Mormon Kisses Taste Like Spearmint

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Have you ever kissed a Latter Day Saint? A girl or a boy? I have. And I find they taste very pleasant indeed.

Mormon girls – and I only have experience to report (at this moment) with believers of the fairer kind – taste rather like spearmint; clean, sweet and sharp. It’s their innocence, I think. They are perfect people. And that’s all Mormonism is – a club for the perfect, or for those seeking to become so.

Their teeth are polished and squeak as you run your heathen tongue along their porcelain surface. Their breath has never been coarsened with coffee and caffeine, tobacco and amphetamine. They owe no-one debts.

They are everything I dream of being, when I’m hungover, or in withdrawal, or in trouble. From these dingy places, manicured lawns, manicured vaginas, look divine.

And what about Mormon arses? Well, here one can only go so far with language. These arses, such as the one from which I suck at this moment are by far the most delicious on Earth. Megan, my Mormon, is giggling, and wiggling her hips as I suck. My tongue is tickling playfully up and down the rough, ridged inner edges of her cheeks, plotting its slow advance into the slippery smoothness beyond, and then, finally, the warm, damp centre of the target.

PG


Purchase (and please review) my books:
The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slavery
Synopsis: Abigail and Susannah are half-sisters. Abigail is white. Susannah is not, being the result of their father’s extra-marital relations with a mixed-race slave at his tobacco plantation in Florida. When their father dies, Abigail inherits not only the estate, but her sister along with it. Their relationship soon changes out of all recognition as Abigail finds a dark part of her own nature that delights in the cruel treatment of her childhood rival.
Kindle & paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9
Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun
Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.
Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP
Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881
The Cherokee’s Nearly-White Slave
Synopsis: 1851. USA. Juliet is a blonde twenty-three year old farm slave in Appalachia. Only one thirty-second black by blood – nearly white by law – she hopes to have an illicit child (who will be legally white and thus free) with her owner, Jack. But that dream is soon shattered when Jack, under great financial strain, sells her to a sadistic Cherokee master with plans to use her for breeding.
Kindle & paperback : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077SNXHW1

Cleanliness of Blood

V0041892 An auto-da-fé of the Spanish Inquisition and the execution o

Maria was the first gentile I ever dated. She was only the second person I had ever dated. Perhaps what happened can be partly blamed on inexperience.

When I first encountered her, Maria, a Cantabrian Spaniard, was still glowing and dripping with the undried dew of youth and newness, moral perfection, intellectual innocence. A handsome brunette of 20, with a long and sultry face, and a chiselled, sharp chin, she charmed me without trying, without even having to try.

Her strangeness, as it soon revealed itself, took me altogether by surprise. It appeared out of nowhere, so to speak; out of a clear blue sky.

True, she had always seemed a little too interested in my Jewish heritage, asking boring and somewhat off-the-wall questions about it. But I put this down to nervousness on her part. She was just thinking of something, anything to say.

That her feelings proved not to be so benign is a needless understatement. I cannot recall exactly the number of times she delighted herself in humiliating me – racially, culturally, theologically. I can only recall that she did so, again and again and again.

I stuck with her only out of weakness. The weakness all men have for beautiful women. We can forgive them anything. Everything they do can be sexualised, made erotic. And I did enjoy things I should not have enjoyed.

One of Maria’s favourite routines was to have me kneel before her on the floor. She would position a plate of Cantabrian chorizo at her feet and commanded me thus in Spanish, “Prove your allegiance to the Christ, Jew! Prove your blood is clean!”

I would then be expected to eat the chorizo without using my hands, rather like a dog. And she would giggle.

She explained after the first time she had me do this that her ancestors used to do this to Muslim and Jewish converts during the inquisition. Since pork is unclean to both Judaism and Islam, the unfortunates suspected of dual theological loyalty would be so commanded to outrage their renounced gods in a public place.

She stroked me on the cheek after that first time, her intense brown eyes burrowing into mine.

“I will protect you, You are my special Jew.”

PG


Purchase (and please review) my novels:

The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slavery

Synopsis: Abigail and Susannah are half-sisters. Abigail is white. Susannah is not, being the result of their father’s extra-marital relations with a mixed-race slave at his tobacco plantation in Florida. When their father dies, Abigail inherits not only the estate, but her sister along with it. Their relationship soon changes out of all recognition as Abigail finds a dark part of her own nature that delights in the cruel treatment of her childhood rival.

Kindle & paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9

Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun

Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.
Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP
Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881

The Cherokee’s Nearly-White Slave

Synopsis: 1851. USA. Juliet is a blonde twenty-three year old farm slave in Appalachia. Only one thirty-second black by blood – nearly white by law – she hopes to have an illicit child (who will be legally white and thus free) with her owner, Jack. But that dream is soon shattered when Jack, under great financial strain, sells her to a sadistic Cherokee master with plans to use her for breeding.
Kindle & paperback : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077SNXHW1

Pomelo: Catalonian Flu

 

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I first met Maria in the supermarket as I browsed the fruit isle looking for white pomelos. At that moment she was standing above me on the flat apex of a short ladder, re-arranging things on the uppermost shelf.

