The Autumn Diaries Read online

  And while Tommy could give her a lot of that — he could cum all over her; he could fuck her under bleachers and in closets and in the pussy and up the ass and in the mouth, in whatever order — he was still only one guy, with one cock, however sweet he was. And to Monica, cocks were like Skittles. She wanted to taste the rainbow.

  Monica’s best friend Vivian was walking beside her, reaching for a bag of marshmallows.

  “Holy shit, Vivian,” she said. “I’m never going to have a strange new cock inside me again.”

  “Well, not on purpose,” said Vivian. “But if you pass out or slip and fall near a guy with wood, maybe then.” Vivian had actually had both of these things happen to her. She had one of those lives.

  “I love Tommy, but… shit.”

  “Mon, you’re not getting married. If it bothers you, break it off.”

  But that wasn’t right. Monica wasn’t stopping because Tommy had asked her to. She was stopping because she loved Tommy. It was a chicken and egg scenario.

  “I don’t want to break it off.”

  Vivian gave her a long look. The bag of marshmallows was still in her hand. “You have cold feet,” she said.

  “Cold feet?”

  “Like at a wedding. But do you know what the cure for cold feet is?”

  “Slippers?” said Monica.

  “Slippers,” said Vivian, nodding slowly. “Slippers made of dicks.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You need a last call. You need to make one final round. And right here, right now, do you know where we are?”

  “At a supermarket?”

  “At a megastore that happens to contain a big food section,” Vivian corrected. “A megastore that is coincidentally also having an electronics sale on the far end.”

  “So?”

  “So the store is stuffed with cocks.”

  “Am I supposed to go around tapping guys on the shoulder?”

  Already exasperated, Vivian rolled her eyes, took Monica by the arm, and dragged her toward the front of the store, to a small elevated booth. She’d abandoned her cart but for some reason was still holding the bag of marshmallows. Monica noticed with amusement that the marshmallows were absolutely gigantic, labeled as SUPER STUFFERS.

  With her free hand, Vivian pointed at the booth. “Last call,” she said.

  Monica shook her head, not understanding.

  “Make your last call,” Vivian repeated. “Like at a bar. Monica’s vagina going off the market. Get it while you can.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Vivian rolled her eyes again. The look said that she’d have to do what Monica, who normally would jump at such an opportunity, was too solo-cock-addled to do for herself. Then she climbed up into the booth and grabbed of a microphone.

  “Viv,” she started to say, “don’t —“

  “ATTENTION SHOPPERS,” her voice boomed over the loudspeaker, “HOT PIECE OF ASS MONICA PAULSON’S PUSSY IS CLOSING FOR BUSINESS. COME TO THE CUSTOMER SERVICE BOOTH AND…” She looked around, realizing she seemed to have forgotten something. She spied the bag of marshmallows. “… AND TAKE A GIANT MARSHMALLOW TO TAKE YOUR TURN.”

  “Grab a marshmallow?” said Monica.

  Within seconds, there was a stampeding noise and the aisles started filling with men. They looked around, presumably for whatever “marshmallows” referred to.

  “Be sensible,” said Vivian, looking at Monica. “Who are you, Annabel Chong? It would be ridiculous for you to gangbang all of these guys. There are twenty marshmallows in this bag. Sounds like a good number, right?”

  Monica found herself getting wet in spite of the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d banged a bunch of guys in public, but it was the first time she’d been surprised by it, and the first time that involved spun sugar.

  Vivian held up the bag of hackey-sack sized marshmallows and looked out at the crowd of eager men. She yelled out, “Only guys with whole marshmallows will get to fuck my friend here, so no fighting!” She looked down at Monica, who looked around for checkers, store managers, police, and other authorities. They were in the crowd, jostling toward the front so they could grab a marshmallow.

  “Mon, go ahead and show these nice men what they’re competing for,” she said.

  Monica looked out at the crowd.

  So many cocks, said a voice in her head.

