I awoke to feel him pushing himself into me. I was on my front. I drew my head up by pulling my elbows up under my breasts.

“Uhhh, please, not so hard.”

He drove his cock back into me knocking the breath out of me.

“You know you love it rough.”

No, I thought, you love it rough. I still had a little lube in me from when he spent himself inside me last night.

“Please Martin, it hurts.”

Intro

Marian had never made a secret of her disapproval of Sarah, her daughter’s choice in husband. Sarah was her only child and she only wanted what was best for her, Jason just wasn’t it. He was an artist, a musician she had met in college. Always writing songs, trying to get a breakthrough as he wrote, composed, played or just listened to music for inspiration. She was convinced he had no chance of succeeding and was just throwing his own and Sarah’s future away chasing a dream.

This story is set after the events that happened in the final Chapter of Beverly Taff's The Feminine Queendom 90
She kindly gave her permission for me to post this.

The election is less than a year away. The Queen has found a leader for a new party to oppose the existing Feminista parties. The polls show that many women and men won't vote against the feminist parties, for fear of reprisal. Peter has been injured saving a police officers life. His bravery has capture the attention of the nation. The Queen needs to find a way to use this to her advantage.

There never was the possibility of light at the end of my tunnel because my world was so dark I had never been able to see the tunnel.

The following story takes place in the Arctic Fox universe, but at this moment isn’t part of canon. It may be later, but I haven’t decided on that. For now, consider it a ‘what if’ story.

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays.

Thank you to Malady for his help editing, and as usual, bouncing my ideas off of.

Your help is much appreciated!

--Rosemary

This isn’t your usual BigCloset story. It started out as an oral story, a tale to tell on a story-telling evening. So you have to imagine that you’re hearing me tell this story to a group of people at night by the fireside.

I wondered what he would look like in basketball shorts...?

This story is set after the events that happened in the final Chapter of Beverly Taff's The Feminine Queendom 90
She kindly gave her permission for me to post this.

The election is less than a year away. The Queen has found a leader for a new party to oppose the existing Feminista parties. The probelm now is the police force. Being riddled with hard core feminists they may oppose any changes she makes.

This is a little Christmas Present for my readers. It is a tale from Sunny Australia - Beautiful one day; fantastic the next.
Merry Christmas and a very good New Year. I hope to meet you all again in 2022.

Chapter 1 To be …..or not

To be truthful you would have thought that I had it all. Good parents, good school, good siblings, good genes – well – not so good genes I have to say. I inherited more from my mothers’ side than my fathers’. He was a strapping six footer and she was merely five foot four in heels’

The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Fourteen

"You finally caught him?!" said CornFed, impressed.

"Her, actually," said Mike. "Which was only a bit of a surprise. Yeah, we finally caught her and just now got permission to tell folks who helped. Though what was a surprise is that she's a raving looney, and violent on top of that."

"Psychologists and mental health advocates all over the world are wincing at your diagnosis," said CornFed, dryly. "However, we can discuss that later. Please continue."

A family of four who take each other for granted get a chance to walk in one another’s shoes, and clothes, and bodies. Stephen swaps places with his mother Michelle, and Stacy with her father Mark. Was it the fortune cookies? Or that freak lightning strike? Or was it merely what was meant to be?

Niqab
A Short Story included in my Anthology "Romance and Other Battlefields"
By Maryanne Peters

Yaron said that it was the walk which gave the boy away, but as soon as I grabbed the arm of this niqab wearing “woman” I knew that something was wrong. It was not that it was a man’s arm underneath the black fabric – the arm was slim and soft – but it was trembling. I immediately placed my hand in the small of her back, and I felt the packages.