moments, the feel as his body responds to my efforts. He rolls his hips ever so slightly forward, invading my space in the best possible way. Always his cock tries to get deeper, warmer, and always I try to welcome him as fully as I am able. I’m grateful once again that his cock is the right size for me to pamper him, not so big that I can’t take him any way he wants to have me, and in no way lacking in its ability to please me. If he was any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to fit him between my jaw. Any smaller, and he wouldn’t be able to stretch my throat just enough to make my pussy tingle.

Was there ever a time when I didn’t love this? There was, wasn’t there? A time when I thought blowjobs were beneath me, when I thought that a penis was a dirty, shameful thing. How could I have been so wrong? How could I have lived without this daily reminder of my place in the world, my safe space to worship and be made whole? As he holds my head in place and rolls his hips again, I feel his calm, his light, filling my soul even as his cock fills my mouth and begins to nudge the back of my throat. I know what he wants. And I’ve learned just how to give it to him.

I adjust my angle slightly and lean forward, inviting him further. He knows I like it when he helps me take it all the way, and I feel his fingers wind their way into my hair to grip me more fully. I can always tell when his energy rises to meet mine, when he’s going to give me a good face-fucking, and it makes me tingle with anticipation to know this may be one of those times. Sometimes he just wants to give me a little extra, and I always want to take it. It took me awhile to train him to let go and give it to me, or at least that’s how it seems now. It’s possible that it took him awhile to train me to take it. What we have is the result of patience and consistent compromise, I know that much, and as he slowly breaks the barrier between my mouth and throat with his urgent member, all I feel is gratitude for where we are.

I gag slightly, and it makes my pussy clench in the most delicious way. I want to tell him to go further, to test my limits, but I can’t say anything. I look up at him through my sunglasses, my blue eyes watering slightly, willing him to know what I want. Willing him to push. I can’t speak, but I know how to tell him to go harder.

A gargling noise comes from deep in my chest, the noise that always sparks a fire in his belly. He groans and pushes further, finally getting the last inch or so of himself inside me, and my nose presses against his skin. I feel so full, so deliciously, perfectly full, and it sends a shockwave of arousal through me. He lets go of my head but I remain in place for as long as I can before I back off to breathe, swallowing around his cockhead, letting him know how much I appreciate this. How grateful I am for him, all of him.

I pull back, gasping for breath and looking up at him as I grab his now-slick dick and begin stroking it rapidly.

“You’re really in the mood for it,” he says.

“Always,” I say again, and I tease the tip with my tongue.

“What’s the word of the day?” he asks, eyelids fluttering behind his dark lenses as he feels what I’m doing.

“Gratitude,” I answer, and I plunge down his shaft, wrapping my lips tightly around him and bobbing my head as I stroke him into my mouth.

“Whatever I did, you’re very welcome,” he says, grabbing blindly for the lifeline to his right and tensing his core in response to my aggressive movements.

“It’s everything,” I say after a moment. “Everything you are. All that you do. The life you’ve led us to in spite of everything, the children you’ve given me, and how you waited for me to get here with you. For me to understand.”

He looks down at me, taken aback by the intensity of my sincerity. I suck him greedily into my mouth once more, sloppily slurping up the precum that’s oozed from his slit, corkscrewing my hand and head passionately, suddenly overcome with the idea of pleasing him as quickly as possible.

He gasps as I look up at him again, opening my mouth wide with a flattened tongue, stroking him against it.

“Give it to me,” I say. “Give Livvy her reward.”

“You want it?” he asks breathlessly.

“I need it,” I say in turn, completing the time-honored ritual of words between us. “I need it all. I need it morning, noon and night. Feed me. I’m so thirsty.”

He grabs for the back of my head and I let him. I know he’s ready for the final run now, and that’s what turns me on the most. I close my lips around his shaft, sucking hard, and he thrusts forward wildly, losing any semblance of rhythm, and the floodgates in my own body open to let all the good things through. I feel myself coming alive, tingling all over as he loses control for me and comes undone just the way I like.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants under his breath, and his fingertips press into my hair as he prepares to unleash his load inside my mouth.

Suddenly he stops entirely, his cockhead right at the back of my mouth, and a shudder goes through him. His cock goes impossibly rigid, impossibly hard, the tip swells on my tongue and seems almost to vibrate.

Then he explodes.

Warmth splashes into my mouth, jetting against the back of my throat, the evidence of his affection, of his approval and reciprocal gratitude painting me inside. I shudder as a sort of sympathetic response seizes my body in its grasp, not quite an orgasm of my own but very near to it. I feel light-headed and tingly, a full-body contact high in an instant, and as he pulses in my mouth it only strengthens. His warmth slides down my throat as I swallow in a near-futile effort to keep pace with his voluminous ejaculation. Some spills out from the corners of my mouth, and I feel that warmth trickle down my chin and onto my neck. That should please him as well, because he always likes it when his pleasure overwhelms me and gets me messy.

His hand scrunches in my hair as his hips jolt forward once or twice and he groans his pleasure to the wind and the sky. The only other sounds besides my loud swallowing is the water lapping against the hull. The wind is silent since we move with it now, and no nearby engines rev nor gulls cry to mar the moment with reminders of the outside world. His whole world is shooting his pleasure into my mouth, and my whole world is receiving and incorporating him into myself. It spins out, his cock throbbing and his balls pumping their freshest load down my throat, until at last, as all such bright, shining moments of pure intent do, it ends.

He gasps a breath as I draw one through my nose, and I spend a moment in aftercare. I swirl my tongue gently around his sensitive tip, moving my head just slightly to draw out the last drops of his spend, savoring each one as I feel them pass my tongue. His fingers tighten on the tiller and the lifeline in my peripheral vision, and it makes me smile as he groans and bucks his hips once more. I always feel the slightest let down in these moments, but I remind myself that his body is already hard at work making my next treat. I’ll bring him water and some fresh pineapple to help spur the production so that I don’t have to wait all the way till bedtime to get more.

I pull off his cock at last, feeling his heartbeat in it, once again nuzzling it against my cheek and planting a soft kiss against the vein that runs down the right side.

“Thank you,” I say again, swallowing the last traces of his pleasure, smiling up at him.

He looks down at me, breathless and still utterly undone.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Thank you. You’re... wow, Olivia, That was incredible.”

“That’s what you said this morning,” I purr.

“It was incredible this morning, too,” he says with a grin.

“And yesterday.”

“Every day with you is incredible,” he says, cupping my cheek in his palm once more.

I watch as he looks up again, checking the wind to ensure that the set of the sail and our current course align. I’m so grateful for him, for the steady way he always remembers to keep his eye on the horizon, for the way he keeps me safe and helps me be calm.

I kiss his cock again, the manifestation of his desire, the tool I have to show him how I feel, and the thing that has guided us through rough waters and heavy chop so many times. I feel the little bite of impatience, and I soothe it down. He’ll be ready again soon. Very soon. But I have to be patient.

Good girls wait patiently, and I’m always a good girl--as good as I need to be, at least.

🤍🤍🤍

This is a new category, One-Offs! Short stories that standalone and aren’t tied to the wider narrative of Sanctified. Keep an eye out for more on their way!

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You don’t need to read these in order, but here they are in one place!
Stories that may have multiple parts, but don’t directly connect to the overall Sanctified narrative.

🩵 Olivia

>> I found the secret to happily ever after {Click Here}

NSFW | face*k | semi-public | romantic | 18+

🩵 Kelsey

>> I never thought my first time would be with my best friend... {Click Here}

NSFW | confession | friends to lovers | virgins | 18+

🩵 Rosie

>> I accidentally did something naughty with my boss... {Click Here}

NSFW | confession | age gap | blowjob | 18+

>> I finally got the courage to sext with my boss... {Click Here}

NSFW | confession | age gap | sexting | 18+

🩵 Roxy

>> 🔥🎧 Lacey’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On [Part 1] {Click Here}

NSFW | confession | age gap | MILF | virgin | premature ejaculation | 18+

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(Or, Click Here to see where else I hang out…🔥)

NSFW | confession | friends to lovers | virgins | 18+

“Well,” I said. “This isn’t good.”

