Asarotica
Page 1
Copyright © 2017 by Asa Akira.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson Street, Thirty-Seventh Floor, Suite 3705, Jersey City, NJ 07302.
Printed in the United States.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: iStock
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-226-5
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-227-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Foreword
The Center • ASA AKIRA
Pussy with Extra Cheese, Please • JOANNA ANGEL
Glass against Night • KAYDEN KROSS
The Family Trio • TASHA REIGN
Becky • ANGELA WHITE
Chameleon • APRIL FLORES
The Best Gift • ASHLEY FIRES
Blackout • CASEY CALVERT
Rule of Three • KIRA NOIR
IMMERSION XXX • JIZ LEE
It Starts with Pain • LEA LEXIS
Skinny Dip • MADISON MONTAG
Vessel • MISSY MARTINEZ
Night Moves • RACHAEL MADORI
The Missing Ingredient • ABELLA DANGER
On the Prowl • ANNIE CRUZ
Tales from Cancun • LOTUS LAIN
Flipping the Script • MERCEDES CARRERA
Husband and Wife • NINA HARTLEY
Mid-Twenty-Teens • DANA DEARMOND
In, Out • YHIVI
The Rental Car Guy • CHARLOTTE CROSS
FOREWORD
“What turns women on?”
“What do men masturbate to?”
“What do porn stars think about in their most intimate moments?”
It’s a silly idea, assigning sexual fantasies exclusively to specific groups of people. But when your profession is sex, you get these questions often.
As a cis-woman in porn falling somewhere on the scale between straight and bisexual, I have erotic thoughts that might be considered outrageous to some and boring to others. I don’t see desire as limited to gender, class, or even sexual orientation. It’s not as simple as saying, “Women find submission hot,” or “Only men like feet.” People are all unique, from various backgrounds with differing inclinations and motivators. As individuals we enjoy different flavors of food, listen to different genres of music, clothe ourselves in different types of outfits. Why would all of our sexual fantasies be the same?
So, you ask, what do porn stars find erotic? In these twenty-two short stories I’ve curated, you’ll find the simple answer to a complex question: Everything. The stories in this collection are anything but your typical erotic fiction, and I’m proud of that. They’re original, authentic, and often challenge our ideas of what we perceive as “normal,” and sometimes even “ethical”—which I find beautiful. Erotic writing is a fun, safe, sexy outlet for us to play out our most unconventional fantasies, and in editing this book, I censored exactly none of them.
I hope you enjoy.
Asa
THE CENTER
BY ASA AKIRA
He woke up before her, as he always did on Tuesdays. Thirty-two cracks in the ceiling, same as last Tuesday, same as the Tuesday before that, and the Tuesday before that. In her bed, Hana moaned in her sleep and kicked her leg out from under the blanket. She would be awake soon.
She looked so peaceful at this hour, her grey hair pinned up, head on her pillow, face smooth and expressionless. Not like the rest of the day, with that wrinkle in between her eyebrows, which grew even deeper with each year. Never would she say it out loud—not just to Matsu, but to anyone—but he sensed she couldn’t remember the last time she was truly happy. That wrinkle, though, she could not hide.
It was an arranged marriage. Thirty-plus years ago, he wondered if she would have agreed to commit to him had she known what the future held in store for them. Probably not.
He had grown to love her. Even before any of it had happened. When she bore his first child, how could he not? She gave him the gift of family. And when that child died of pneumonia, they had grieved together. Some couples were torn apart by such an event, finding themselves unable to move forward together. Not Hana and Matsu.
For certain, by the births of their second and third children, a boy and a girl, he loved her.
“Are you awake?” Hana asked through a yawn.
He closed his eyes and pretended to open them for the first time that morning. He silently counted to three, and groaned.
“Shall we get up?” She stretched.
Matsu groaned again.
Breakfast was the same every day. Coffee with milk. Three slices of white toast—one with Nutella, one with butter, one with jam. On occasion, they had marmalade made by Hana’s friend from across the street. Neither of them was particularly fond of citrusbased jams, but they indulged it for the sake of neighborhood politics. Luckily, on this morning, there was no marmalade.
“The van will come half an hour late today,” Hana said over her newspaper.
Putting down his own paper, Matsu studied her across the table. The sun was beaming through the window, the birds were chirping. He thought about how her sleeveless shirt did not flatter her old, flabby arms.
“There’s an event at the Center today, so pick-up will be late.”
Thirty minutes. Thirty extra minutes, he would have to wait.
“Ken is driving up tonight, so you have the grandkids to look forward to as well. They’ll be staying with us until Friday.”
Ken’s kids were all right. Rather, the girl was. The boy, he could do without. Matsu had a feeling right away; as a newborn, the boy hadn’t taken to his mother’s milk from her breast the way the girl had, almost instantaneously. Two years ago, when she was eight, she asked her grandfather about the abacus sitting at the edge of his desk. After Matsu taught her to use it, she took the abacus and sat at his desk all day, incessantly asking him for more equations. She sat there until he retired to bed. The next day, the abacus was back on the edge of the desk, forgotten.
