Welcome to the sexy world of Cassie Rae - Writer of Erotica Fiction. Sex should be mysterious, passionate, invigorating and fun! And maybe even a little bit scary. Are you ready?

Thursday, February 13, 2014

A Sticky Treat for Valentine's Day

Just in time for Valentine's Day, STICKY: The Erotic Collection will be featured as part of a Kindle Countdown Deal on Amazon, February 14-21. The sooner you buy - the more you save.

 To get you in the mood, I'd also like to share an excerpt from one of my favorite stories from the FREAKY section of STICKY: The Erotic Collection

I hope you enjoy!


Alan puffed and grunted loudly into her ear. “Aaaaaaaaaa-hooooooohh…”

Tiffany thought it sounded a little forced. The fact that she wasn’t getting anything out of it only exacerbated the effect.

Alan plowed away for another few quick strokes, then withdrew and rose up on his haunches. Milky spurts - more accurately dribbles - dotted her lower abdomen, and her “landing strip”, accompanied by a repeat of the same exclamation, helped along by lackadaisical strokes of Alan’s own hand. Last time, Tiffany had tried to participate at this phase, but was rebuffed.

It was their sixth time having sex, and it had already become mostly masturbation for him, mostly brief inconvenience for her; a stark contrast to the first couple of times.

He caught his breath with another false-sounding vocalization; “Mmmmmnnnaaaahh…” while hovering over her, his arm posted at her head (ripping out a couple of chestnut strands, but she didn’t want to ruin his moment) then gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and climbed off.

He was already whistling a generically hooky tune they’d both heard at the club, as he made a bee-line for the shower. Tiffany sighed, vaguely depressed by the encounter. 

Their first night having sex was their third date on the anniversary of their meeting at Glamboyant. Alan had been so—animal, clawing at her clothes and panties, gnawing at her pubic bone, digging his fingers into her ass cheeks. Tiffany was convinced she had discovered a rare sexual oasis that would never run dry, and thus fill the sexual need that had become so alarmingly urgent she had consulted a shrink about it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dr. Needham had told her, “You have perfectly healthy desires for perfectly normal activities. You’re just in a high tide phase, sexually speaking. Your body knows you’re a free woman.”

The doctor had alluded to her long term status as a very single young woman, which Tiffany had to admit she was enjoying, after two ridiculously complicated relationships in college.

Thinking of that first night with Alan was exciting. It seemed she’d found the best of both worlds; a man whose sexual appetite matched hers, thus eliminating the monotony and headaches of the club scene. Remembering, Tiffany touched herself, still wet and wanting, as she remembered the intensity and fury of that sexual maelstrom. But the more she thought about it, the more depressed she became - the moment soon passed, and the arousal with it.

She listened to Alan whistling in the shower, realizing she wouldn’t mind if she never heard that song again - or Alan’s rehearsed orgasmic cries either, for that matter.

Tiffany plopped into the easy chair, picking up the green flannel pillow she held and stroked and twisted and swatted during her sessions; actions no doubt noted and analyzed by Audra, perhaps even mentioned in her presentations.

Audra smiled expectantly. 

“How’s business?” Tiffany asked.

“You tell me, dear. Last time, you were troubled by your libido. You felt it was overactive.” 

Tiffany laughed at the clinical language. “I’m…reconciled with that, thank you. Lately, it’s more about…my expectations, maybe.”

“What are your expectations?”

“I expect…fireworks. I expect to have multiple screaming orgasms. Frenetic sex to the point of exhaustion.  A well-trained tongue. Operatic orgasmic pronouncements of my name. A spectacular amount of man-juice flying in directions that cannot be predicted.”

Audra blinked, smiled. “I see.”

Tiffany related the progression of her series of encounters with Alan, well aware of the growing tone of derision in her voice.

Audra crossed her legs and rotated her ankle. Ironically, Tiffany found herself analyzing this as mild discomfort with her straight-forward account. 

“Alan’s a nice enough guy. I hate to just bitch like this…” Tiffany trailed off, with a sigh.

“But ‘nice enough’ isn’t really what you’re looking for right now.”

“I have this fear that one day when I do settle down—I’ll be settling, period. In the wild sex department, at least. Is that…something I should just learn to accept?”

Audra stared at her for a long time. Tiffany became so uncomfortable with this intense scrutiny, she lowered her head and turned away, squeezing the green pillow.

“I may have…something for you.” Audra finally intoned rather darkly.