David looked over at me from the driver’s seat and offered me a little smile.

“It’s not great,” he said.

David was a friend. A good friend. A little too good at being a friend, for a guy who had such a big crush on me. It was no secret, though I’m sure he thought he kept it under wraps pretty well. But it was all over him. The kindness with which he treated me, the thoughtful way he considered my feelings, the way he remembered every little detail of my likes and dislikes. He just had no idea how to avoid friend-zoning himself. He was always unintentionally sabotaging himself by overthinking, and that was doing him exactly no good.

Not to mention the fact that he’d just driven us right off the road in the middle of a mountain blizzard.

To be fair, it wasn’t his fault. The conditions had deteriorated with shocking rapidity over the past hour, and by the time it was clear that choosing to try and make the pass tonight had been the wrong move, it was far too late.

“I think we made the parking lot,” he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well as me.

I wondered if he really thought he knew where it was well enough to find it in a whiteout blizzard or if he was just trying to make me feel better. I chose not to voice my doubts.

“I hope so,” I said. “If not, we’ll probably get plowed under. No one will find us till spring.”

He smiled wanly. “It is spring. This is one of those flukey storms.”

“‘Flukey’ is not a word,” I teased. Debating words was one of our inside jokes.

His smile widened and became a bit more genuine, which made me feel better. As bad as this situation was, I didn’t want him to think he’d made things any worse. Getting off the road was the right move, and soon we’d have been frozen in place anyway.

“If this is the right spot, we’re only a half a mile from the top,” he said. “And by noon tomorrow the storm will be past and it’ll be all plowed out.”

I liked the sound of that. What I liked less was the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he spoke, belying the nerves he was surely feeling.

Snow was already covering the windshield, large, heavy flakes that clumped immediately against the warmth of the glass. He flicked the windshield wipers once and the now-clear view of the featureless field of snow ahead of us did little to calm either of our fears. The headlights were nearly covered by the depth of the snowbank that had stopped us dead in our tracks, and at the furthest reach of their feeble beams we could see the scraggly pine trees that lined the road, or in this case, hopefully, the parking lot for the trailhead David was sure was right around here.

“So… do we play twenty questions until noon tomorrow?” I asked, checking my watch. That’ll be fourteen hours worth of people, places, or things.”

“Vegetables and minerals, too,” he said. “Don’t forget those.”

“Oh, a correction,” I said. “That’s nice.”

“What, you want to die frozen and wrong?” he asked with a giggle.

I rolled my eyes. He just couldn’t help himself.

We were on the debate team at the community college together, and had, on this fateful night, elected to drive together rather than with the team due to unrelated prior engagements. The team had passed through in the school van several hours ago, long before the storm, and now here we were, two forlorn freshmen in a bad situation with nothing to do.

“It’s too bad my mom wouldn’t spring for a cell phone for my eighteenth,” I murmured.

“My parents let me have this car for mine,” David said, gesturing at the Saturn station wagon in which we rode. “They went and got a new one.”

“Does the new one have a better heater?” I asked, rubbing my arms.

“It does,” he replied easily. “But it doesn’t have as spacious of an interior.” He turned in his seat, gesturing to the backseat and large cargo area behind. “No window cranks on the new one either. Everything is push-button. Very boring.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. “If only this spacious interior had a comfortable place to sleep through a wintry night.”

“Ah,” he said, holding up a finger. “But it does. Observe.”

I had to laugh as he leaned his seat back and did a comically clumsy job of getting his shoes off and climbing into the back seat.

“As you can see, Kelsey,” he said, “the rear seats lay flat.”

Like an airline stewardess giving a safety demonstration, he used broad gestures and exaggerated hand movements as he went.

“And, thanks to my mother’s neurotic nature, we have a full survival kit back here, including, but not limited to…” he began to remove objects one at a time, “a flare gun, a hand-crank flashlight, a roomy sleeping bag, a box of waterproof matches to start a fire, a fire extinguisher, for, well… then three bottles of water, and something called ‘pemmican.’”

I was laughing so hard that there were tears in my eyes by the time he was done.

“Also binoculars,” he said, holding a pair and climbing back into the front seat laboriously.

“Why binoculars?” I asked, hiccuping, wiping my eyes carefully with the backs of my index fingers in hopes of preserving my mascara. It was always running when we were together because he made me laugh so much.

“Perhaps for spotting passing planes or ships,” he said, looking through them out of the rapidly obscuring windshield. “I believe she is under the impression that any road trip holds a non-zero risk of being lost at sea.”

I giggled some more. “What’s pemmican?” I shook my head as he offered me the binoculars and he set them aside.

“You don’t want to know,” he said. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

I sighed, catching my breath at last.

“Thanks for making me laugh,” I said.

“I love hearing you laugh,” he said easily.

There was a moment of silence that wasn’t exactly awkward. He complimented me often, and I knew better than to encourage him in those days. I really did think he was a great guy, but I knew he wanted more, and I just didn’t feel the same way. Or so I’d always thought.

“How much gas do we have?” I asked softly, watching his gaze fall on the instrument panel.

He glanced at me, then back out of the windshield. He puffed out of a breath of air through pursed lips.

“Somewhere between ‘uh oh’ and ‘not enough to last til morning,’” he said.

Something about the frankness with which he delivered the grim prognosis made me see him a little differently. We’d known each other since junior high, and I hadn’t noticed until now the way his jawline had become more defined. There was a look in his eyes that was almost steely in that moment, and there was something steady and manly about the way he didn’t try to hide the truth. For the first time, I wondered what his lips would feel like pressed to my neck, but I shook it off. I was supposed to be fearing death right now, wasn’t I?

I found myself asking an uncharacteristically passive question, the type of thing a damsel might say to her knight. “What should we do?”

He looked over at me, and I was surprised once again to see that look on his face, the one that spoke of determination and action. A look that changed his face somehow, that made him seem older, and handsome. A look that made me want to trust him, to put trust in him. I felt a rising heat low in my belly. What was happening to me?

“The first thing we need to do is keep warm,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the sleeping bag, which was still rolled up in the back. “And that’s… well.” He shrugged, and looked like a boy again. “That’s maybe all we can do.”

The softening of his features calmed me somehow, made me feel like the world was sliding back into focus. Had he really looked different just a moment ago? And was it really so shocking that people can grow up right next to you? Everyone grows up. It wasn’t going to change anything between us, and I wasn’t about to climb into a sleeping bag with him for the night, as much as I liked him as a friend, and I opened my mouth to say so.

“Should we get in the sleeping bag now, or wait for the gas to run out?” I asked instead.

He looked at me thoughtfully, and something in that assessing gaze made my heart flutter in a way that I’d never have thought possible from a mere look from anyone, certainly not David.

“It would probably be smart to save gas in case it gets colder later,” he said.

I shrugged. “If that’s what we gotta do, we better do it.”

“Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’,” he said, quoting his favorite movie to me.

I climbed into the back first and he shut off the car and followed me. I untied the cord that held the sleeping bag and started to lay it out.

“How was your event?” he asked, joining me in the back of the now much darker car.

“Oh,” I said. “It was fine. Just an awards thing for cheer.”

“Did you win ‘Most Likely To Blind Spectators With Your Smile’?” he asked.

I giggled. “They don’t have an award for that,” I said.

“Too bad,” he said, helping me stretch out the bag. “I guess it would just go straight to you every year either way, though.”

I smiled to myself, feeling the silly compliment in a new way.

He unzipped the bag most of the way, and I saw that it was indeed a roomy sleeping bag, finished with a soft-looking flannel lining and a thick layer of stuffing all around.

I became suddenly aware of my clothing. I’d chosen a comfy pair of light gray sweats for the drive, with a loose-fitting lavender sweater that did its best to hide my curves. I’d always been a bit self-conscious of my slightly overdeveloped breasts, since I got them so young. They were more proportional to my frame by that night, but there was no hiding perky D-cups in a t-shirt. Now I realized that there was going to be a boy—a man, part of my brain spoke up—very close to my body, all night maybe, for the first time. And here I was, dressed frumpy.