But she was a child, after all.
The drive to the Center was usually no more than five minutes, but today, because there were two more pickups after Matsu, the trip was over thirty minutes long.
First stop was Jiro. Matsu didn’t know much about him, except that he hardly ever spoke at all. I suppose neither do I, he thought as the two locked eyes when Jiro entered the van. The two continued the ride in silence. Outside the window, Matsu noticed a woman walking—her white shirt had partially turned transparent from sweat. He could see her bra was mint green.
Next stop was Kai, who broke the dead air in which Jiro and Matsu had been riding.
“My grandson won first place in a summer camp swimming competition this weekend!” he boasted.
Matsu half smiled, though he didn’t care. Not to say he was bitter; he just had no interest in other people’s families. He had always been that way.
Before his accident, Kai had been an artist. Losing the use of his hands, he now painted with a brush in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. The paintings weren’t bad considering they were painted without hands.
At 12:45, they were the last group to arrive at the Center. Everyone was in the cafeteria already, bibs around their necks, enjoying today’s snack: strawberry yogurt. Out of ten t
otal paraplegics, five were being spoon-fed. The other five struggled, with yogurt and drool pouring down their faces and bibs. A band of young girls played instruments and sang a familiar children’s song, as some of the Center employees sang along, clapping their hands to the beat.
Sachi came to greet Matsu at the entrance. For the first time in a week, he genuinely smiled from his heart. She wore her usual Center uniform, a tight, crisp white dress that buttoned up the middle. Her stockings and shoes were also white. She wheeled him to a table in the cafeteria, and he wondered if she would pick him again this week. She had the last two, but three in a row? Was that even within the policies of the Center?
Wrapping the paper bib around his neck, Sachi asked him if he’d be good to feed himself today. After he nodded, she walked away. He wondered if he should have said no.
Like the majority of the world, he had been born righthanded. Well, nowadays, they said all children were born ambidextrous—but for as long as he could remember, he had been more comfortable using the right hand. So when the stroke left the entire right side of his body paralyzed nine years ago, Matsu had to relearn everything with the left hand. Writing. Eating. Wiping his ass.
Even now, feeding himself was not a graceful action. Scooping the yogurt onto the spoon, bringing it through the air up to his face, and then delivering it to his mouth—it was still a cumbersome task, nine years later. Only half of his mouth had the power to open, chew, and swallow.
Before he could finish his yogurt, they started to call out names.
Rina was first. “Shin-san, he will take you today.” Matsu was relieved. Rina was one of the first he had experienced. Her breath smelled like cigarettes, and her tits were too small. Not that the size of tits affected him in any way. But if her breath was going to stink, her tits could have been at least a C-cup.
As Rina wheeled Shin out of the cafeteria, a few more of the employees called out names and went to greet their paraplegics. Finally, it was Sachi’s turn. She walked toward Matsu, bent down, and put her hand on his thigh. He couldn’t feel it, for the lower half of his body ceased to have any feeling, but the gesture made him happy.
“May I take you again this week?” she asked.
“Yes please,” he meant to respond, but what came out was, “Yegh pee.” She understood.
Sachi brought him into a room different from the last time. It was similar in layout, and decorated the exact same way, but he knew this wasn’t the same room. Last week, they had taken an elevator. This week, they did not. And this room was colder.
After engaging the brake on his wheelchair in the center of the room, Sachi went to get the vial from the refrigerator.
“Just ten minutes away now,” she smiled.
Piercing the top of the vial with the needle, Sachi prepared the shot. Matsu looked around the room, for this part made him nervous. Why this was, he couldn’t say—it wasn’t like he could feel anything. Not even a phantom pain, which was something some of the others claimed to feel.
“Don’t worry,” Sachi said. “I’ll be gentle.” She knew he was incapable of feeling anything, but it was her habit to offer words of comfort. Matsu appreciated it.
Once the needle was full, she placed it on a metallic tray and brought it over to him. After placing the tray on the table, she reached toward his waist and carefully started to lift his shirt.
Matsu stopped her. He meant to say, “I’m a bit cold,” but what came out was, “Ahmaa bee coww.”
She understood.
“No problem,” she said, and untied the string of his pants instead. “Shall we just take your dick out instead of pulling the pants off all the way?”
He meant to answer, “I’d like that,” but what came out was, “Agh lagh daagh.”
She understood.
Sachi pulled the limp penis out of Matsu’s pants. He had stopped wearing underwear once he lost the ability to dress and undress himself—it was just an extra step for Hana every time he needed to use the bathroom.
Looking straight forward as Sachi held a piece of him in her hands, Matsu thought about his dick. Having caught a glimpse here and there of it in the mirror when Hana bathed him, he knew it was pathetic-looking. He was almost sure it never looked this small before the stroke, as if it had never been quite this relaxed before, this flaccid. Sachi reached over to the table, grabbed the needle from the tray, and inserted it into the base of the cock.
