The Micaela Seduction

From the novel "Operaville", available on Amazon Kindle.

I light the candles and incense, setting the room in a hazy orange glow. I sit on the couch, an expectant audience. Maddie gives another three knocks and enters. She wears a long gray skirt with petticoats, a white rectangle of apron descending from the waist. Above that is a white blouse with puffs at the sleeves and a chocolate-brown leather corset. Her collar is open, revealing just a hint of cleavage. She wears her hair tied up in a blue scarf, flowing out the back, and her face is marked with swipes of dirt, as though she has been on an arduous journey. She speaks in clear, unaccented English, but the formality of her tone implies a 19th-century European.


“Thank you so much for taking me in! These travels have been much more difficult then I expected. It’s very gracious of you.”

She listens for a moment, as if someone is speaking to her, and then smiles.

“Oh! Well, you see, I am on a quest of sorts. I am trying to find my beau, Don Jose, who has taken up with gypsy smugglers. His mother is quite ill and… May I sit? Thank you.”

She settles rather properly on the armchair and takes a sip from an invisible glass.

“Thank you so much. Yes, you’re right, it is quite dangerous. I’ve never really done anything like this.”

Another attentive pause.

“Oh, well. I… care for Jose quite a lot. We grew up on neighboring farms, and we played together as children. And I remember this one day. I was twelve. I was beginning to… develop. I was walking back to the house after milking the cows. Jose was working the fields. It was hot that day, and he had taken off his shirt. He waved to me; I went to lean against the fence and talk to him. He continued to work as we spoke. I could see the muscles moving in his arms, like the strings of a guitar, and the way the sweat shone on his back.

“I don’t know if it is proper to describe what it was that I was feeling. A tingling. Like the tickle on your skin when your clothes rustle in the wind. Only this… tingling seemed to emanate from beneath my skirt. I wanted so badly to reach down and rub myself, but of course I could not. And watching Jose, I recalled something I had seen two days previous. A bull approached a cow in the field and, amazingly, he stood on his hind legs behind her. I had heard of such things, but I had never seen the mechanical aspect, the way the bull’s tube of flesh slid in and out of the cow’s backside. I tried to be disgusted, as I knew I should, but I was fascinated by the beauty of the design, as if these two dancing animals had rehearsed all their lives for this one performance. And that same tingling beneath my skirts – though why I should feel this way about a bull and a cow I do not know. I almost could not keep my hands off of myself. That Sunday, in church, I prayed for God to remove these temptations, or at the least to let me understand them better.”

She stops for a moment; her thoughts seem to drift. Then she squints her eyes and purses her lips.

“I detest gypsies! Filthy, ignorant animals. You see, I always thought that Jose and I were rehearsing. I suppose that I loved him. But I was a terribly shy girl, and I did not tell him a thing. Before I knew it he was in the army and off to Seville – Seville, that evil place. It was there that he met this Carmen person. I do not know what he sees in her – she’s not even pretty. But now… Now I have what it will take to win him back. If his mother’s sickness is not enough, then I will simply have to give myself to him. I am ready, I love him, and that should be enough for God. Just the thought of it… just the…”

She reaches inside her blouse, brings out one white breast and tweaks her nipple, arching backward. Then she opens her eyes and smiles.

“Everyone at home believes that I am a good girl, but I have spent years walking by the field with the bull and the cow, and… well. I know, sir, that your wife is away at her sister’s, and I hope that you do not think that I am taking advantage of circumstance, but I wonder if you… if you would show it to me.”

It takes me a moment to realize that I have been drafted – that I am the kindly farmer who has offered her lodging. I stand and shuck my shorts, revealing a hardening but untrustworthy member. She giggles.

“It is not so large as the bull’s, but it is much more handsome! Here, I have brought some oil with me. Perhaps you’d like to rub it? I have heard that men like to do such things.”

She pulls a small vial from her skirts and hands it to me, then dashes back to her chair as though I were the bull in her story. I pour some of the oil into my hand, apply it to my dick and make a good show of stroking it.

“Ooh!” Her eyes squint in pleasure and she places a hand over her skirt. “It’s that… feeling again, that tingling. Only now it’s unbearable. Are we… Are you sure that we are quite alone?”

I nod.

She looks around nervously, then slowly gathers her petticoats until, in a narrow gap beneath all the layers of clothing she reveals her pussy. She opens her legs further, displaying the moisture coating her labia, then reaches down to rub her clitoris and dip a finger inside.