He climbed into the bag, throwing aside the top and laying himself down. He looked over at me shyly.

“I guess we’re gonna have to be cuddle buddies,” he said, and I noticed a little flush creep into his cheeks. I knew I was making some kind of errant dream come true for him, and I mentally winced, but the expected wave of discomfort or distaste didn’t come. Instead, I felt a reciprocal interest, like an echo of the excitement he must have been feeling. The car rocked slightly with a gust of howling wind, and the encroaching cold, already sharper now with the heat off, made me shiver.

“What was your thing tonight?” I asked, trying to distract us from the moment as I laid down next to him. He fussed a bit in situating the sleeping bag over me.

“Hm?” he asked, reaching down to pull the zipper up. We were close, very close, and I rolled onto my side to look at him.

“What were you doing tonight that made you miss the van ride?” I asked, my voice softer due to our closeness. “The van that probably didn’t get stuck in an April blizzard crossing the mountains.”

“Oh, that van,” he said, finally settling in and looking over at me, and I saw it in his eyes at once. We were only a foot apart, and it’s awfully hard to deflect direct questions at that range.

I waited for him to say it.

“I just… had some stuff to do,” he said evasively.

“You didn’t,” I said, and punched him lightly on the arm. “You skipped out when you heard me say that I couldn’t make the departure time!”

He smiled, that little half-smile of his that meant I’d caught him in a fib.

“Well I hope you’re happy,” I said, pointing to the car window. “Now you’re in it.”

His smile softened. “I am,” he said, and the sudden intensity of the statement, always his calling card, didn’t make me flinch for once.

“I’ve always been a snuggler,” I said, rolling over. “I guess if we’re going to be cuddle buddies, we’d better get to it.”

He made a little strangled noise of assent. “Yeah,” he managed. “I guess so.”

I felt the balance of power shift more familiarly back in my direction, and decided to use it to make things the way I wanted them.

“Here,” I said, put your arm out under my head.”

I lifted my head and his arm—his surprisingly muscled arm—slid into place. I laid my head on his bicep.

“Come on,” I said. “Scootch in.”

“Okay,” he said.

I felt his legs contact mine, and then his chest on my back. He was warm, and I was surprised to find that I liked it.

“Come on,” I repeated, reaching a hand back to find his hip.

Instead, I found something else. Something that protruded from his pelvis. Something very, very hard.

I froze.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling away immediately from my touch. “I’m so sorry.”

I grabbed his right wrist before he could pull his arm out from under my head, even as I felt his chest and legs move off.

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “Really, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to—,” he began, but evidently ran out of words.

“It’s normal,” I said.

“It just happens,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I’ll lay on my back,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

His warmth against my back and legs had felt wonderful, and, if I was being honest with myself, I hadn’t minded when my hand had brushed against his hardness, either. It had surprised me, pressing so insistently through the fabric of his jeans, but it hadn’t disgusted me, and thinking about it now gave me a little thrill. Had that been because of me? Had my mere proximity made that happen to him? Had I created that problem for him?

And did that make it mine?

There was a silence now, and this time it did feel awkward. I wasn’t sure what to say. Could I afford to reassure him? It felt like a huge step to even bring it up. This was David I was talking to. About his boner. I didn’t want him to think I wanted something to do with it.

Did I?

I rolled onto my back as well. The car was dark and it rocked again on its suspension as another blast of icy wind whipped the loose snow into swirls and shapes outside of the long rear windows.

“Do you really think we’re in trouble?” I asked.

He sighed. “It’s a dangerous situation, Kels,” he said. “But I think it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“By noon,” I said.

“Maybe even earlier,” he said.

I shivered again and scooted over close to him.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m cold. I need to steal some of your warmth.”

“You’re a heat leech,” he said, smiling.

I tugged his hand down next to me, bending his arm at the elbow and pulling it snug with my own arm.

“You’re shivering,” he said. “This sweater is much too thin.”

“We need to get closer,” I said. “I appreciate you trying to be a gentleman, but your little general is just going to have to put up with me pressing against you.”

“‘Little general’?” he said indignantly.

“Well, he’s little compared to you,” I said.

“He IS me!”

“Look,” I said, laughing, “you’re six and a half feet tall. I’m not trying to say he’s little, I just meant—”

“I guess I pulled back too soon,” he said grumpily. “Next time I’ll let your hand linger so you can find out how not-little he is.”

I laughed in spite of myself, in spite of the crazy situation and how inappropriate his comment really was.

“You want me to touch him? Fine! I’ll touch him!”

And before I could stop myself, I found my hand darting over to cup his crotch.

“Oh, wow,” I said, before I could stop myself. I couldn’t help it. I had struck lucky for a blind grab and gotten his entire penis under my hand. And it was anything but little.

He froze, not moving at all, and I let my hand linger. The moment spun out. We were both holding our breath. I’d never touched a penis before, and I’d wager he’d never had his touched either.

Finally I slid my hand away, unsure of what to do, and the awkward silence returned. It stayed until I shivered again, and he squeezed my arm.

“You’re cold,” he said. “Let me help.”

He rolled onto his side and I turned away from him, biting my lip with anticipation. I knew I was going to feel him again, pressed into my backside, and it filled me with an illicit excitement. That feeling of heat rising within me, a very womanly feeling, returned as I pressed back into him and felt him contact my body with his from head to toe.

I felt his breath on my neck as his broad chest pressed into my back and his thighs came up under me, and even his calves aligned with mine. Then I felt his hardness press against my butt. Even through the thick denim of his jeans, it was prominent, and I couldn’t help but gasp the tiniest bit as it pushed against me. His left hand came to rest gently on my left hip, not possessively, but because it needed someplace to go. That hand set off fireworks in my head as my sensitive places began to tingle and report in. I was aware of my nipples inside of my bra, of the fabric of my panties pressing against my vulva in ways I’d never felt before. He was there, behind me, under me, against me, and my body was responding from head to toe.

I took a deep breath and it hitched as my heart rate accelerated. I felt sure that he could feel it backward through my chest, that he would know I was literally turning on for him in a new way that I’d never suspected.

“Is this okay?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

If he had made it a sexual question, had pushed his hips forward even a little in that moment, I think I would have shut it down. Maybe we needed to be close for warmth, but I would never have gone further with it if he had been the least bit suggestive or even playful. The sincerity in his tone, the tenderness in his voice, changed everything.

“Yes,” I said, and I did everything I could not to push my hips back into his. I wanted to feel that hardness, it turned out, wanted to see how far it went, and all at once I wondered how thick it was, and what it would feel like if it slid into me. And that thought, that single passing thought awoke a longing too rich for words, a question too deep to deny, and an urgency I’d never felt. I’d never been conscious of how empty I felt, of the need to be filled, and it made me shudder.

“You’re still cold,” he said, and I almost denied it.

There was another silence then, and this one wasn’t awkward at all. It was, to be a bit too direct, positively pregnant.

I made a choice.

“You know,” I said, tracing a finger along the patterns of the soft flannel in front of my face. “I’ve heard that in cases of hypothermia, just getting close in a sleeping bag isn’t always enough.”

David said nothing, but I could have sworn he wasn’t breathing.

“I think I read somewhere that sometimes,” I said, consciously taking a breath of my own, trying to steady myself, “the people have to strip down to their underwear.”

“I think that’s only if you’re already freezing,” he said, and I could hear his heart beating in his voice. “Like if you fell in a lake or something.”

“Oh,” I said. “My mistake. I guess we’d better stay dressed then.”

And I pushed my hips back into his, moving my booty back and forth the slightest bit.

He stifled a moan that puffed his warm breath through my long brown hair right at the back of my neck.

“No,” he said. “I think you’re right. There’s no such thing as overpreparing in a crisis.”

“I’m glad you agree,” I said, and I slid my hands down, hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my sweatpants, sliding them off even as I arched my back and pressed my butt against his crotch again. Then I took the bottom of my sweater and my t-shirt between my fingers and pulled them over my head without even sitting up. My hair cascaded out into his face and he pulled back slightly as I tossed my sweater aside, now just in my bra and panties under the cover of the sleeping bag.

