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Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Free sex story: snow and ice in "Chilly Girl" from Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women

Another free erotica story for you, this one seasonally appropriate! From Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women, by me! You have until Friday for 20% off when buying books directly from Cleis Press.

Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women; is an erotic anthology edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, was published by Cleis Press in September 2010.

The caress of skin against skin, the warmth of another’s touch, relishing the sight that few others get to see — these are the reasons that disrobing before sex can be so gratifying. The stories in Smooth, collected by award-winning erotic editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, capture the heat of being stripped bare, of flaunting your body, and of reveling in pure sensuality. Read along as women get tattooed, become “the sushi girl” at a restaurant, strip on the subway, go commando, host tea parties, enjoy sploshing, and much more. Featuring stories by Donna George Storey, Heidi Champa, Angela Caperton, Charlotte Stein, Louisa Harte, Jacqueline Applebee, Susan St. Aubin and other leading erotica writers, these adventurous characters have more to reveal than just being naked.

Order Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women from:

Kindle edition (Barnes & Noble)




IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)

Cleis Press

Chilly Girl
by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Chilly Girls: that was the name of the website I’d seen when I’d come into Alex’s office to see if he wanted any coffee before I settled in for the night, there in bright, bold, big, orange, graffiti-like writing atop white sloping hills. Chilly, in this case, meant naked girls plopped on top of piles of snow, hence the white. I didn’t see much more as his finger hovered on the cursor for just a moment before he clicked it back to his screenplay, turned to me and, with a totally straight face, said, “Can you make me a decaf?”

I’d called up to him a few moments earlier to see if he needed anything; I knew he was in the throes of it, and from earlier experience, I knew that my husband could become so stuck in his head he forgot basic life functions, like eating or sleeping. His first script had sold to an indie production company and was only now, six years later, actually finding its way to the big—or rather, medium-size—screen. His work on the second had meant that I’d slept alone many nights, only awakening when he crawled into bed at three or four or five and wrapped his tired body around me.
Now, as I went downstairs, I felt not only duped--here I’d been bringing Alex meal after meal, waiting on him basically hand and foot even though I was the one mainly responsible for bringing home the bacon--I also felt like the most boring woman alive. I wasn’t jealous, just annoyed; not only had I not known my husband had a snow fetish, I didn’t even know snow fetishes existed!

What did he need to look at those girls for? I hadn’t felt any competition with porn when I was dating guys, but this was my husband, the man whose ring I wore 24/7, who I thought I knew almost better than he knew himself, and here he was, not even letting me know that he liked to take breaks by looking at girls making naked snow angels and doing dirty things with icicles. I’d thought we were a modern couple, the type who watched porn together, like we did the one time we’d found an old theater that was harkening back to its roots by showing Deep Throat. We’d sat there, hands clutching each other, while men thirty years our senior shuffled around us, furtively trying to recreate their more youthful experiences. We’d been young then, in our twenties; now, we were in our forties. Did that mean we couldn’t take risks anymore? Or that if we did, we had to hide them from each other?

I looked down at my threadbare white T-shirt, the one that used to delight me because my nipples showed through, and my black and hot-pink gym shorts and immediately felt underdressed. Maybe he was looking at those girls because he wanted the kind of woman who’d do something like that, who’d throw caution to the wind, or, in this case, the snow, instead of one who brought him coffee and made him dinner. That was all well and good, but was snow really that sexy? Not when you lived in Minneapolis and the prospect of it could threaten to ruin any plans you may so foolishly have made.

I could still easily recall the last snowstorm in March that had left us housebound for two days. Even after the worst of it was over, the dregs of it had lingered. The only upside was that we were all more appreciative of the clear roads and the warm sun later. I was thrilled that it was finally summer and we had a while before we had to worry about any more storms. Who’d choose snow over sun? Yet if this was something Alex was really into, I wanted to know more. Maybe I was missing something, like the time he’d insisted I try just a dab of wasabi on my tongue, after my umpteenth order of chicken teriyaki. I’d been afraid it would sear my insides, but I’d found I liked the rush of fire to my tongue and now regularly cooked with wasabi paste.