“Oh! Oh! I see now why I have wanted to do that for so long! What an incredible sensation. I think it is time…”

She closes her legs, reaches into her skirts and extracts a large black dildo, made to look as realistic as possible.

“I hate the gypsies, but they do occasionally prove themselves useful. This one was a peddler of novelties, and he sold me this, a life-cast from the erect member of a Zulu warrior. ‘Even though you may not yet want to join with a man,’ the peddler said, ‘this will give you an idea of what it feels like. And you won’t get babies.’”

She spreads her legs again, pushes her petticoats aside and inserts the black cock. The sides of her entrance cling to the dildo as it slides in and out. Micaela moans.

“Oh! It feels so good. I want Jose to fill me like this. Sir, oh sir, please. Be my Jose. Put your thing inside me. Show me how it feels.”

I leap from the couch, take her hand away and push the black cock in and out, faster and faster until Micaela’s eyes begin to bug out. It’s the filthiest thing I have ever seen, and it’s divine. I take the dildo and throw it to the floor, take my cock in my hand and I am inside of her, aloft on a cloud of petticoats.

“Oh, Micaela, you feel so good.”

“Jose! Jose! Je’taime Jose. I will love you forever.”

The layers of identity are getting pretty deep. I am the middle-aged farmer banging away at the lost little girl as the pretends that I am her soldier-boy. Carmen could never be this hot – she’s too fucking obvious. I sink into the illusion and continue pumping Micaela into the armchair. I hold myself deep inside of her as I drive my tongue into her mouth, then I stand up and order her outside. I push her against the Lexus and I lift her skirts so I can surround my dick with that plump white ass.

Then I’m on the ground, redwood cones digging into my butt as Micaela bounces on top of me, all of our parts delicious hidden beneath her petticoats. She takes off her scarf to release her hair. I find myself shouting a long string of yesses as Micaela begins to sing. She looses a top note into the trees; I can feel the vibrations all the way down to my dick and it’s too much. I explode, gushing into her. Micaela screams; the sound echoes off the hillsides. I grab her by the waist and continue to empty myself out, then I roll beside her. We spend the next five minutes laughing, kissing and smiling, leaves and sticks and God-knows-what entwined in her hair.

“Micaela! You are a bad, bad girl!”

“You knew that all along; that’s why you picked me.” She kisses me and snuggles her face against my neck. I roll onto my back and see the moonlit sky, jagged silver patterns sketched across the treetops. A jetliner skates across, flashing red and white signals.

Michael J. Vaughn's novel Operaville is now available on Amazon Kindle - free for five days beginning tomorrow!

The Pirate and the Pimp

From the novel "The Monkey Tribe"

The Spirit Garden is dark and unoccupied. It could be that few people actually know about it. He considers finding some way to lock the gate, but realizes that he doesn’t really care. He takes Audrey to the pentagram, motions for her to kneel and undoes his pants, unleashing a steel rod resembling his penis. Audrey gives it a lick and smiles.

            “My God, honey, it’s like something on a marble statue. Did I do this?”

            “You and that outfit.” Jack looks down to take in the sight: a wicked red-headed pirate girl sucking off a pimp at the center of a pagan garden. The combination is dizzying. He looks out over the long rows of soil next door, hears snatches of conversation and music floating over the fence. It’s all so almost-public, so free and nasty. Audrey has a hand on him now, is pumping his cock into her mouth. He’s tempted to let himself go right now, but decides that he wants even more.

            He takes her hands and pulls her up, guiding her to the statue of Lakshmi. Audrey takes the god’s upraised hands in her own and arches her back, extending her ass toward Jack. Jack collects the vision, the curve of Audrey’s cheeks peeking out from beneath her skirt, then runs a hand underneath, happy to discover nothing but flesh and moisture. He dips two fingers into her pussy, rubbing her juices over her labia, then takes his cock in his hand and slowly slides forward. Audrey takes a quick inhale and sways her hips, savoring the feeling.

            Jack brings the camera back again and takes in the whole scene: the eaves of the stables across the way, the insect buzz of a motorcycle on a far-off road, the aura of light from the far side of the house and the upwelling thunder of a song’s ending, rolling bass, growling guitar, a screaming singer and the large drummer hammering everything in sight. He brings the focus back to the strange menage with Lakshmi, Audrey’s thin arms held in a skyward plea, the satin folds of her outfit, the white frame of her ass-cheeks surrounding his cock, his hands around her waist, the pimp-rings spelling out SEX and THUG in blingy sparkles.