“You’re a little behind, Tiger,” I said after a moment, and he busied himself pulling off his own sweatshirt.

After throwing it aside, he fumbled with his belt for a moment and then pulled his pants down, his struggle more pronounced than mine since he was a good nine inches taller than me. I giggled as he rolled and flopped slightly, finally pulling his thick jeans out over the top of himself and casting them aside by his shirt.

“Warm me up,” I said.

The feeling of his bare skin on mine as he moved in was positively electric. Had I thought my body had come alive before? No. That had been a cold start on a brand new engine that had never run before. This was primary ignition on a rocket.

He slid one arm back under my head and snuggled up behind me all at once. The pressure of his erection as it pressed against my butt cheeks this time was like putting a lit match against a gas-soaked rag. The heat that flared inside my loins this time was a fire, and feeling his hard body against my back was just more fuel. I felt my thighs quiver for a few moments, my inner walls clenching hungrily on nothing.

Except I realized that it wasn’t on nothing, not really. It was on him, the him I could feel pressing so insistently through the thin fabric of his boxers and my panties. My body was responding, and in that moment I knew that I could satisfy myself just by rolling over. I wouldn’t even have to ask him. I could just do whatever I wanted, and he would allow it, more, would welcome it. I could take what I pleased from him without words or definitions or labels. Then we could sleep and I could never mention it again, and a little green voice inside me told me that his sweet, shy nature would allow it. Nothing would have to change.

But then I remembered the way he’d asked his question, in a moment where he could have pushed boundaries. “Is this okay?” he’d asked, and if I’d said no, he would have changed it for me. He would have changed anything for me, just for me, because I wanted it, or needed it. I remembered the way he looked when he told me about the gas. And I thought of all the times he’d made me laugh, given me his coat when I was cold in a debate meeting, and showed up to every single game I’d ever cheered at, even though I knew he didn’t care about football or basketball. I remembered all the things he’d done just for me, and I knew I couldn’t take anything from him, even if he was willing to give it.

I took his hand from my hip and pulled his arm over me, holding his fingers in mine.

“David,” I said softly.

“Yeah,” he said at my ear, and I could hear how breathless he was despite the lack of movement in the quiet car.

“It’s sort of uncomfortable to wear a bra for sleeping,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Would you mind if I took mine off?”

“No,” he said.

“Will you help me?” I asked, gathering my hair from the side and pulling it out of the way.

I felt him pull back just enough to see my bra strap in the dim light. He pulled his right arm back, and I shivered a little as his cold fingertips slipped inside of it. He fumbled for a moment, his fingers trembling, and I felt a surge of affection for him. Then he got the tiny hooks out of the tiny loops and I felt the tension of my bra release.

Feeling wild, feeling naughty, feeling as breathless as he sounded, I pulled my bra forward with one hand and freed my arms. He slid forward again, his erection now familiarly pressing between my butt cheeks. I hummed a little sigh of satisfaction and pulled his arm over me once more.

We lay there for a few minutes, his hot skin pressed to mine, and I felt full-body tingles at the illicit excitement of the situation. Me, topless, with one of my best friends almost naked pressed behind me, far from prying eyes. As a matter of fact, the danger of the situation and any attendant unease could not have been further from my mind. I found myself feeling suddenly shy, nervous about taking things further, though I desperately wanted to. Then I had an idea.

“David,” I said softly again.

“Yes?” he said quickly.

“Is it uncomfortable to sleep with your boxers trapping your...” I hesitated for a moment.

“Um,” he said. “Yeah, it is.”

“Would you prefer to take them off? I wouldn’t mind.”

I heard his breath physically catch in his throat. He tried to speak, failed, and cleared his throat.

“I could take my panties off,” I said. “That way we’d be even.”

“Okay, yeah,” he said, in a high, breathless voice.

He pulled back and I felt him moving, wrestling behind me to lose his boxers, and I hooked my thumbs in my waistband once more. As my panties slid down my legs, I bumped his side with my bare butt and it felt so freeing. Nothing between us now. I’d feel what his hardness was, now, nothing held back.

When we settled down again, he was once more shy as we came together. I put my hand back to his hip and scooted him closer, gasping aloud when his manhood slid against my butt. It was like nothing I’d imagined. It was hot, it was hard and implacable, it was an intensity I’d never felt. I pulled his hand over me once more, this time placing it directly over my right breast. His rough palm brushed over my nipple before settling down and I gasped again as his fingers found their place encompassing my entire breast. It was a handful for him, but a manageable handful, and suddenly they didn’t feel disproportionate at all. They’d just been lacking his hand, that’s all. Now they made sense. Now they fit my frame perfectly, because they’d been his all along.

I rolled my hips back unconsciously into his and felt his cock slide slightly down. The movement, the friction, was amazing. My pussy clenched and I realized that nothing but him would satisfy me. Nothing but the incredibly urgent thing pressing against me, his thing, his cock, would be enough. He squeezed my breast, rolling his palm around ever so slightly against my stiff nipple, and a little moan escaped my lips.

“David,” I moaned.

“Kelsey,” he said, and nosed through my hair to kiss my neck. It sent little bolts of lightning chaining through my whole body. I rolled my hips against him again.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I couldn’t believe it. Even now, he was considering my feelings. My future feelings. He was giving me one more chance to change my mind.

I rolled onto my back and looked up into his eyes.

“It’ll change things,” he said softly, and I realized he was pleading.

“Maybe it’s time things changed,” I said.

I pulled his head halfway to mine, lifted my own head, and kissed him. Slowly and meaningfully, I kissed him. Then I pulled back to look at him, and though the light was low, I swear I saw a glassy sheen in his eyes. He smiled, that little smile I’d seen sometimes when I caught him looking at me smiling before he could stop himself. Then he leaned in to kiss me back, and oh, how he kissed me back. It felt to me like he was pouring all of his longing and patience, all of his tender consideration, and all of the muted worship he’d prudently withheld all this time. His thumb brushed my cheek as his lips pressed to mine, and though I could feel his raging erection resting against my bare thigh, there was nothing rushed or even sexual about it. He didn’t try to stick his tongue in my mouth or mash my lips to my teeth, he just kissed me and enjoyed every moment of doing so.

It was this holding back, this patience even now, that fully won my heart. I hadn’t realized what a small shift it was between friends and lovers, thinking them opposite sides of a wide canyon, but perhaps the canyon is filled with love, and all you need to swim across is a little push.

I reached a hand down and wrapped my fingers around his cock. I couldn’t believe how soft the skin was compared to how hard it was underneath. His eyes flew open as I squeezed it experimentally, and it made me smile.

“I want this,” I said, as he pulled back from our kiss.

“Me, too,” he said simply, and he climbed on top of me.

We fumbled a bit. Of course we did. It was dark, and it was the first for both of us. But what did it matter? We were giddy with it. The only sound besides our breathing was the howl of the wind outside, and what did we care?

I guided him into me, slow and steady. He took just as much care with my maidenhood as he did with the rest of me, and when the pain passed, there was only a blooming heat and deepening pleasure.

“Oh David,” I whispered earnestly as he bent to kiss my neck. He was only halfway in by then, but his body was covering mine in the best way. The car no longer felt cold, though I was dimly aware that the air outside of the sleeping bag was passing crisp and headed to outright chilly. Here, between us, it was hot, and the occasional cooling puff of air on my brow felt wonderful.

He stretched me, filled me, satisfied me in every way. We didn’t have condoms, and we didn’t care. I don’t think I would have let him use one if he’d offered. I needed to feel his skin on me, everywhere, and I needed there to be nothing between us. I had started taking the pill a few months earlier--one thing my mother had sprung for on my eighteenth birthday--so I wasn’t really worried, anyway. I knew he was a virgin too, we were good enough friends for that, so there wasn’t anything to worry about.

He gave me my first orgasm, and when it passed and my back settled down onto the sleeping bag, I could feel that he was about to respectfully pull out. I couldn’t bear the thought of being empty, so I grabbed his hips.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t ever.”

“But,” he began, and I put a finger to his lips.

“While you’re with me, you’re with me,” I said. “Don’t plan. Just feel. I’m safe, the pill works.” I reached down and squeezed his firm buttocks. “Show me what it feels like to be filled up.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with his easy smile and settled back in.