  But what about Tommy? said another voice that sounded all uppity, like her conscience.

  It’s just this once. Just this one last hurrah, said the first voice. Tommy would understand. He’d want you to have what makes you happy.

  Both voices in her head made good points, but if she listened to one of them, she would get fucked raw.

  She pulled her shirt up over her head, dropped her bra to the floor, and pulled her pants, panties, and shoes off in a single fluid motion. Then she stood beneath the fluorescents stark naked, the air conditioning hardening her nipples. She heard an odd, quiet purring noise that sounded like the sound a fingernail dragging across fabric then realized it was the sound of fifty erections coming alive inside their denim and khaki prisons.

  Vivian started throwing marshmallows. Some men caught them cleanly, but usually there was a tussle, like women fighting over a thrown bouquet at a wedding. One marshmallow sailed over the head of a group and five men dove for it, pulling and punching and fighting. Another marshmallow went under the shopping cart of an old woman who hadn’t noticed the commotion and was reaching for a box of All Bran. Several men toppled the cart. Both groups came up with torn marshmallows and Vivian declared them disqualified.

  That meant there were eighteen men remaining. They came forward. One of the men who’d caught a marshmallow seemed to be the store manager. Another was a cop. All were undressing, coming toward Monica with hungry eyes.

  So many cocks.

  Monica felt her head start to spin. It was like a dream come true. They were all the colors of the rainbows. As pants and shirts fell into untidy piles on the floor, she saw whites and blacks and yellows and everything in between. One was enormous. Two were smaller. Most were average. One curved the wrong way. One was uncircumcised. Monica found herself forgetting — just for this last interlude — about Tommy. She wanted to taste them all. She wanted their cum. She wanted them in her and on her. She wanted to hug them and kiss them and have them behind her. She wanted slippers made of dicks.

  Then it was all dicks. Monica felt her legs part and one of the glorious soldiers slid inside her, up to the balls. There was no resistance; she was way too wet. Five more were around her face. She started to suck each in turn, jerking, like a master plate spinner trying to keep them all going. She rubbed nutsacks. She used cocks like hard and hot paintbrushes, rubbing their pre-cum over her cheeks and closed eyes. The one between her legs swapped out and pumped, feeling entirely different. Then hands flipped her over and some guy was suddenly below her, so she lowered her body onto his cock. As soon as she was down, something came knocking at the back door. Her ass dilated. Then her pussy felt fuller again, and she realized they’d traded. Everyone was taking turns, with no one pushing or fighting. Such gentlemen. She jerked and sucked what she could. Her ass throbbed with pleasure. Juices swamped her pussy. Then the guy in her cunt started to jerk and bounce and flood her with splooge. She stepped off of him, dislodging her anal intruder. The guy’s jizz dripped out, clearing the way for another. Another guy was beside him, laying on his back, lined up and waiting. Monica straddled and docked. Then another guy came up behind her and she prepared her dirthole for entry, but this guy slid right in the front with the first and there were suddenly two cocks in her pussy — something she’d only done once before, but which was totally, totally awesome.

  Then the cocks around her face started to go off one by one, spitting like cobras, soaking her lips, face, hair, neck, and tits. Monica lost count. Four cumshots. Six. Nine. One of the guys plundering her pussy came and she felt that drip out, then a new guy was in her ass as
the first guy in her slit pushed up into her hard, making her almost bite the cock in her mouth. The guy pulled out and she rolled onto her side. It was like a feeding frenzy; maybe ten of the guys hadn’t finished yet and they all came up to her face, which was covered with white goo.

  It was heaven. Cocks. Cocks!