She took a block of neon green sticky notes from the desk behind her. There was a moment’s pause - was she re-considering this drastic measure? Finally she scribbled quickly, snatched the note away and extended it to Tiffany in one complete motion. “This is an associate of mine. She deals in rather esoteric solutions for sexual issues.”

Tiffany took the sticky. There was only an address. 

Audra was already standing up. “You’re an intelligent girl, Tiff. I know you’ll approach this with a level head.”

Tiffany suddenly felt like a lost little girl. She looked up to find Audra smiling at her.

“No charge today, sweetie. Call me.”

Tiffany chopped tomatoes in preparation for another dinner alone. Her phone rang; it was Alan. She debated with herself about even answering. Guilt forced her hand. 

“Hi Alan.”

“Heeeey Tiff! Been trying to get together with you.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry Alan. I…haven’t felt well…at all, and…”

Tiffany grimaced at how unconvincing she was, like Alan’s ‘O’ sounds.

“Yeah, you don’t sound so good,” Alan responded, “Well, listen. Maybe I can come over and, you know, help you feel better.” 

Tiffany had to fight not to roll her eyes. It was hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago, she couldn’t think about anything but fucking him. 

“Maybe in a couple of days, Alan. I just need to…get better.”

“What is it? Your period?”

“No. No Alan. It’s not my period.”

“Hey, what’s with the tone, babe? I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Really, Alan? Because it seems like you’re more worried about when your next opportunity to get laid might be.”

“Hey that’s bullshit. You think you’re the only girl I can get?”

Tiffany had had enough. She disconnected and slid the phone out of reach, returning to her tomato chopping with renewed vigor. The phone rang, but there was no guilt to prod Tiffany into answering this time. After it went to message, the phone rang again, and continued to do so for the next fifteen minutes.

Tiffany wasn’t even hungry anymore. She tossed the tomatoes away and left.

It was near dark when Tiffany arrived at the classic two-story Victorian. If Tiffany believed in ghosts, she would fully expect to find one here. Combined with Audra’s cryptic behavior, the stereotypical creepy mansion made Tiffany chuckle to herself - but she was a little surprised that it came out like a nervous laugh. 

The sound of the doorbell wasn’t some spooky, Munsters-esque foghorn; in fact, Tiffany didn’t hear any sound at all, and wondered if she should knock. Within seconds however, the door was opened by a young lady of fourteen, wearing a dress that seemed too formal for an evening at home.

“Hi. Um, I’m Tiffany. My…friend Audra gave me your - this address…”

The girl smiled and ushered Tiffany into an old fashioned sitting room with ornate furniture upholstered in muted yellow crushed velvet. 

“Mother will see you shortly.” The little girl looked at the window, then the towering grandfather clock that dominated the room. “Seven or eight minutes, perhaps?”

Tiffany sat in an overstuffed armchair that was deliciously comfortable. Her hostess was clearly an aficionado of sensual pleasures. “Thanks,” she said, and the teen smiled with a warmth that belied the mildly creepy demeanor that made Tiffany feel like she had stepped into an earlier time somewhere in old Europe.

In the seven minutes that Tiffany waited, the sun fell and the light of the twin wall lamps took over, bathing the room in a soft and warm forty-watt glow. Silently, a stunningly beautiful woman appeared at the door, smiling the same smile she had seen on the girl. Black hair cloaked a pale, high cheekboned face so striking that it made Tiffany suddenly certain of her own bisexuality.

“I’m Marielle,” she said extending a slender fingered right hand. Tiffany found herself responding with her left to be held, instead of her right to be shaken. Marielle’s clasp was physically cold but emotionally warm. She placed her left hand atop Tiffany’s and gently drew her closer - or was Tiffany drawing herself closer? 

“Audra sent you?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry, she didn’t say much-”

“Please, not to worry. A little mystery is good for the soul, yes?”

Tiffany chuckled, entranced.


Tiffany obeyed.

Marielle sat primly across from her in the loveseat. “We girls are in an interesting position these days. Now we know what we want from our lovers, and we know it’s fine to want it. Our men are trying to catch up, and to put it bluntly, they are stumbling in the dark.”

Tiffany laughed out loud, even though the remark wasn’t that blunt. 

“In the interim, we have options. Is it safe to say you want an arrangement that is uncomplicated emotionally, yet infinitely wondrous sexually?”

“Well. You nailed it.”

“Tiffany, do you have a vibrator or any other toys?’

“Um. Yes. Of course.” The question itself had Tiffany becoming aroused.

“Are you the type of person who could appreciate an upgrade?”


“It involves some ritual for which I will need your participation.”

Tiffany felt herself smiling, and hoped her hostess didn’t find it offensive.