I could see only her backside in detail from this position. Nice. Small. Two plump oranges wrapped in black fabric. They wobbled a little as she worked.

And then, after a minutes or so, she looked down over her shoulder, preparing to descend the ladder. But before my presence beneath her could register in her mind, Maria, my beloved, sneezed violently, sending a spray of salty gunge from her nose into my open mouth.

This woman’s face was shocking to my eyes. So pale for Spain. (I have since learnt that she is Catalonian.) Her black hair was tied back in a tight bundle, scraping her eyes higher than they would otherwise have been. It was a look I liked as soon as I saw it.

“Lo siento!” she said breathlessly, bringing her hands up in front of her face just a few seconds too late. “I’m sorry! Lo siento!”

But the fluid was in my mouth. And as I savoured it, the salty, gooey fruit of Catalonia; and as she noticed that I was savouring it, she transformed her face to present a Catalonian smile.

PG


Purchase my novels:

The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slaveryhttps://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9

Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun
Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.

Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP
Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881

The Cherokee’s Nearly-White Slave

Kindle & paperback : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077SNXHW1

The Beautiful Girl with a Cough

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My girlfriend Meredith is beautiful. It’s a banal observation. But I’ve made it. Here’s another. Today, she is ill. We are lying together in bed, perhaps the hundredth time we have done so. Our relationship is anything but new.

But Meredith has just said something to me which I found quite revolting. She has been coughing phlegmatically for hours, spitting out the issue each time into a coffee mug on the floor by the bed. I did not – and do not – judge her for this. We all fall ill.

But just moments ago, Meredith lifted the mug to my eye level and tipped it so I could view the thick, patchily golden mess at the bottom of it. She then smiled and said, sweetly, with her usual feminine grace, “Look at that. Look at it.”

I frowned, revolted.

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” she said.

“I’ve already told you a million times,” I remarked.

“Is this beautiful,” she asked, gesturing with her eyes to her drying lung honey.

This was a bizarre question. For an answer, to produce anything resembling one, I had to think not with my mind but with my lust.

“Yes,” I said.

Satisfied, she laid the cup back down on the floor by the bed.

PG


Support my writing. Support perversion. Buy my new erotic novel:

Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun

Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of sadism and revenge.

Kindle or paperback : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP

Pinke Grapefruit

Jane is a Patriot

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Jane Morris was a deeply patriotic and committed citizen of the United States. A CIA analyst and interrogator by the tender age of 22, she had risen rapidly through the ranks on the energies and passion of her uncomplicated nationalism. She said the pledge of allegiance when no-one was around to hear it – in front of the mirror every morning and before retiring to sleep every night. A huge, faded American flag was pinned above the headboard of her bed. So intense was this patriotism that Morris’s heart never really had the space to incorporate affection for any individual human being. She rarely had boyfriends or personal associates, preferring to invest all of her hormonal and intellectual drives into her national service. It was only after she was forced to retire early (at the age of 27) because of a psychiatric complaint that Morris began to consider the idea of fellowship with another person. And the first person to accept her advances was Derek Peterson, an 18 year old army cadet.

The first few meetings between the two were ordinary enough. But such was Morris’s insistence on discussing politics (particularly threats to America’s national security) that Peterson eventually advised that they no longer see each other.

Morris didn’t take this well. This much was obvious to Peterson the moment he came around in Morris’s bedroom, his mouth gagged, his limbs strapped tightly to a long gurney, and with long streams of angrily delivered spittle and phlegm running down his cheeks.

“You wouldn’t last a minute in combat,” Morris seethed, looking down at him. She was now dressed in full military uniform. “You’re fucking useless. No use to the national organism.”

Peterson writhed in vain beneath the straps, all of them expertly applied to nullify his every means of rebellion.

Morris pushed her olive green trousers down to her knees, exposing her thick and pale American thighs.

“I swear allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,” she declared, pulling her underpants down to her calves and taking a seat on Peterson’s terrified face, her cold and white buttocks pressing the full weight of her body onto his head, cutting off his airways.

“And to the republic for which it stands…”

Peterson jerked and wrestled with everything he had, desperate for another breath of oxygen. He could see nothing but blackness. He could move only his shoulders.”

“One nation under God,” she continued, pulling up under the gurney to keep her victim tightly fastened beneath her.

“…indivisible, with liberty…” she paused as the squirming began to lessen, “…and justice…” The squirming stopped altogether. “…for all.”

“God bless the United States,” Morris added, standing up. And then, with her trousers still at half-mast, she saluted the flag above her bed.