My pleasure assured, his hips moved freely now as he gave in to the moment and worked for himself. My own arousal spiked again so quickly that it took my breath away. I had appreciated his slowness and tenderness, and was pleased to discover I could orgasm so easily with him inside me despite the newness of the feelings. He had made love to me, I had known it was happening, and that had slowly built me to a crescendo as he made his way deeper inside of me. But this... this was amazing.

Lights flashed inside my head, new chemicals flooded my bloodstream, and I began to cry out rhythmically with each strike of his hips. Just before I came, he sped up even further, and as he clenched and cried out his own pleasure, I swear I felt him explode deep inside me. I shrieked his name as a second, far more powerful climax tore through my body and I clenched down on his spurting cock.

“David!” I cried, and grabbed him to pull him closer. Every muscle in his body was tense, and cords stood out on his neck as he emptied himself inside me. For a crazy moment I wished that I hadn’t started the pill so that this moment could be the one that kindled something new deep in there, that part of him could become a part of me and we could create a new thing together on this night. That moment passed quickly, and I remembered that we were still living with our parents, just a few months in to this new chapter, and that a commitment like that would alter all of my life plans.

But in the moment after that moment, and in the coming days, I wondered if altering all of my life plans was really such a bad idea.

He collapsed onto me and I held him, stroking the short hair on the back of his neck and pressing his cheek to mine. I whispered things in his ear, sweet things, the sorts of things a girl says to the boy who takes her girlhood and makes her a woman, when it’s good, and kind, and meaningful.

We laid there for a long time feeling the car shake and move as the sweat on our bodies cooled. I ignored the reality that he would have to withdraw from me, feared the emptiness that would result, and hoped against it as hard as I could.

Some time passed, and maybe I dreamt for a moment, but I only remember that he did try to move, and in that moment I realized he was still hard. Wasn’t he supposed to get soft after it was over?

“Don’t go,” I said.

“I don’t want to crush you,” he replied.

“You aren’t,” I said, relishing his comforting weight on me. “Or if you are, I like it.”

He smiled, and kissed my cheek. “I like it, too.”

“I’m going to need you to do that again,” I said.

He kissed my cheek. “Like that?”

I giggled softly. “No, silly,” I said. “All of it.” I moved my hips up into his and felt his hardness shift in me.

“When?” he asked.

“As soon as you can,” I said, and darted my head forward to capture his lips with mine. “As many times as you can.”

“Oh, Kelsey,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

I smiled sweetly and shook my head. “No. But I’d like you to show me.”

“As you wish,” he said, quoting my favorite movie.

And he did.

🤍🤍🤍

This is a new category, One-Offs! Short stories that standalone and aren’t tied to the wider narrative of Sanctified. Keep an eye out for more on their way!

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NSFW | confession | age gap | sexting | 18+

I look at my phone screen in the low light of my bedroom. The message isn’t risky. It’s the lines I plan to cross if he answers that are making my heart pound and my fingers tremble. This step, this first step, is just a text. Just a girl texting her boss. Her handsome, confident, boss.

I put my phone to sleep and drop it, biting my lip. Then I pick it back up. I stare at the screen a little longer, then watch as my thumb taps the little blue arrow that sends the message, my pulse far too accelerated for what this is. A text message. Late at night, sure, but with a tenuous premise of window dressing.

11:26pm

Rosie: Hey boss, hope it’s not too late for a question about tomorrow’s presentation.

I stare at my screen, hoping for a response as immediate as though I’d just spoken right next to his ear. I can almost smell his cologne mixed with that little tang of sweat after a long work day, when he leans over to point at something on my monitor after I’ve asked some silly question hoping he’ll do just that. My eyes stare at the pixels on my screen, my mind counting milliseconds, and when I see the three little dots pop up and start to wiggle around on the left side of the screen, I let out a little cry and drop my phone onto the coverlet. My plan is set in motion. It’s not too late to stop it, to turn aside--if it even works at all--but it’s begun.

11:26pm

Harrison: Hi Rosie, not at all. What’s on your mind?

What if I just told him the truth? What if, instead of playing coy for the first twenty minutes, I just told him exactly what I wanted? I type it out, just to feel the electricity course through every nerve in my arms and legs, and look at it.

Actually, I was hoping you’d send me a picture of your cock.

I lace my fingers behind my phone and hold my breath, my thumbs nowhere near the send button. Do I dare? Do I have it in me to take things screaming across the line so quickly?

I hold my breath in until my racing heart begins to slow. I delete the message and breathe in deeply, composing a new one.

11:27pm

Rosie: You’re always so helpful, thank you. I was wondering if you think the Q3 projections look right in the draft I sent you. I can’t get them out of my head.

There is something I can’t get out of my head, but it isn’t Q3 projections.

I’ve had a crush on him since day one, but he’s so much older than me that I haven’t known how to act on it. I’ve been fantasizing about him so much, imagining his lips on my neck and his hands on my hips, and it’s reached a point where I can hardly think of anything else when I see him sitting in his office across the way. He must have noticed me, because he pays me special attention, I can tell. But he’s too good to say anything, too intelligent not to know that he would be using his authority as my boss if he tried to make a move.

So I’m going to help him. And he’s going to help me.

11:28pm

Harrison: I don’t have them in front of me, but they looked good when I scanned through them earlier. They’re soft numbers, no one is expecting clairvoyance. Is there something specific you’re worried about?

Always cutting to the heart of the matter. Yes, there’s something specific. And I bet it’s large and impressive. Thick, and hard at the drop of a hat. He’s so vital and strong, even if I’ve only seen his skin from the neck up and the elbows down. When he takes off his jacket during a meeting when he gets passionate, rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirts when things get animated... in those moments, I have to squeeze my legs together and bite my lip just to keep myself under control.

My mind has wandered and a minute has passed. I sit up and refocus on my phone.

11:30pm

Rosie: Okay. If you think I did it right, that’s good enough for me. I guess I’m just a little anxious.

...

Rosie: I bet you never get anxious or have trouble sleeping the night before a big presentation.

The little dots dance to the rhythm of my heartbeat as I begin the turn of the conversation. The turn towards my own ends, the turn that might ruin everything.

11:31pm

Harrison: You’d be surprised. It gets easier, but when things get quiet at night is when those voices can get louder. You have to learn to talk back.

Even now, as I try to lure him into risqué territory, he gives wisdom effortlessly. My body was his from day one, and my heart has thrown open its doors to receive his, but even my

intellect turns to his words hungrily now, consuming them as I long to consume him in every other way as well.

How do you talk back to your voices?

No. Too easy for him to give a real answer.

My voices seem to get awfully loud when you’re not around.

Meh. Too needy. I want him to be thinking of my body, laying on my bed under the blankets. I want him to think of my nipples, already hard though he can’t possibly know it, chafing deliciously under my smooth pajama top. I need to use words to direct his thoughts down dangerous roads.

11:33pm

Rosie: It sucks! If it were during the day I’d go for a run. The only way I know how to drown out those voices is to make myself sweat. But it’s too late for a run now :(

There. Now he’s thinking of me in yoga pants and sports bra, a light sheen of sweat over my tight stomach and dampening the wispy flyaways at my temples. Fanning myself. Pursing my lips. My cleavage showing strong. My booty looking amazing.

The little dots bounce, then go away. A minute passes and I worry that he’s not going to reply. This would be the right place to stop answering, if he wasn’t into it, or if he wanted to keep things professional. This is the first exit on the freeway to Dick Pic City, and I giggle a little wildly at the thought.

11:35pm

Harrison: Night runs can be fun, but I prefer a swim later in the day.

Whether he intended it or not, now it’s me thinking of him doused in water. Why wear trunks when you swim at night? Isn’t that the time for skinny dipping in your own pool if ever there was one? Surely he’d be naked, stroking through the water, with nothing between his skin and the night air when he climbs out.

“Well, your little plan of temptation is certainly working on yourself, Rosie,” I think aloud.

11:36pm

Rosie: For some reason I like the idea of you swimming laps by yourself to blow off steam. Just you and the moon. I’ll bet you have great stamina.