“That’s good. At least you don’t have past attachments that make you fear it. So you’ll participate? If only for amusement?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…not take you seriously-”

Marielle raised a pale hand. “I’m not offended. It’s good that you have a light heart.” She stood. “I can promise you a breathtaking, no-strings attached lover who will satisfy you when you want and not become a nuisance. Are you game?”

Tiffany considered the enigmatic offer, wondering what the catch was. 

“You only have to remember that ultimately, what I’m giving you is not real. That’s the catch you’re wondering about.” Marielle elaborated with a smile from one corner of her mouth.

Tiffany stood and took Marielle’s hand. “Sold.”

Marielle had a fire pit prepared and waiting in the vast backyard that overlooked a murky pond. She produced an ancient-looking wooden box of matches and held it high, eyes closed. Tiffany felt awkward. The sight of Marielle in the moonlight was both unsettling and alluring.

Marielle drew a match and lit it on the first draw across the box. The flaring flame reflected in Marielle’e eyes as a sort of enticing madness. She dropped the match into the fire pit, where is seemed to extinguish. Yet a blue flame rose, slowly at first, but growing quickly, until it surrounded and embraced the sticks and chunks of gnarly wood that lay in a rough spiral within the pit.

Marielle unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it. Tiffany gasped. The woman’s pert breasts and perfect hourglass shape belied that she was the mother of a teenage girl. Marielle summoned Tiffany to her side wordlessly. Tiffany stood before the taller woman expectantly, no longer feeling awkward or silly, but rather well aware of her own arcane feminine power. 

Marielle unbuttoned the top button of Tiffany’s blouse and worked her way down. Tiffany wanted her to continue, but the older woman stepped back and pointed at the button of Tiffany’s jeans. Tiffany took the hint; she finished undressing as Marielle lifted a small wooden trunk with the same reverence with which she had regarded the match box. 

Tiffany waited, her nipples tingling, while Marielle squatted and opened the box, from which she produced a small gleaming dagger. The dagger lay across her open hands when Marielle turned to Tiffany and offered it. Tiffany took it, holding it in the same manner.

Marielle next withdrew a strange root, not unlike a ginseng plant, with appendages that made it appear anthropomorphic, including a proportionately sizable little penis. Tiffany thought it was a weird stuffed doll until Marielle held it high, exposing it to the firelight. The strange woman hummed something softly, in a beautiful mesmerizing voice, then took a few steps around the pit - Tiffany felt like a construction worker, watching the graceful undulation of her hostess’ taut ass with envy and desire - until she came to a simple stone structure standing around three and a half feet high.

She laid the doll/root on it; an altar, then. Marielle turned to Tiffany, a mixture of empathy and determination in her expression. “Give yourself a little prick,” she ordered softly. 

Tiffany just looked at her. “Really?”

Marielle took the dagger and gently held Tiffany’s left hand. Tiffany felt herself dreading and anticipating the inevitable injury. Marielle smiled at her, then pushed the point of the dagger into the tip of Tiffany’s middle finger. Tiffany almost swooned, feeling beholden, even subservient to the older woman, pushing her hand into the pain rather than pulling away from it. 

Marielle looked at the growing dot of blood desirously. “You can have it,” Tiffany offered breathlessly, and oh, how she wanted Marielle to suck her blood, to lean down and…

“We must stay focused,” Marielle proclaimed, and pulled Tiffany’s finger out over the root. She squeezed Tiffany’s finger so hard, the blood squirted onto the little doll. Tiffany thought of a reversal of roles - her finger being a little cock spurting deep red cum onto the face, chest and stomach of the waiting, prone figure on the altar.

Marielle released Tiffany’s finger and turned to the root, spreading and massaging the blood droplets into the figure. 

A drop had found its way onto Marielle’s left breast. Tiffany was glad.

Marielle raised the root again, humming with closed eyes the same low, alien tune as before. Tiffany stared at the slight shadows dancing across Marielle’s nudity and reflected in the sparse chestnut strands of her closely trimmed pubic bush.

Marielle lowered the root, hugging it to her breasts, then extended it to Tiffany.

She took it, surprised at how fully the blood seemed to have been absorbed by the unnatural effigy; itself seeming to have grown in size slightly.

“This is yours alone. Take it home. Place it in your bathtub.”

Marielle squatted gracefully and drew a small bottle from the trunk. “Pour this in the water with the root. Leave it alone in the dark overnight. And remember; you will have a season of utter ecstasy. A season, Tiffany.”

Tiffany nodded and clutched the figure to her heart as she had seen Marielle do. “What do I owe you?”