  Another guy stuck his dick in her pussy and within seconds, Monica felt her hole grab him and squeeze as she came and soaked him with her own cum, then the guy came and she felt it throb as her muscles grabbed it, and it was so nice, so nice, so…

  Then three more of the cocks near her head exploded, shooting interlacing ropes across her field of vision, splashing her tits and running down into her belly button. A new guy stuck his dick into her and came almost immediately, this one pulling out and holding her pussy open so he could watch a line of splooge shoot from his cock head and into her gaping hole. She could feel it pooling there, and then the guy was gone and another guy, heedless of how sloppy the seconds (or eighteenths) were, shoved his head into her, then the whole shaft. The pool of jizz inside her squirted out, running down into the crack of her ass.

  Monica came again. And again.

  She yelled. She screamed. She thrashed.

  Finally the fireworks settled. At first, Monica couldn’t open her eyes because there was too much cum, then a towel landed on her face and Vivian’s voice said, “Good game, kid. Now hit the showers.”

  Monica wiped her face. When she opened her eyes, most of the guys were already dressed, heading away. She felt like Venkman in Ghostbusters after he gets slimed, rolling and writhing in sticky goo. But pleased. Very, very sluttily pleased.

  When she was fully squeegeed, Monica got dressed. There would be no getting the cum out of her hair, so she just tried to work it in, like conditioner.

  The customer service area slowly cleared. Checkers and customers, all watching moments before, returned to work without ceremony. All became quiet. Other than the gallon of white stuff on the floor, you’d never know anything had happened.

  Monica gestured toward the pool of spooge. “Should we clean that? Someone could slip.” But she was only mouthing the words; in a haze, her earlier anxiety forgotten. For a total cum slut, there was nothing better than the therapy she’d just had for free.

  “They have janitors,” Vivian said, climbing down, careful not to slip in the pools.

  They left the store. Nobody paid them any attention, though there were plenty of red faces, and a lot of pants tented on men as they passed. When they reached Vivian’s car, she opened the trunk and realized something was missing.

  “My marshmallows,” she said.

  Monica saw the bigger problem. “Your groceries.” They’d left the store with nothing but a lot of DNA.

  “I’ll go back,” Vivian said. They’d driven separately, so this was goodbye. “You’re going home?”

  “Yes,” said Monica, fishing for her keys.

  “To Tommy?”

  “To Tommy.”

  “The only cock you’ll ever suck, forever and ever.”

  Monica smiled and got in the car, the cum in her hair sticking to the back of her headrest. She looked at Vivian before closing the door.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve had my fill.”

  DECEMBER 12

  WOW, HOLY SHIT. MY WRIST is sore. My pussy is spent. Sam is unconscious. I’ve cum about ten times this morning.

  Last night, my protege (hehe!) Jen sent me the story she’s been working on. It’s called “Christmas Party Pleasures.” Because I haven’t been paying attention, in the past few weeks, Jen has published a bunch of stories. I think this was her eleventh. And it’s HOT. I got halfway through it, rubbed one out, then grabbed Sam because I had to be fucked. Then I finished the story and the rest of this happened.

  The story is a monster — over 10,000 words about an after-hours strip poker game that happens after the office Christmas party. It’s just one long scene, but the buildup is incredible. There are two female leads, Jessie and Taylor. Jessie is reluctant and kind of uptight. Taylor is a slut and reminds me of myself. The whole story is about the process of unwinding Jessie, who reluctantly removes item after item of clothing, sticking around despite her misgivings because she doesn’t trust Taylor, who’s kind of stoned and drunk, to fend for herself with these two jerky guys. And then, after the clothes are off, it devolves into all sorts of new and public experiences, including a bit of carpet-munching by the girls.

  Jen is crazy talented. And she’s also shown another way that she’s different from me.

  I’ve got some ideas brewing in my head, thinking maybe Jen and I could help each other out. I’m farther along and am a great writer; Jen is new and also a great writer. Yet we have totally different styles, and I think that the combination could be like a crazy mash-up. I bring intense action. She brings sensitivity and emotional tension.