I didn’t say anything to him at first. I didn’t know what to say as I absorbed this shock. I wanted to be angry, like I might be if he was cheating on me, but he wasn’t, not at all. I was more curious than upset, the feeling edged with a hint of arousal. I wanted to be the kind of girl who’d do something like that--who’d do it, and like it. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know exactly what it felt like: Would my skin recoil at the shock of the cold? Or would it be like those moments when I ran an ice cube along my bare neck on a hot day, or dared to pass my finger through a candle flame?

When I was alone with my trusty vibrator, the one I sometimes thought of as my diary, my therapist, my beloved, I talked to myself, playing out the scene. At first, all I could think was, Cold, cold, cold. Would I be facedown in the snow, my face caressing its tender blanket of whiteness, my nipples forming indentations, my backside on display? Or would he want me to make a naked snow angel, flapping my wings, snow inching its way between my legs, encasing my labia?

I kept on going, though, imagining the moment after my skin connected with the frosty flakes, when I’d settled into the snow, become one with it--and pictured Alex watching me. I imagined him holding his cock above me, jerking off, warming me with his come. That did itæI came, my body shaking even as I shivered at the phantom chill.
But how to go about telling him I wanted to do this without him thinking I’d spied on him? After all, it was sunny, the middle of August, not exactly prime snow season. So instead I waited. And practiced. Over the next month I took ice-cold showers, gradually getting used to the way the blast hit my skin. Instead of flinching away, I stood proudly, back arched, nipples bared to the blast. It was a form of masochism, to be sure, but though I’m stubborn as a mule, I also have a submissive streak. Whether in this case I was submitting to Alex or myself or nature, I wasn’t sure, I just knew I wanted to do it.

I made friends with ice cubes, making sure to fish them out of my water or soda and tuck one into my mouth. Alone, the nights Alex was working late or if he wasn’t around, I’d stare at myself in my full-length mirror, tracing a piece of ice that had been softened by the warmth of my hand along my neck and on down, watching the icy rivulets trail down my pale peach skin. My nipples perked up when the ice hit my areolas, and I found myself simultaneously craving the cube and fearing it. In some ways, the ice was probably more intense than the snow would be, but I felt like I was training for my own personal sexual marathon. And the more I did it, the more I liked itæplus I liked having a secret, an erotic thrill all my own.

The added bonus was that I got to know my body in a whole new way. I used to think that didn’t happen once you’re in your thirties, once you’re married, once you’ve crossed some line where you assume you’ve done all you can when it comes to sexual experimentation. But as I gasped in pleasure while tracing a cube of ice along my labia, then pressing it inside, I knew I’d never reach that point. I could be a chilly girl--or any kind of girl I wanted. And even though it was only September, I knew I had to tell Alex, to share this discovery with him. It was hot and sexy, but it would be more fun with him.

I decided to tell him in the kitchen, a somewhat neutral zone. It was a warm day and I kept flapping the freezer door open and sticking my head inside, then I took out an ice cube and tucked it inside my bra. I kept fidgeting and finding excuses to poke my head in the freezer until Alex finally asked me what was wrong. “Well, it’s hot out…and I wanted to see what it was like. You know,” I said, my voice softening in what I hoped was a seductive way. I hadn’t had to truly seduce anyone in so long, I didn’t know if that side of me still worked. Married sex was different; we didn’t need the social cues and niceties most of the time. We could go after what we wanted without (much) fear of rejection. I realized I was trembling from more than just the ice cube.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, watching me closely. Had I let too much slip in my tone?

“I just meant…okay, look. I hate secrets and I have to tell you something. I walked into your office one day and you were looking at a site. Chilly Girls. Girls in the snow. Naked girls in the snow. It got me thinking about what that would be like. And I want to find out. With you. I want you to fuck me in the snow.” That last part hadn’t been part of the speech I’d rehearsed in my head, but there it was, not just the words, but the image in my head: me beneath him, my ass pressed deep into the snow while his hard, hot cock drilled into me in the way that always makes me warm all over.