I squeal and drop my phone again, electrified by my own forwardness. I just sent that message. Didn’t even proofread it. What am I thinking? Stamina? This has nothing to do with work. He’ll wave off now, for sure. I went too far.

11:38pm

Harrison: I do that most nights when I find myself with a lot of extra energy around bedtime.

Oh. My. God.

He’s ready. He knows what I’m doing and he wants it, too. My trembling hands hold my phone unsteadily, making typo after typo and doubling the time it takes me to reply. I compose the most brazen message yet.

11:40pm

Rosie: I hate trying to sleep when my body is wide awake.

...

Rosie: A stressful day can make me crave release.

I bite my thumbnail, looking down in my lap at my phone. There’s a tingling between my legs now that I can’t deny. For the first time I’m aware of how empty my womanhood feels at my arousal, and how perfectly he could fill that emptiness.

11:42pm

Harrison: My body is wide awake for sure

He still doesn’t want to pressure me. He leaves the door open but doesn’t want to push or pull me through, and I melt for him a little more. Right now we could still turn aside from this course. Maybe not forever, but for another week or two at least. Until I timed my visit to the supply closet just right, and he comes in for a ream of paper just as I’m trying to reach the top shelf for some printer toner, my skirt riding up my thigh and my blouse untucking the slightest bit on my right side as my arm stretches--

He leaves it at that, even after three eternal minutes go by as I debate. Not the slightest pressure.

11:45pm

Rosie: Just how awake are you?

And then, because there’s nowhere else to go:

11:46pm

Rosie: Can I see?

My heart is thundering in my ears. I drop my phone again and shake my hands loosely. A little cry of excitement and fear strangles out of me, and I find I can’t look at my phone for the anticipation of it. My phone buzzes in my hand, just a single tap, really, and I cry out again.

11:47pm

Harrison: What is it that you want to see, Rosie?

The use of my name, the knowing smile behind the question, they make me shiver. I slide down onto my back, holding my phone up in the air and grinning uncontrollably.

He wants me to say it.

Can I?

Do I have it in me?

Can I ask such a bold, direct thing? Me?

I can’t breathe, it seems, for how hard my heart is pounding. I can feel it in my throat. This is it. It’s now or never.

11:49pm

Rosie: I want to see you. All of you. Please.

His response is quick, surprisingly quick.

11:50pm

Harrison: Say the words.

I feel the command resonate deep inside of me, and my fingers are answering the call before my mind can even catch up. Any part of me still clinging to propriety is shocked to sudden silence and I find that I no longer could stop this even if I wanted to.

11:51pm

Rosie: Please show me your cock, sir.

A sudden calm steals over me now that the crucial moments of choice have passed. I lay my phone face down between my breasts and breathe deeply, my whole body alive and responding in a way I never would have thought possible from just a handful of text messages. When my phone buzzes, I lift it almost reverently, knowing that nothing will ever be quite the same if he did as I asked.

The photo is taken in the dim light of a bedroom not so different from my own, but the large, thick shaft of the penis--his penis--that dominates the center of the frame is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen male nudity in movies before, mostly swinging or even simply poking out of a mass of dark hair. But I’ve never seen anything like this. He is every bit as vital and significant as I expected, as I had hoped. I put it to words the only way I know how.

11:54pm

Rosie: Oh, sir... it’s majestic. I’ve never seen anything like it. Will you make it feel good? For me?

I almost don’t add the last request, but I find I can’t help myself. I want him to feel all the good things. This cock demands worship, standing like an exclamation mark and dominating my thoughts the way it now dominates my phone screen.

11:56pm

Harrison: You want me to stroke it for you, Rosie?

I gasp at the brazen nature of the request, the form given to my feeling. I do want that. For me.

11:58pm

Rosie: God, yes. Yes sir. Please. Stroke it slowly. I wish I could feel what it’s like.

Harrison: It’s hard. Very hard. Will you help me make it harder?

The messages are coming more quickly now. His request... it could mean so many things. And I’d do any one of them, or all of them together if he asks. If he commands it.

11:59pm

Rosie: Of course, sir. I’d do anything to help it feel good. What would you like me to do?

The dots dance once again as I unbutton the top button of my pajama top, because I know what he wants. I’ve seen the way his eyes are drawn to the curves of my breasts. Especially when I wear that cashmere sweater with no bra.

12:00am

Harrison: Show me your breasts. I’ve been dying to see them.

I bite my lip, hard. I’ve never done that before. Never taken a picture. For anyone.

But once again my fingers follow his wishes regardless of my own self-interest. My pussy is tingling, demanding attention, but he wants something. His needs have been made known to me. How can I decline?

12:01am

Rosie: And that will make you harder, sir? Will it make you... release?

I don’t wait for his response. I sit up, pulling my shirt open and revealing my breasts to the cool air of my bedroom. My nipples are hard, and my C-cup breasts are as perky as ever. I press them together slightly with my elbows and flip the selfie camera, cropping it just below my chin. The lighting is perfect, the focus soft, my boobs looking positively ripe with my arousal.

12:03am

Harrison: It will make you a good girl. Don’t you want to be my good girl, Rosie?

I whimper again and tap send without thinking more, my left hand sliding down my belly and slipping beneath my waistband. I can’t resist touching myself a moment longer. As I see my picture report as delivered, I know that I’m his. Some ritual was just completed, and now we both touch ourselves privately but openly for one another as we look at each other’s bodies. There will be more to come, surely, and I hope that supply closets and locked office doors are involved. But now, I watch the dots on my phone screen and wonder what he’ll say.

12:06am

Harrison: My god, Rosie. Perfection. Even better than I hoped . I’m close now. so close.

The typographical errors alone speak volumes. He never makes mistakes in written communication, and I realize that his heart must be thundering in his ears, too. I realize that even though he’s the man in charge, he wants something from me now. Something to help him release. Or something to grant him permission.

12:08am

Rosie: Sir... will you please cum for me? Will you please shoot your hot load into the air so that I can cum, too? And... show me the mess?

I’m past thinking now, my fingers frantically circling my clit. I’m so close that the slightest direct contact will push me over, but I withhold it, waiting for the picture I hope he’ll send me, the picture of his release splashed across his sheets or dripping down his shaft. I’ve heard it can go far, and I want to see how far I made him go.

My reward is better. Far better. My new master is generous.

It’s not a photo at all but a video, a twenty second clip.

His cock looks massive from this close, low angle, even in his large hand, and I find that my mouth is immediately salivating as I see the drop of clear liquid rolling down the side. He strokes once, then holds, and I have a moment to wonder if the video froze before I see the tip expand slightly and white fluid blast from the tip like a broken fire hydrant. My lips part as my fingers find my clit and my own pleasure rips through me while I watch him spurt into the air, some of it coming back down onto his hand and shaft, some of it flying out of frame. My hips lift from the mattress and my back arches almost painfully, thrusting my hard nipples higher as if towards a welcoming mouth, and I make a choked sound as I try to gasp in breath at the same time as crying aloud.

His rapid pulses taper from fountain-strength to oozing as I watch, and the video reaches its end and then thankfully loops. I wouldn’t have been able to summon the presence of mind to start it again, and as I watch it start all over--the drip, the stroke, the squeeze, and the eruption--I realize I don’t ever want it to stop.

I made this happen.

I could probably do it again.

How often?

How many times a day?

As my pleasure crescendoes and peaks a second time, I realize I’m having my first multiple orgasm, and he isn’t even in the same building as I am. Maybe not even the same zip code. This is what he does to me.

And as the video loops a third time, I realize: this is what I do to him.

I convulse on the bed, breathing deeply and returning to myself for the first time, feeling almost like sand running back into the shell of my old body and becoming something new. My phone, clutched in my hand painfully tight, dims as the video loops a fourth time. I lick my lips, wishing I could feel that much intensity splashing into them, and know that I have to say something. So I say the first thing that comes into my head.

12:13am

Rosie: That was magnificent, Sir. I’ve never felt that way, never felt that good.

...

Rosie: When can I serve you again, Sir?