PG


You can support my writing by buying my novel: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9    – or by sharing my work on social media. Gracias

The Quiet Girl

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Emilia Jessop was known as a quiet and rather strange girl by her classmates on the Class of 2014 media studies course at Colorado State University. During lectures, she always sat by herself at the front of the auditorium. Few students felt comfortable sitting next to her, some out of respect for her obvious preference for solitude, others because her blankness and aloofness made them uneasy. Michael Parker was the first person to make a serious effort to talk to her. Although at first, prickly and unyielding, Emilia in time founds elements of compatibility between her personality and his, and she eventually invited Michael back to her dorm room one Saturday evening to ‘watch a video’.

Emilia was an attractive girl; a quite typical emo/goth type, with dyed hair and a lip-ring. (So common was this look around this time that it better implied, if anything, a conformist streak than any kind of rebellion). Jessop’s skin was shockingly pale, almost seeming as if she wore a thickly applied coating of chalk. Her eyes were brown. She was tall, with a spiky, bony frame.

The first thing that struck Michael upon entering Emilia’s dorm was the state of the place. It was extremely untidy, even by the warped standards of a student dwelling. It smelled putrid. There were papers and food packaging carpeted over the floor.

“Sorry about the smell,” Emilia said flatly, closing the door behind them. “If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”

“It’s fine,” Michael said.

“Good. I’ll get the movies ready. We’ll watch them on my laptop.”

“Cool.”

The two of them sat down on Emilia’s queen-size bed. Emilia slid her middle finger around the touchpad of her computer, clicking sporadically, straining her eyes at the screen.

“Not sure which one to start with…” she mumbled, apparently to herself.

“Are we not watching one movie?” Michael asked.

“No,” Emilia replied emotionlessly, maintaining her focus on the computer, “not just one. Here we go.”

She shuffled round to face him and positioned the laptop so they both could see the screen. A video began to play. It depicted a man lying in a pool of blood on a pavement, apparently having been shot in the chest.

“Wow,” Michael smiled. “What’s it called?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Emilia answered. “I can give you the name of the site I downloaded it from.”

“Sure. But it has a name? The movie, I mean. Right?”

“It’s not a movie.”

In the video, a suited figure was now crouched by the body of the bloodied man, who was moaning with disorientation. After angrily shouting something in Russian, the crouching man then shot the other in the head, sending a gushing stream of new fluid on the pool of old blood around his body. A replay button popped up over the final image. The video was finished.

Emilia leaned forward and started scrolling for another video.

“It’s weird. I’m nearly in the mood just because of that clip. I love it. We can do it to a longer one.”

“Do what?”

“Fuck. Duh.”

“What was that video, Emilia?”

“Not really sure of the background. Something to do with the mafia. Only the blood matters. The blood and the noises they make. It’s what I’m into. We’re going to fuck with a longer one playing. I’ll make sure to put the volume up.”

“That was a real execution?” Michael asked, frowning, “That kind of shit turns you on?”

Emilia looked round. Her eyes were glowing and red. She spoke with a completely different voice. “And it doesn’t turn you on?”

Michael’s body was paralysed.

PG


You can support my writing by buying my novel: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9  – or you can scare your friends by sharing my work on social media. Gracias

The Pleasuring of Cleopatra

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I have never been so terrified in all my life. With her long, bronze thighs clamping my head in place, I do my best to massage the depths of her vagina with my trembling tongue. It is so dark; the flesh of it is so pungent and sour. A bush of sweat-shined black hair, wiry and hard, tickles and scratches my face.

This tension is beyond the powers of language to express. I value my life. I live for my one true love. I have children. Why did she have to pick me? Why? But there is no way out of it. The god-empress has the right to whatever she desires. I am but a lowly servant.

Her vagina is so musty and strong-scented I am hardly able to conceal my revulsion. But one twitch, one signal of displeasure or disrespect will be the death of me. How can I survive this torture, this test of will? Her thighs are tight against my cheeks. Her skin is warm and damp with sweat. I want to see her face, but I am too scared to glance up at her. Is she enjoying it? Please let it be so! Please, please let it be so!

The woman whose vagina I am required to pleasure has legions of men ready to do her bidding in the blink of an eye. If I die, I will not die well. It will be slow and tortuous. She will want to watch. She always wants to watch.

Her vagina is beginning to dampen. The issue from it is bitter and unpleasant. I carry on licking and sucking and massaging. How will I know when she wants me to stop?

As soon as this thought occurs to me a hand is laid on the top of my head. I look up. The god-empress smiles, and then, after a pause, slowly shakes her head. Two masculine arms grip me by the shoulders and roughly drag me backwards.

The god-empress diminishes in size as I am pulled further and further away from the divan. My time has come. May the gods grant better fortune to my children.

PG


You can support my writing by buying my novel: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9  – or you can scare your friends by sharing my work on social media. Gracias.