The Jazz Age Chapter Two: The Love Nest Charlie Desmond, the husband of Nancy Desmond, had a great faith in the future of America. Along with most of the men he knew, he thought the business of America was business and that was that. The business of America was business and the future of business looked good. No, he thought it was better than that. The bu...
Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... To understand the full context of what is taking place here, I suggest you first read, "A Father...
An average looking man sat at the edge of the party. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, but nothing made him stand out. He wore a three-piece suit and just sat quietly at the edge of the activities, scanning his tablet. The party was a joint wedding rehearsal dinner/dance, with one couple being Gary Harris and Belinda Cummings. Gary was roughly six feet one,...
The forge is hot. I'm sweating through the cotton shirt and leather pants I'm wearing. My feet are slowly seeping into the muddy ground of my father's open forge, and I squelch my toes around as I prepare to pull down on the rope attached to the bellows. As I pull I can feel my body strain against the counter weight and push of the heat from the heart of the...
Author's Foreword For all that expressed their wishes to see Gwen's story continue, thank you for taking the time to let your feelings be known. It's flattering to know you have enjoyed the story so far and don't wish it to end just yet. For those who feel Gwen went far enough (or too far) in the first part, the continuation may not be for you. For thos...
Sara and I had been married about five years. We were deeply in love (although I've always been a bit mystified about what she sees in me). Our sex life was regular, vigorous, and enjoyable. However, we were both a looking for the next peak. We were both in our early thirties. Sara was, in my opinion, gorgeous. She had rich red hair (complimented by a neatl...
Eighteen year olds are the same the world over. The handsome, tough and sporty are nearly always the most popular. Adam was none of these, he was rather effeminate, of slight build and definitely no sportsman. As such, he never had that many friends. His home life wasn't much better; his father was dead, he had no siblings and his mother worked every hour Go...
I blame my initial naivety on my parents – just so you know, I'm not naïve any more. I, Amy, was the fourth child and the only girl of a well-to-do family with a significant history in our part of the United States. I was pampered and protected not only by my mother and my three brothers, but by my nanny. All of them paled, in comparison, with my father, t...
This story is part of an ongoing series. The chronological order of my stories is listed in WifeWatchman's biography. Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas. This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are...
The following story involves a big-dicked woman making a young white guy her bitch, using him as a sexual plaything. It also flirts with the idea of consent or non-consent; the story is ambiguous on this point, but non-consent is certainly an implication one may draw, if one chooses. If that's not your thing then this isn't the story for you. I write storie...