Marielle only stroked her cheek and led her to her clothes.

Tiffany ran the water at room temperature, as Marielle instructed her while saying goodbye. Removed from the fiery, ancient confidence of Marielle herself, Tiffany once again felt silly, as she performed the last part of the ritual. She raised the root and closed her eyes, thinking thoughts of reverence for the interconnectedness of all life. 

She kissed the root, fighting back a snicker, and laid it solemnly in the water. The tub half full, Tiffany opened the bottle Marielle had given her and was immediately struck by the powerful, earthy musk that escaped. She poured the contents into the tub and swished them around till the water was a deep greenish brown. So thick was the murk created by the seemingly meager contents, she couldn’t make out the root. 

Searching with tentative fingers, she nearly gasped when she made contact with a fleshy object nearly twice the size of the root. The branches and lines of the object were familiar though, so she reasoned that the root had swollen.

Standing to dry her hands, Tiffany looked at the inky mess in her bathtub and for the first time, felt like she had done something wildly foolish. 

The she laughed. It was only a plant, some water and a funny powder. What could really come of all this? A dildo plant? 

She lit the candle Marielle had given her, turned off the light, and exited, already deciding on how to clean out the bathtub come morning.

Tiffany woke before dawn, a vivid distorted dream of the ceremony with Marielle having left her aroused and confused. She went to the bathroom, still too groggy to give much thought to the little root.

Upon opening the door, she screamed and stumbled backward. A large figure stood there in the dark, waiting for her. 

Her back hit the wall, and she turned to run for the door, when the figure rushed out of the bathroom toward her. She screamed again and swatted wildly, but the man easily avoided her attack. Then he came fully into the light, and Tiffany’s desperate animation became frozen terror. 

About six and a half feet tall, the intruder was either oddly costumed or somehow mutated. His naked body was taut and muscular, his face chiseled. But the skin tone—Caucasian flesh, but with an unsettling greenish cast. His hair wasn’t really hair, but a grass-like growth, a uniform five inches in length, and falling in a punkish mess around his cheeks and eyes.

And the eyes – ivy-green irises set in pea-green orbs, had Tiffany shuddering. Then she saw something in them, and in his body language, that set her at ease nearly instantly. The big fellow was silent, but in his expression was kindness, sorrow for having frightened her, concern that she might have been hurt. 

The big naked man offered an assisting hand, leaning toward her so as not to frighten her by getting too close. Tiffany shook her head, sure she was dreaming. She pinched herself - her right ass cheek. “Ouch,” she muttered, causing the man to wince in sympathetic pain. 

He emulated her, pinching himself and mouthing a silent ouch.

Tiffany had to laugh, and this made the stranger smile. He offered his hand again, and she tentatively took it. He gently eased her into the bathroom and pointed at the bathtub. Tiffany switched on the light, which had the big man squinting and covering his eyes. Tiffany looked in the bathtub. Only a few ounces of greenish water remained in the bottom. Which meant - Tiffany swiveled her head toward the gentle man.

“You’re…the thing I put in the tub last night?”

He nodded his head in the affirmative, smiling.

Tiffany looked back toward the bathtub, encouraging herself to accept this strange impossibility. She felt the hesitant touch of the plant man on the back of her neck; the lightest brush of a curious finger. She turned to him, finding him drawing his finger away and grinning sheepishly. Further, his cock, which she hadn’t really noticed before, now stood erect, wavering slightly and well over eight inches long, with the girth of a full grown zucchini. With her fear gone, Tiffany was finding the absurd, audacious humor of the situation again, not to mention a good deal of awe at the sight of the impressive appendage. 

Having settled down, Tiffany suddenly became self-conscious. “Oh shit.” She went to the mirror, shouldering past her plant man, and beheld the bedhead and the light bags under her eyes that she had learned to hide from boyfriends. Her plant man however, was apparently not bothered by such quibbles. He came up behind Tiffany, bringing his light touch to bear on her hips, sliding his palms down and back up, then around to cup her breasts.

“Shouldn’t I at least brush my teeth?” she asked.

The response, an intensely needful look reflected at her from the mirror, and a delicate neck nibble.

Tiffany felt herself melting, enticed further by the strangeness, the alienness of the situation. “Mmmm. I think I’ll call you…Jolly.” She chuckled at herself. Jolly seemed to like his new name. He squeezed her melons – and seemed well-pleased with their firmness. He kissed the back of her ear and pressed his vegetable-like cock against her ass. It was warm like sunshine, and seemingly even bigger.

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