Sam’s Stories

Sam texted Lila, asking if he could call. Of course he could—Lila always took Sam’s calls. He asked about her writing, which had become lucrative since last time they fell apart. Sam’s divorce wasn’t even final yet, he already had a new girlfriend, and he was reaching out to Lila. Could be a recipe for disaster.

Lila started writing for Sam back in high school, when they were both sick with mono, before Lila’s dad looked down the barrel of his shotgun at Sam one night when he came to a window he thought was Lila’s. It wasn’t, and Lila was out of town for the weekend, so Sam didn’t even get to see Lila (wasn’t supposed to anyway—his mom found one of Lila’s letters), much less put his mouth on hers and spin the earth off its axis.

“Have you written any porn lately?” Sam was almost afraid to ask. His soon-to-be-ex-wife had broken into his email last year, discovered a cache of Lila’s porn, and forwarded them to Sam and Lila’s 27-year-old daughter when she was only six months out of rehab. Their daughter’s drinking and Lila’s work getting her to rehab was what brought Sam and Lila back together, and Sharon had cherry-picked the most explicit emails to send. Sam and Lila’s daughter wasn’t speaking to either of them, choosing to vilify them with her stepmother, accepting her lies as gospel truth.

Lila had been furious but refused to be shamed by it, even when her daughter called her a whore on Facebook.

“Not recently,” she replied mildly, “I’ve been more drawn to the canon lately, and, of course, my mythology subversion.” Lila was on break in her car, intrigued.

“Have you ever considered writing commissioned stories? Like someone tells you the characters and setting and you write it for them?”

“Funny you should say that—my colleague just suggested the other day that I set up a patreon account for that specific purpose.” She heard it in Sam’s voice. He had an itch that couldn’t be scratched by anyone else. “What did you have in mind?”

Oh, thank God. Lila was truly back to herself. Sultry, salty Lila. Sam relaxed. “Revenge porn. Sharon’s friends. She walks in.”

This was right up Lila’s alley. She hated Sharon and would love to humiliate her in fiction. “How would you like to fuck Sadie Kimmer up the ass? Maybe at her Christmas party? How about Natalie, Mary, and Tricia?”

“What?! You’ll do that for me?” Sam adusted himself in his shorts, maybe giving his growing self a light stroke before moving his hand away from his crotch.

Lila was easily intoxicated by her sexual power over Sam. She dropped her voice half an octave and purred, “I’ll give you anyone you want. I’ll even let you fuck her mom if you want to.”

“Lila.”

“Sam . . .”

The silence spun out with their names hanging in the air, each savoring the other’s on their lips and tongue.

Lila wrote a story and sent it to Sam, who greedily begged for more, stroking Lila’s ego and libido, and she kept putting out, reading her texts aloud to her husband, who knew all about Sam and understood.

The stories got wilder and wilder. Then Sam told Lila he would be out of touch for a couple of days. He was having surgery. Lila was touched. Sam wanted her brand of love before going under the knife. It was sweet, and the night after Sam’s surgery, she drew a flower on one of her breasts in magic marker, a wildly naughty, sensual, visceral experience. Lila’s mother had not allowed her daughters to draw or write on their skin, ever.

Red petals surrounded Lila’s aereola and a green stem with leaves supported the blossom from her cleavage. After it dried, Lila put on her transparent azure bra and snapped a photo to send to Sam the next day. She sent it to her husband first and asked if he minded her sending it to Sam. No problem, and he loved the photo. So did Sam.

The next night, Lila wrote her dirtiest story yet, involving bondage and willing slavery with a lot of sex, a lot of teasing, and a bit of turnabout before creating a sex skills classroom with Sam as the professor. She had the time of her life writing it, also wrote a couple of serious pieces as spinoffs.

The magic marker washed off easily in the tub, so she had a field day with the magic markers on her tits, coloring her nipples and drawing abstract shapes in every color of the rainbow before doing her own artistic photo shoot with odd camera angles taking closeups of her scribbling.

The dark blue didn’t wash off. Lila wrote her next story for Sam in real time while he was recovering at home. The stories were breaking as many taboos as Lila’s markers, maybe more. That night, she drew something for herself, a forest with a river. She drew wavy blue lines across her chest, brown tree trunks and branches, green leaves, two shades of green. Then she smeared some yellow and orange together to put a sunset in the spaces between the trees. Her nipples were the treetops, and she took the red marker to put pomegranates on the branches. It was beautiful, and she had another all by herself photo shoot.

Sam loved the photo, and the next day at work, she wrote her most hardcore taboo breaker yet, letting Sam explore erotic adventures in public on the rides at the fair with everyone watching. When Lila took her break, she called Sam in her sexy voice and teased him to an orgasm tbat kept coming, Sam describing it to her in real time. Without missing a beat, Lila told Sam how amazing he was, how much she wanted him, wanted him inside her, taking him right back up and talking him into another orgasm on the back of the other one, then asked if he wanted more.

He did, and she gave it to him, nearly feeling him inside her as she whispered dirty everythings in his ear through the phone, over a hundred and fifty miles away, telling him what a god he was, building him up until he exploded again.

Sam went back to work the next day, and Lila bought herself a pair of earrings that looked like her forest drawing. And they were both happy, letting go of each other while taking themselves back. Lila still draws on herself when she needs to break taboos.