            This is the absolute peak moment of my life, he thinks. He thrusts forward and arches his back, discovering a half-moon in the sky behind him, then bends back forward, reaching around to rub Audrey’s clit. Her legs begin to shake in orgasm, and that’s all he needs; he pours himself into her as the tricorner falls from his head and lands on Audrey’s back. The plume tickles his face and makes him laugh. The mix of sensations is too much; he loses his legs and settles back onto the pentagram.

            Noting that he’s still hard, Audrey comes over to plant herself on top of him, happy just to stay there and soak him in. She’s suddenly overcome by laughter, and bends forward to rub her face against his. Jack looks up and finds Cygnus the swan, flying over Salinas. He remembers this from Boy Scouts. Now he is Cygnus, hovering over the valley, looking down on the couple fucking on a pentagram, the two hundred people gathered at a tent nearby.

            “Mr. Pimp, you are an outrageously nasty boy.”

            “I am, you know. I really am. But I swear, I have never done anything like that in my life!”

            “Like this,” she says, squeezing his cock with her pussy. “But you should know, if I have my way, I expect to hear you say that many more times. Mr. Teagarden.”

            “Ms. LaBrea.”

            They hear voices, and the sound of the gate opening – and the sound of the gate closing.

Wife Surprise

From the novel "Double Blind"

Late at night, when morning has become a distinct possibility, I am dreaming of Pisarro’s lips on mine, petals of spongy flesh sliding across my mouth. I seem to think that this is the extent of it – the basic teenage makeout session – but then I feel a distinct warmth surrounding my cock. Am I fucking Pisarro?

            The edge of a tooth triggers me awake. My wife is sucking on my dick like it’s a circus toy, performing feats of circumlocution that I never dreamed were in her repertoire. She whips her tongue like a tentacle around the head as she works a fist up and down the base. Charged up by weeks of inactivity, I am gone quickly, erupting into her mouth. She swallows, licks me clean, then pulls up beside me with a grin.

Diva Frustration

(From the novel "Operaville")

Maddie has other ideas. She nudges me like a border collie working a sheep, driving me across the living room, to the edge of my bed and over. She yanks at the layers of my softball gear – pants, sliding pad, athletic briefs – until she unearths my cock. She works it over with her tongue until I’m sporting a grade-A hard-on. Then she hops off the bed, removes her pants and readies herself to hop onto my dick, which is now limp.

            She looks at me. “Is it all right to yell?”

            “Yes.”

            “Neighbors won’t mind?”

            “No.”

            “FUCK!”

            She stands to give her diaphragm more room, and delivers her next three notes with an impressive amount of volume.

            “Fuck! Fuck! F-U-U-U-U…”

            I’ve got my hand clamped over her mouth, an arm around her waist. She’s still yelling – I can feel the force of her breath against my palm.

            “Maddie? Honey? Ya gotta stop, Maddie.”

            It takes her a few breaths to calm down, and then she peels my hand away.

            “Why?”

            “Because I am not going to explain to the opera fans of America how it was that the end of your singing career was inspired by my limp dick.”

            She takes in a hissing breath that might be a rising indignation, then lets out a little burst, like the first puff from an air compressor. That’s the hole in the dike; the rest is a flood of wild, rolling laughter that sweeps me along in its wake. Two minutes later we are flat on the bed, pantsless, trying to stop before we asphyxiate ourselves. After that we grow silent, and I think I know why: we’re both afraid that the next utterance will send us right back into the water.

            Maddie curls across the bed, grabs my dick and gives it a stern look.

            “Why don’t you like me? Everybody else likes me.”

            This isn’t as funny as it should be. I am drowning in frustration.

            “When you got home from your drive, did you masturbate?”

            “Yes.”

            “And?”

            “Hard as Wagner.”

            “Wagner is hard. I’m so sick of this.” She releases my idiot cock and leans back on her elbows. “Sadly, this has happened before.”

            “Really?”

            “I’m a pretty intimidating figure. La Diva! Tenors and penises cower before her. Christ.”

            “Sorry.”

            She leans up and gives me a kiss.

            “If I was smart, I would sleep only with men who know nothing about opera. But don’t worry about it, honey. Please don’t. Well. I gotta go.” She hops off the bed and fetches her pants.

            “Huh?”