I capitalize it because now it’s a title, and it bears capitalization.

I don’t have to wait long for my response.

12:14am

Harrison: Be in my office at 7am sharp. And Rosie?

Rosie: Yes, Sir?

Harrison: You’re a very good girl.

I’m surprised at the emotion that wells up in my chest as my breath catches and I find that there’s nothing else I’d rather be. For him.

And oh, how I’m looking forward to work in the morning.

🤍🤍🤍

I already told my friends about you, so you’re kind of stuck with me now 😉

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This was a new category, One-Offs! Short stories that standalone and aren’t tied to the wider narrative of Sanctified. Keep an eye out for more on their way!

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NSFW | confession | age gap | blowjob | 18+

“Well,” says my boss, turning to me with the lopsided smile that makes my heart race as he drops his hand from his roller bag. “This is awkward.”

My face reddens. It was my job to get the reservations for the conference. My job at my new company, my first job out of college.

And I blew it.

He smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Rosie,” he says easily. “I can find another room.”

I drop my eyes miserably. “I already tried. Every hotel is booked. Every motel. Even the seedy ones. Because of the conference and the festival.”

“I’ll sleep in the car, then. Really. It’s no big deal.”

“In this heat?” I shake my head. “No. And don’t even say you’ll sleep on the floor.” I drag my eyes up to his. “It’s fine. We’re both adults.”

I can’t bring myself to actually suggest it aloud. I drop my eyes again. I can’t tell my crush, who also happens to be my much older boss, that I’m willing to share a bed with him. That I, in fact, have dreamt of it dozens of times. Of his hands on me. His lips. His--

“Rosie, are you alright?” he asks, and I look up, startled out of my reverie. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

I put on what I hope is a brave smile. “I’m fine,” I say. “I just feel bad for putting you in this situation.”

He looks as though he might step forward to comfort me, but instead he shrugs, looking around the room. There isn’t even a couch for him to suggest sleeping on, and the impossibly thin industrial “carpet” covering the floor would be somehow less comfortable than sleeping in the hard-packed desert dirt behind the hotel.

“There are worse places to be,” he says nonchalantly. Then he looks directly at me. “Are you completely sure that you don’t mind sharing the bed?”

My heart stops and my mouth goes dry, partially because of the eye contact, but certainly because of the substance of his question as well. I manage a small nod.

He scans my face a moment longer and then mercifully relents. “Alright, then,” he says, loosening his tie. “Do you want to shower first, or should I?”

The reality of the question makes me feel suddenly naked under his gaze. The full implications of sharing this space, really living in it for the next two nights, hits me only now. I’ll see him brush his teeth. Find out what he wears for pajamas. Maybe even get a glimpse of his--

“Ground control to Rosie,” he says, that lopsided smile in place. “I’ve never seen you lose focus this much. Must be the heat, eh?”

I blush again, and walk carefully past him to the AC unit that sits below the window.

“Is this even working?” I ask as I check the display. “It must be eighty degrees in here.”

“It’s a hundred and ten outside,” he says mildly from behind me. “Those little units can only do so much.”

“I guess so,” I say, pressing the controls to turn the temperature down.

He puffs out a breath of air. “I’m sweating just from the effort of standing up.”

I feel sweat dripping between my shoulder blades, and do I feel his eyes crawling up my back? Or is that just my own wishful thinking?

I agonized over this outfit, a simple black skirt with a white button-up blouse, because I wanted to look professional while also attracting his gaze. I’ve caught him looking at me before, and even seen him adjust something at his crotch once or twice, carefully out of sight under the conference table. I’ve never gotten a single creepy vibe from him, but he’s been so careful that I’ve started pushing things a little just to see if I can make him look. To see if I can catch the outline of anything thick and hard in his slacks when he stands to conduct his staff meetings after I present. I did, once. There’s a white sweater that’s very thin and clings to the undersides of my breasts in a very special way, particularly if I don’t wear a bra.

He yawns. “Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a cold shower and hit the sack. It was a long day of travel and tomorrow is going to be even longer.”

“That’s fine,” I say, trying to sound preoccupied with the AC unit instead of picturing the water cascading down his mid-thirties dad bod in the shower, almost feeling the cool, refreshing spray on my own skin as I shiver despite the heat. The water will make his skin contract, his nipples harden just like mine are right now, but I bet it won’t shrink anything below the waist, not on a virile man like him.

I hear him drop his bag on the bed and unzip it, and I turn in time to see him pivot towards the bathroom with extra clothes in hand. Just in time to see a definite and sizable protrusion below his belt.

The knowledge of his arousal makes my breath catch in my throat. The idea of sharing a room with me excites him. I did that. Me. He’s probably had dozens of women, and I’ve never even--

The door to the bathroom closes, but I see that the heat has caused the wood to swell. It doesn’t click shut, not all the way, and a sliver of light remains, showing the boundary between that room and this one. The boundary between a world where I stand, fully dressed and dripping with sweat, and where he now undresses, getting fully naked mere feet from where my legs stand weakly frozen. Something inside me cries to go and just push the door open. Break that boundary forever. But what lies on the other side? Will I ruin everything?

I hear the water turn on and it sounds impossibly loud. The shower door slides open, then shut, and then I hear an audible sound of pleasure as the cold water no doubt strikes his skin. In my mind’s eye, he’s fully erect, water running down his penis and dribbling from the end like--like--

Get ahold of yourself, Rosie, I think, turning to look out at the darkened city skyline. He’s your boss. He’s got fifteen years on you, easy, and he didn’t hire you for your perky assets. He’s just trying to get through this trip with the annoying new girl who can’t even book a room correctly. He doesn’t want to share a bed with you, he just has to. Stop this. Stop torturing yourself.

But I discover that my feet are carrying me toward the bathroom, toward the crack of light between the bathroom door and its frame. I feel like I’m in a dream, unable to keep myself from being drawn forward, heart pounding in my ears at the thought of being caught, nipples tingling at the feel of my own bra rubbing against them.

I reach the door and look through, barely breathing.

He’s there, under the water, slightly blurred through the glass of the shower door. He’s tall, and looks somehow taller naked. The shock of seeing flesh from head to toe instead of the usual expected shapes and colors of clothing breaking up his silhouette widens my eyes. But it’s what he’s doing that really stops me in my tracks.

His left arm is braced on the wall under the showerhead, but his right arm is unmistakably stroking something out of view. Long, repetitive strokes as he faces the wall opposite me.

The sudden realization that he might be just as tortured as I am, just as locked into a pattern of behavior by his role as my boss as I am by my role as his employee, unable to change it into something more despite wanting to, hits me with full force. My full lips part unconsciously, and my mouth begins to water imagining what the thing he’s touching might taste like. What he might taste like. One of my hands cups my right breast and my thighs press together as my other hand applies pressure where they meet, and for a few moments I am entirely lost in the pleasant tingles I get from watching him and touching myself.

Just then, the AC unit under the window kicks on. The sudden differential in air pressure between the humid air of the bathroom and the dry heat of the bedroom causes the door to ease open another two inches. To creak open, in fact, and just loud enough for him to hear.

It happens too quickly for me to process in my state of heat-hazed arousal. His head turns, as if in slow motion and he looks over his shoulder. Our eyes meet and we’re both suddenly conscious of ourselves, brought back from the edge of our individual fantasies, and I have enough time to wonder if they aren’t the same fantasy after all before my hands fly from where they were as if charged with electric current.

“Rosie,” he says, and my whole body relaxes. There’s no hint of reproach or command in his voice. Instead, I hear his relief, his gentleness, and his satisfaction. I feel as though he’s welcoming me home.

He stands up straight, pushing off the wall, and turns to face me as I step through the boundary into the bathroom. I find that I don’t need further invitation, and to my own surprise, I see my hand reaching out to slide the shower door open.

I utter a little gasp at my first uninterrupted view of his hardness, reaching out toward me as he shuts off the water. He’s so much more than I expected, and I can’t tear my eyes away even as I know I need to look into his eyes.