Matsu continued to look straight ahead. Not that he had much of a choice. He didn’t feel a thing, but hearing Sachi’s breathing started to turn him on.
After injecting him, Sachi put the needle down and stepped back. It would be another few minutes before the shot took effect. Looking at him, she slowly unbuttoned her dress. As the buttons opened, more of her white bra was exposed. Sachi’s breasts were full and youthful. Unlike Hana’s, which, after breastfeeding three children, looked like two empty two grocery bags made of skin.
As Sachi stripped down to nothing, naked, bare, she told him why she had picked him again.
“Some of these guys that come here, they’re too into it,” she explained. “They’re too eager for my taste. I like how you just sit there in silence.”
The truth was, Matsu had always been like this, even before he was paralyzed. He had never been much of a talker, or even a moaner. He didn’t believe men should make much, if any, noise during sexual activities. It was emasculating.
She sat on top of him, facing away from his face. By her moan he could tell his dick was now hard. She bounced up and down, grinded back and forth. As her breath stopped and her voice squealed as she came, he remembered why he enjoyed this.
He felt like a man again. His heart started to beat faster.
In the metallic tray on the table, he could see a tiny reflection of himself. Sachi riding up and down on his hard cock. Shiny from her pussy juices.
He meant to say, “Turn around,” but what came out was, “Taagghhuudd.” She understood.
Sachi got up, spun around to face him, and sat down on him again.
He watched her tits bounce in a circular motion, going in opposite ways as she rode him. Looking in the tray again, he could see her asshole. And as she came again, her ass clenched, creating a hundred little dimples in her tight cheeks.
As she came down from orgasming, Sachi grabbed the back of Matsu’s neck, threw her legs up over his shoulders, and pushed her pelvis back and forth on him as she whispered in his left ear. “You like the way I fuck you, you fucking gimp?”
Her breath sent a tickle from his ear, all the way down the left side of his body to his waist.
“Tell me I can use your wheelchair cock whenever I want,” she whispered.
He meant to say, “My cock is here for your use,” but what came out was, “Maa caaghh ii heee foohh goorghhh yuuu.” She understood. And continued to grind until she came.
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, he sat there in silence as she violently slammed him into her, enjoying each time his cock gave her another orgasm. When she turned back around to face away from him, he saw beads of sweat trickling down her back. He thought of the woman from earlier with the mint green bra.
Finally she climbed off, tied his pants back on, dressed herself, and wheeled him back into the cafeteria.
A couple of people were already there, waiting to be taken home. It would be another hour or so before their erections went down. Once all the men were gathered in the cafeteria, the young girls started to play children’s songs again. The employees, and some of the men, sang along.
One by one, the employees came around to check the dicks, waiting for them to return to their flaccid state. When they were, they were wheeled to the front of the building, where vans drove them home in groups of threes.
PUSSY WITH EXTRA CHEESE, PLEASE
BY JOANNA ANGEL
As Aaron enjoyed his undercover hand job by the stage, he turned toward Aiden to kiss her. He felt that was the polite thing to do when someone was stroking his cock,
but Aiden pushed his head back in the other direction and implored, “Don’t look at me, just look at Joanna on stage.”
She then snuck her other hand underneath her short red dress and into her panties, touching herself while continuing to stroke Aaron’s cock.
In this moment I felt like I could be crowned the queen of sex. My ego, my pussy, and my heart were all being stroked in wonderful ways. My sexual energy radiated through the neon blue and green lights of the strip club. I’d traveled all over the world in my lifetime: everywhere from the depths of the Dead Sea in Israel, to the top of the Arc De Triomphe in Paris. But never had I found myself so aroused as I was at that strip club in Tampa, Florida.
Let me back up a second and explain.
When someone in porn enters a relationship with someone not in porn (a “civilian” is what we call them), there’s a unique set of complications that come along with it. It’s disturbing if said civilian partner gets off on it, yet it’s unbearable if they can’t stand it. They basically need to come to the conclusion on their own that cleaning their asshole out with various shower hose attachments before heading to an undetermined mansion with a pool somewhere in Los Angeles to have anal sex with an acquaintance of mine is neither arousing nor unsettling; it’s just another day.
This, in itself, is a feat which requires a whole other chapter for another day. But when things got serious with my non-porno boyfriend, we communicated and worked towards making our abnormal situation, well, normal. We cooked dinners at night and shared a dog. He was respectful to the other men I worked with (a.k.a. the professional way of saying, the guys I fuck), and he truly loved and encouraged me unconditionally. You could certainly say I was having my cake and eating it, too.
But I was a horny lady in my dirty thirties. And I still wanted more cake.
Or actually, not cake. I never really had much of a sweet tooth. I wanted cheese.
“So, I am basically, like, 60 percent lesbian,” I admitted to Aaron one night as he slaved away in the kitchen cooking me some post-gangbang tacos.
“Really?” he replied as he calmly chopped onions and cilantro. “Yes, I am. It’s complicated. I don’t want to date women, but I am more attracted to them than I am to men, and if I go too long without having sex with one I get really cranky.”