Alex looked away, his face bright red. I couldn’t tell if he was mad; yes, even after all these years, he’s managed to maintain a poker face worthy of Lady Gaga. Then he started laughing, a little at first, then harder and harder. “April, are you serious? I just figured it was a porn thing.” He sighed. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about, baby. I don’t really want the girls in the snow, or even a girl in the snow. It’s just something fun to look at.”

I didn’t totally believe him. “But then how come you never said anything?”

“Well…it’s private. It’s what I jerk off to.”

“I guess I can understand that; I have fantasies too. I just feel like we’ve been growing apart, and I want us to be close again, as close as we can be. And I want it now for me, not just for you. I want to be a chilly girl. I want to see what it’s like.”

“You do? You aren’t nervous?”

“Of course I’m nervous! But remember when we used to do all kinds of wild and crazy things? Why can’t we be like that again?”

“Okay, but it’s September. Where are we going to find snow? Unless you know something I don’t?”

“We could take a trip. Or we could just…practice. With ice.”

His face lit up and he grabbed me. “I have an idea. You remember Ralph? He runs that butcher shop? I bet he’d let us in the freezer.”

Okay, so sex in a meat locker wasn’t exactly what I’d been after, but I liked his spirit. Just then, though, he told me to lie in the bathtub and put on my face mask…only now it would be a blindfold. I lay there in the claw-foot tub we’d spent a fortune on, one I regularly dropped paperback novels in as I luxuriated in the heat of a hot bath. Now, my nipples stiffened, prepared for the opposite. I sank back against the bath pillow, letting my fingers dawdle at my breasts, lightly stroking my sex.
And then the tumbling started--the tumbling of ice cubes. Alex poured all the ones we’d had in the freezer into the bath, then took one and traced it from the back of my neck on down. “I’m going to cover you in ice cubes. I’m going to fill this bath with them and fill your pussy with them and even shove one up your ass and let it leak out. I’m going to make you cold right down to your bones--and you’re going to like it.” His voice wasn’t sinister, exactly, but there was a hint of danger, a dark edge that made me shiver in a new way. He lifted the mask and I looked up at him and he leaned down and kissed me, his tongue reaching for mine. Just as I got lost in the kiss, I felt an ice cube press against the side of my neck, the equivalent of a snowball landed square on an unsuspecting bystander.

I pulled my tongue away, but I didn’t protest. I’d asked for this, and as the cubes settled around me, I realized I liked it. In some ways this was more intense than a snowy mountainside, but that had never been the real point anyway. I’d wanted him to see me as the girl who’d do anything--for him. I reached for a cube and ran it against my nipple, smiling when he helped.

Alex made me lie there and simply soak in the cold for half an hour; we didn’t get the tub all the way full, but it was enough. He climbed in with me, helping me warm up as the ice water lapped against my skin. He was hard, his cock wedging itself between my legs. For a second I wondered if he’d be able to keep his erection, but I soon learned that wasn’t a problem. I screamed as his cock sank into me, the heat emanating from him such a contrast to the rest of my surroundings. “Oh, god, you feel so good. I’m sorry I made you think I preferred anyone to you. You’re my favorite girl in hot and cold weather.” He laughed, then stopped as I shifted, hiking one foot up against the shower wall and throwing the other in the air. His hands cupped my bottom as he thrust hard into me. I focused entirely on Alex--on his gritted teeth, his light brown hair falling in his face, his firm chest and his cock, pushing into me, stretching me. I forgot for a few seconds about hot and cold, right and wrong and was simply lulled by the power of meeting him where my sex surrounded him. When I came, I clutched the edge of the tub hard, sinking back against the pillow. He pulled out and let me watch him come in the air, the liquid landing in our bath.

Alex wrapped me up in my fluffy purple robe, then made me hot chocolate with minimarshmallows and let me watch my favorite old sitcoms. He pampered me for the rest of the night, and continued to do so the rest of the week, like I’d accomplished some major feat. And maybe I had. I’d conquered my fears, my demons, my belief that those girls had something I didn’t. And I was never going back.

We’re planning a series of ski resort vacations, but the one I’m most looking forward to is at a resort that caters to nudists. Alex is taking his camera, and I’m continuing to practice.

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