I know that I should be demure, that I should be waiting for an offer, waiting for permission, for something to show that I’m a good girl and not some sort of mindless slut drawn forward by an erect penis, but the part of my brain that tells me that is distant. I reach my hand out toward him like a woman in a dream, nearly wrapping my fingers around it before I freeze and look up at him.

“May I?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He looks just as caught in the moment as I feel, as though he can’t believe what’s happening any more than I can. He gives the slightest nod, and I bite my lower lip and return my gaze to his quivering manhood.

My fingers wrap around his shaft and I gasp at the feel of the cool, beaded water on soft skin that sheathes his hot, impossibly hard member. The immediacy of it, the pulsing, implied urgency that I feel takes my breath away. My palm closes, my fingertips barely reaching my thumb around his girth.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” I say, marveling. “It’s beautiful.”

He says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. I look up at his eyes and see the same breathless anticipation I feel, and it makes a soft smile touch my lips. He’s surrendered to this moment, and he’s waiting to see what I’ll do. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m making a fantasy come true, right now, in this very minute. He’s thought about this before, longed for it.

“What do you wish I’d do next?” I ask softly, feeling the power that comes with being desired so strongly.

His lips are dry as he pulls them apart to speak. “Suck my cock,” he whispers, eyes wide as though trying to take in every detail.

I lick my lips. “Your cock,” I echo, tasting the word on my lips. “That’s exactly what I want, too. But I’ve never done it before. Do you mind? Being my first?”

He shakes his head jerkily.

I smile. “Good.”

I sink to my knees, feeling the thin bathmat and the unforgiving tile floor beneath and not caring at all. Here at eye level, staring down the barrel of his thick shaft, it looks even bigger. I tilt my head slightly to one side, taking it in. I run a finger down his length, tracing a blue vein that shows through the skin.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you, if I’m doing it right?” I ask, looking up at him.

The worshipful look in his eyes almost stops me in my tracks. I’ve never been looked at like that before. Like the sexiest thing someone’s ever seen, like a vision of perfection made real.

“I’ve watched some videos,” I say, unbuttoning my blouse. “To prepare. For you.”

He swallows, eyes even wider as I pull my blouse off my shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bra that matches my skirt and the panties underneath.

“Would you like me to leave my bra on?” I ask, running a finger under the strap. “Or shall I take it off?”

He shrugs one shoulder and then nods.

I’m taken aback by my own confidence as I reach behind myself and unclasp the underwear that I bought for this trip but never really expected to show. The power that I feel makes me tingle everywhere, and as the cups of my bra slide off my nipples, I feel extra little jolts of electricity strike down to my pussy.

Their errand to expose my chest complete, my hands slide up his thighs, and all at once I want to make this last. Maybe it’s his firm quadriceps trembling weakly under my fingers, or maybe it’s the drop of clear liquid I see accumulating at the tip of his penis--his cock, I amend, because that’s what he calls it--but all at once I don’t want to rush.

I bring one hand up under his balls as I close my other around his shaft, and I watch as he draws in a sharp breath at the sudden contact.

“That’s good?” I ask. “So, your balls are important, too.”

“Yes,” he sighs.

They are heavy, warm, and firm in my hand. I long to drain them. I drag my fingers lightly under his scrotum and then my eyes are drawn back to that glistening drop of moisture that is nearly ready to drip.

“What’s this?” I ask innocently.

I pull one fingertip back under his length, scooping it off onto my fingertip. I look up at him and open my mouth, extending my tongue to meet my finger, swiping the drop away and closing my eyes. His taste floods my mouth, and I lick my lips.

“Mmm,” I hum. I lean forward and plant a soft, open-lipped kiss on the tip of him, swirling my tongue minutely. His knees buckle. They actually buckle. Because of me.

I open my mouth a little wider and let the head of his cock slide across my tongue. My jaw opens wide to accommodate him, and the throbbing pressure on my tongue takes my entire awareness. Even in my inexperience, I sense that he doesn’t have long.

His breathing has become ragged. My tented fingers make a graceful hammock for his balls, gently applying pressure. My hand is motionless but slightly squeezing his shaft, and as I look up at him with wide eyes, I pull back ever so softly, letting his cockhead pop from my lips without too much pressure.

“You’re going to finish now, aren’t you?” I ask, seeing the look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says helplessly. “We can take a break if you don’t--I mean, if you want--”

“I don’t want this to end,” I say, “but something tells me we’ve got a long night ahead of us. I want you to come undone for me. I want you to fall apart. I want you to cum for me. Right in my mouth. I want to taste you, to feel what it’s like to have you explode on my tongue.”

His eyelids flutter and he lets out an involuntary groan.

I have enough time to latch quickly back on to the end of his cock, squeezing more tightly with my hand and giving the slightest little stroke as my cheeks hollow out with the suction I apply. Then he’s giving me all he has. I feel it, hot and strong, spurting into my mouth and covering my tongue just like I asked, and I close my eyes and savor the moment.

I swallow as it drifts backward, heavy and thick, tasting his essence and making it a part of me. I hear him gasp and grab both sides of the shower door for balance, and I stroke my hand a little more insistently, trying to get as much out of him as I can. I’ve never made a man cum, never even seen a real cock before, but I find that I’m already wanting more. With no basis for comparison, I can’t say for sure, but it seems like he’s cumming a lot. I’ve swallowed three times before his ejaculations weaken, and his cock doesn’t soften at all. I hum with satisfaction, holding him in my mouth and squeezing without overdoing it. I’ve heard they get sensitive right after. I’m as sensitive as ever, my whole body aware of the heat, the humidity in the air, and my panties teasing me terribly between my thighs. I moan as I imagine what this still-stiff monster currently stretching my jaw could do between my legs.

I sit back, sniffling once and swallowing after his cock leaves my mouth, hating the withdrawal, the feeling of sudden emptiness. I look up at him and see him looking at me with an awe I never expected.

“I think this is going to be a good trip, boss,” I say, “Will you take me to bed and show me what else that thing can do?”

🤍🤍🤍

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See what else Rosie has to confess…

Sanctified is a sweeping serial romance of epic proportions. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for your support!

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I blink through the haze, a wave of goosebumps rippling across my growing consciousness.

Caught on stage in my underwear? Damn, I’m looking fine.

Scanning the auditorium, my eyes lock with Professor Vale in the front row.

I descend the steps deliberately, my black stilettos reverberating in the echoing silence as I stalk toward him, our gaze holding steady.

I reach with two fingers
and slide them
into the tight

front pocket of his jeans,
tucking a folded slip of paper there.

Whispering in his ear,
‘Meet me after class.’
as my hand
trails

slowly

away.

I mount

the stairs,
approaching Chris and Spicy.

My body slick with sweat,
I kneel down in the aisle,
opening my mouth
to lick
his

popsicle,
a welcome respite
from the throbbing heat

of the spotlight.

Next, I ascend past Scarlett and Claire,
a mere whiff of their scent
invoking a swelling
between my legs,
adding delicious relish
to this walk of shame.

I crest
the rise
of
my
Golgotha

And there is Amber,
leading Professor Kink
on his favorite leash.

“Fetch.”

Obediently, trembling,
he binds my wrists
and fastens a collar of his own,
drinking me in:

His quarry

at her behest.

Confident now,
his opposing leads both firmly in place,
he marches me to his chambers,
a step behind
to enjoy the view.

His eyes are roving
but a new cast member appears.
And his hunger
is made chagrin.

A consolation prize:
They might let him watch.

Headmistress Black
opens a door
revealing her lair.

Her sovereign domain
in the halls of mediocrity.

She beckons
with the authority
of mandatory invitation
wielded only by those
who have walked the walk.

I slink past her wicked smile
the glint in her glare
somehow both steely and igneous.

There is Kate,
a mahogany desk
her throne,

a leather crop
her scepter.

I melt

as our mutual appetites
ignite the inferno

of this,

my welcome prison.

‘You’ve been naughty,’

she purrs,

‘Bend over.’

It’s time you learned your lesson.

This has been a Flash Fiction episode of Smutstack University, starring:
(in order of appearance)

as Professor Vale

as Chris

as Spicy

as Scarlett

as Claire

as Amber

as Professor Kink

as Headmistress Black

and

as Kate

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☀️∞