Musings on writing, M/M Fantasy and Erotic Romance, and life.


Harley For Sale

Harley for Sale

By Michele Micheal Rakes


“Test ride?” She swung a long, leather-clad leg over my hog.

“It’s not prudent?”

“Prudent? You fucking serious, man?”

“As a heart-attack.”

“Fine, hop on.”

“Not riding bitch.”

“Suit yourself.”

Hard spikes scraped the concrete drive. She grabbed my ape-hangers and manhandled my bike upright, kicking the stand up to snug beneath the belly of my beast. She hit the start button igniting the machine into rumbling life. My dick swelled. The bitch was so fucking stacked.


I hopped on the back of my bike with this stilettooed, hell-bent for leather bitch in control sporting a goddamn hard-on. Horny for this wild one.

What would my wife say?

She dropped the hammer, cycling through the gears, hurtling down our twisty road. Excitement tingled in my veins. Her black corset was silky. Firm breasts spilled over the top. She guided my hand to her crotch.

“You’re a dude!”

“I’ve got great tits, man.”

“And a big fucking cock! Pull over!”

Instead, she rubbed my dick through my jeans. I was still painfully erect.

I grabbed her cock. Her beautiful smile reflected in the mirror. Little Miss Lola purred.

Not like I was riding my wife anymore.


Sensitivity Training

Sensitivity Training

by Michele Micheal Rakes


Sergeant Vincent Sweetwater filed into the tactical room for their first module of sensitivity training.

“That collar isn’t standard police issue!” Lt. Hanson paced.

“It’s lovely next to his long blond hair.”

“Shut up, Sarafino. When I need your opinion I’ll give it to you.”

“Sir, this tactical collar is issued to the K-9 units. These dogs are considered officers of the law. This is sensitivity training.” Sweetwater fingered the black leather.

“You know he has the leash to go with it,” Sarafino added.

“Shut up you clowns.”

“Sir, what are the policies concerning alternative sexualities?”

“Jesus, Sweetwater, alternative what?”

“Gay, transgender, lesbian, bisexuality.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’ve got to keep my mouth shut about my bisexuality. How sensitive is our workplace when I’m forced into a closet?”

“You know the policy. Don’t tell.”

“It’s a bitter pill being ‘taught’ sensitivity by an organization who suppresses my sexual identity. As if it has anything to do with how I perform my job.”

“We’re not debating, Sweetwater.”

“How about kinks? Whips, chains, bondage. Corporal punishment. Dominance and submission.”

“Just arrest them, Sweets, don’t kiss them.”

“What if their cute?”

“You’re trying to kill me?”

“Is that an option?”



by Michele Micheal Rakes


“I’m not gay.”

“That is fine, Vincent. Have you informed your dick?”

“You’re manipulating me,” said Vince. His wrists chafed beneath the rough rope, but he found he liked it.

“Don’t touch it,” begged Vince.

“I will touch what I want. Grayson, bring the plug and lube.”

“Yes, Master Greg.”

“No, Master, please don’t,” whispered Vince, uncertain of his protest.

“The lube and plug, Master. May I soothe the slave, Sir? Ease his tension?”

“The tension is what he seeks, but suit yourself.”

Master lubed the toy. He attempted to slip it inside Vince’s sphincter. The rigidity in the slave’s body hindered further pursuit.

Grayson grazed his fingers over the slave’s backside. “Relax, boy. Trust me, it feels good. Don’t you want it?”

“I do.”

“Then why do you fight it?”

Master pressed his hot, sweaty skin to Vince’s backside. “Speak to me, slave.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Then why do you serve a gay master?”


“Answer me, boy.”

“I need to be dominated.”

“A Mistress?” Master asked .

“No, I need a man.”


“Because I want it rough,” Vince snarled.

“In the ass?” Master asked. The tip of the plug pressed into Vincent’s rectum.

“It’s what I need.” Vincent sighed.




by Michele Micheal Rakes

The lovely creature sucking my cock moaned through me, a purring kitten vibrating the length of my shaft. God. Her moist hollow enveloping me, devouring my cock, was  making me insane.

I toyed with the red waves of hair spilling over my hand, cupping the back of her head, urging her to take me deeper. The sight of my slick dick slipping in and out of her dark, red lips, was enamoring. The graze of her teeth. Sharp, pointed little daggers dragging along my cock.

With a flick of her tongue, a tendril of my juices hung between us, her curling tip finding my slit, violating, teasing as squeezing fingers clutched my balls. I wasn’t going to last. Not with her wet heat suffocating my cock, sucking the life from my greedy prick.

Deep in her throat, her contracting muscle choking my dick, I came, shuddering into her body. Without fail, swallowing my essence. Unable to stop, convulsing with need, my fluid spilling as a steady river. Ever-swallowing, feeding from me.

My lungs drying, burning as my prick kept leaking into the dark, fiery recesses of her magnificent throat. She may well be the death of me. My sweet succubus.