  The other thing that’s also bouncing around in my head is the fact that Anticipation, which I don’t think I’ll finish and release until February or March of next year, has struck me as an oddity from the beginning. It’s very domestic and sweet, and totally unlike my other stuff. Yet strangely, it’s similar in tone to Jen’s.

  I’ll keep tabs on all of this, but for right now I’m still working on the Tucker Max story and laughing my ass off!

  DECEMBER 15

  LISTENING TO JOHNNY, SEAN, AND Dave’s podcast has, I think, totally changed my game. I’ve emailed Sean a few times, even after the Tucker thing, and it now looks like I’ll be on their show in the next month or so. Sean said he looked at my stuff and saw how familiar it all looked… because I’ve been learning from these guys and copying their styles. So I’m kind of a case study. It’ll be awesome to be on the show… as Lexi, of course, rather than Autumn. Have to maintain some degree of anonymity.

  But in addition to the fact that I’ve already followed a lot of their publishing model and have seen amazing growth because of it, I want to do more. I’ve gotten a lot of traction with my short stories, but Bitten was such a hit and 50 Shades of Lexi Maxxwell is doing well, so I really want to work on bigger and better stuff.

  I’m finished with the first Tucker Max story… and I say “first” because I want to write another two. That was tons of fun. So I want to do more of that. I want to write more books. I want to write a serial. Hell, I was talking to Jen the other day and she said that she’s doing a serial, because she’s been copying the guys too, and copying me. Her stories have been clustered under the name Filthy Dirty Normal, with “Normal” being the name of the city where all of these outwardly “normal” characters are secretly all “filthy dirty” behind closed doors (get it?). A bit like what I’ll be doing next year with Naughty USA (I decided to add to Swallowing Secrets and Sex and Money with another couple of chapters, then put them all under the brand, “Naughty USA”) but hers is more of an allegory about honesty in sexual expression, I think, and the funny thing is that it echoes what I write… from the less slutty side. Anyway, she wants that to be a serial in 2013 too.

  I really like Jen. I think we should work together in 2013 too, as part of this “bigger and better” plan.

  DECEMBER 26

  HAD A MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS. Sam and I got a tree without many low branches so we could fuck under it. It was my idea. I wrapped myself like a present, totally naked with this big red bow across my tits and hips, and Sam came in and fucked me around the giant red bows. Then he did the same, but instead of being sexy, it was hilarious and a charming sort of stupid. He’d re-used one of the bows, which was kind of gross because he’d cum all over it the first time, and had tied it around his cock. But he’d mis-timed his surprise and fell asleep instead. By the time I found him his dick had gone all limp and the bow had fallen off. So I started rubbing him really slowly, getting him hard without waking him up, and then climbed up just as slowly. He woke up balls-deep inside me after several minutes of what was probably a very realistic wet dream, and when he woke up he looked al
l confused and came immediately.

  DECEMBER 28

  I FUCKED TUCKER MAX PART 2 is almost finished. This one is even more hilarious than the first. The scene with the old guy and the open window and the flying jizz had me LOL’ing even as I wrote it. Tucker reviewed part 1 and said that he liked it but that my instincts suck when it comes to how he and his friends interact and talk. So he re-wrote those parts, which is so awesome, I don’t even know what to say.

  I’m totally psyched about the new year. Have a bunch of stuff plotted and planned. It’s really hard to keep track of how much I want to do in 2013, so I printed a calendar and tried to fill it all in, even though I know most of it will probably change.

  One thing I put on the calendar is a series of projects with Jen. I’ve discovered that she’s plenty capable of being totally filthy, based on some trial writing we did. And she writes as fast as I do… maybe as fast as the guys we stalk on the podcast.

  One of the things we’re going to do is a project that makes me cry with laughter every time I think about it: Filthy Fairly Tales. We’re going to take old classics, then make them fuckified and all squishy with cum. The outlines I’ve already started to write are FUCKING HILARIOUS. Here’s a paragraph from the outline I sent to Jen for “Snow White and the Seven Kinky Dwarves”: