Naughty Bits Ep. 01

Naughty Bits: Episode One

To Sleep, Perchance Wet Dreams

Approx. 5k Words

Author's Note: The Author, Pureotica, is the rightful creator of this content, and asserts all associated rights.

This is a work of fiction. All elements of this content are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to reality is completely accidental.

All characters in erotic scenes are over the age of eighteen, and are above the age of consent in their jurisdiction. All sex acts occur under conditions of informed consent.

Content Notes. This work contains erotic fantasies and solo-girl masturbation without toys. If you're looking for hardcore, this might not be it. IMHO it's pretty hot. I hope you'll stick around, and I think you might enjoy it.

The 'Peeping Tom' scene wasn't planned. It was a riff that just happened when I was writing. I thought it was hot so I left it in.

Naughty Bits is a series I'm starting in order to submit content more reliably. The series is episodic, with each entry a stand-alone piece of short erotica. For the most part, they're just sex scenes with enough connective tissue to hold them together.

My stories tend to grow as I plot, and I don't like to submit longer works piecemeal. I want to give you the best quality I can, and to treat my characters with the proper respect. Since stories tend to change during pre-writing, I'm reluctant to plaster them willy-nilly over the internet. I have content in the pipeline, but I won't deliver it before its time.

This series contains outtakes from longer works, and some original content. Characters may or may not have recurring roles, depending entirely on my creative whims.

This is just for fun, and to give readers something to chew on while I'm writing epic smut-filled doorstops.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy.

Carolina Carter knows she's dreaming.

The crazy train of her subconscious, wanders the labyrinth of imagination. She's lucid, but a passenger, not the engineer. Almost out-of-body, she's an observer of the action, not its guide. Accepting the rules of her dreamland theme park, Linah settles in for the ride.

Some attractions seem solid, while the rest of the dream-verse goes hazy around the edges.

Warm grass tickles her back. Her insides tingle, as if warmed by their own interior sun. The staccato rhythm of her heart taps a timpani against her rib-cage. She doesn't know how she got here, or why she's naked on the open ground. She tries to sit, to grasp a hint of her surroundings.

Her body and arms are pinned by the arbitrary rules of the dream. She can turn her head enough to notice observers.

Cassie stands to one side, long black hair sprouting devil-horns. Cass's face is locked in a smirk, and she's looking particularly smug.

Mama stands aloof, garbed in robes and angel-wings. A tilted halo rides above her auburn puff of loose curls. Her furrowed scowl is obvious.

Apparently, the dream's rules don't accommodate questions. Cass and Mama will be little help. They're spectators, like Linah herself.

Options limited, Carolina settles in to see what happens next.

The film-reel of the dream advances.

A throng appears from nowhere. Linah feels like a lion's feast in a Roman Coliseum. Judged, and found wanting, she's the subject of scorn and future gossip.

Cass's posse cheers, arms raised, dancing in adulation. The mob surrounding Mama hurtles jeers, while thrusting down-turned thumbs.

How the boy got here is beyond Linah's ken.

His face is blurry, an amalgamate of every target of stolen glances at Lakecrest High. Every secret crush harbored in her eighteen years, melded into one impossible dream-boy.

He's naked, like she is. Every inch of his body rips and bulges with toned muscle. He gleams with youthful glow. Her body basks in his warmth.

When her eyes glance over—his thing—she clamps shut and quickly averts them.

Mama smiles at this, offering a contented flutter of her wings. Cass frowns, shaking her head in dismay.

Carolina grew up a knob-kneed, freckled, redhead. Every latent insecurity seethes and bubbles under her skin. She feels exposed, beyond her nakedness. Her soul laid open like a skinned catfish, ready for the fryer. She wishes she could turn away from dream-boy's solar beauty.

But the boy's gorgeousness is relentless, and now his face hovers kissable-close to her own. Their bodies nearly touch. Only her resistance prevents contact.

His—you know—poised and quivering—down there—Linah knows an irrevocable choice is upon her.

Mama and Cass glare at each other, fingers crossed, rooting for opposing outcomes.

Linah seesaws on the fulcrum between timid apprehension and bold desire. Her skin growls with the hunger for touch. Her fear encircles her fragile virginity.

Returning her agency, the dream releases it's hold on her limbs. This is the moment of decision.

Carolina Carter opens her thighs.

#

Wakefulness impacts like a windshield against a face.

Linah's mind buzzes like a kicked hornet's nest. The universe dips, wobbles, and spins around her.

Exposed to reality, dream figments skitter for new hiding places. Disembodied thought-lets scatter like roaches in a flashlight beam.

Linah snaps—bolt upright—into molasses darkness. Mind and body seize like broken clockwork. Her heart drums within her scrawny rib-cage. A ragged wheeze rattles through her windpipe. She grasps a breath, as if it is her newborn first.

The illusionary structure of the dream collapses, fragments clattering throughout her soul. No time to gather them. Figments of her dream evade her memory, unexamined. She sets her mind to task, reassembling the jigsaw puzzle of reality.

Her body tries to right itself in the center of her single bed. The world-in-darkness spins around her, until reality bobbles into place. Linah takes a moment to find her balance on the soft mattress.

Exiled from sleep-land, Linah reclaims her stake in the space-time continuum. Still dark. Somewhere between midnight and daylight. No reason to awaken this early. Eventually she'll chart another path toward slumber.

Splashed into the choppy waters of her interrupted dream, Linah seeks her bearings. She's dog-paddling in the murky time-scape between midnight and dawn. Stuck in a web of light-less black, she can't see a darn thing. A lamp rests on the night-stand at the head of her bed. Taking comfort from its presence, she blindly gropes for it, but resists the urge to turn it on.

Remember. Mama and Daddy's bedroom lies a few paces down the hall. Mama sleeps lightly. Her overprotective instincts are always on high alert. If she knows I'm up, she'll investigate. No point rousing the household at this silly hour. Best to shelter in the dark, for now.

Linah's sinewy—not quite spindly—legs tangle in sweaty sheets. She frees them with a tug and a kick.

Much better. It's so, so hot beneath the covers.

A fresh breeze whispers from a nearby window. The late spring air is balmy, but her sweat-slick nightshirt clings to her form. Damp cotton feels clammy against her skin, irritating every curve and crease. Her sweat's sour stink assails her nostrils. Linah peels the grungy garment over her head, tossing it blind toward the darkened hamper.

Even in the dark, she can hear the rustle of her open curtains. A brush of warmth soothes her denuded skin. The night feathers breathy kisses against the bared skin of her breasts. Her nipples tingle, stiffening in the puffs of her areolae. She resists the impulse to touch them.

Given her A-cup endowment, Carolina always sleeps bra-less.

The cosmos dealt miserly in settling her genetic account. Carolina languishes in a poverty of flesh. Skinny. Her figure marks the boyish end of the girlish spectrum. Parched of fat, nature wastes nothing on her agile frame. Lightly muscled planes glide into gentle, willowy curves. Hipbones carve sharp angles, low on the plane of her belly. To put it bluntly, nothing jiggles when Linah wiggles.

Darn. Here I am, awake in the dark. What should I do with myself?

Carolina sits, cross-legged atop her sheets. She's a whisper away from nakedness. Only a slip of white cotton panty offers a modicum of modesty. Linah feels their cling, snug against the gentle round of her butt.

Icky panties. They're damp with sweat and...

The wind ripples through her room again.

An anxious frisson crawls over her skin. Leaves rustle outside, spiking her tingle of nerves.

Maybe I should close the curtains at night. Think about it. My tiny, nubile body on display. Any creepy peeper can wander by my window. What a show he'd get right now. Thank God the world is night-blind, like me.

She considers closing the curtains, but remains still.

The thought won't rest. Little pinpricks of paranoia poke her consciousness.

She can't shake the image of a phantom stranger, standing beyond her window. There he is, invading the intimate sanctum of her bedroom. Violating her most vulnerable state with his greedy gaze. Feasting on her innocent flesh with those hungry eyes.

She feels like she's six again, wishing she can scamper down the hall to her parents' door. A quick series of timid taps. "Baby what's wrong. There, there." Mama's comforting arms around her, chasing off the specter of another bad dream.

Don't be silly. I'm eighteen now. No one's there. It's only a dream. It's only a dream. It's only a dream.

Linah sinks back into her pillows and tries to relax.

What if he's out there, though? Who does that? Spies on an innocent young woman? Nearly naked in her own bed.

Some pervert with a redhead fetish, I bet. Don't laugh, they're out there. The world is full of degenerates with their filthy kinks. Mama says so, and who am I to doubt?

Maybe I should stop wearing pigtails.

I'm being crazy. No one's there. But he could be—right?

Dirty, dirty perv. I bet he's hard—his thing. Probably massaging it through those black pants he wears on his peeping-Tom excursions.

I should hide beneath my covers, but it's so, so hot. This sultry, sticky air.

I'm almost sorry for the perv. He can't help himself. The thought of me, a little virgin all alone—it's too much for him. He and his redhead fetish. Believe me, they're out there.

I bet he wishes he could get closer to the window. He'd love to get a better view. My willowy body, stretched out my bed. These dainty little panties, barely hiding my girly bits, showing a bare hint of side cheek.

He'd love that, but he can't risk it. Right outside my window, I'd spot him for sure. The perv is hiding in the shadows of the tree.

His thing—it's tender—straining against his zipper like that. It's almost painful—the throbbing—like his dirty prick has its own heartbeat.

Nasty little perv. He can't resist—his redhead fetish, and all. You know they're out there.

What's he thinking? The filthy peeper, taking it out like that. Anyone could see him there, with nothing but the tree for cover. All I have to do, is walk to the window.

Imagine that. The perv—busted—that frozen, wide-eyed look on his face. Caught like that—meaty cock in hand. He's too stunned to stop his strokes. Too caught up in his redhead fetish. He pumps the length of his shaft, devoid of shame.

Lucky for him, I'm distracted. Tossing and turning, alone in the dark, wishing I could sleep.

I'm not sophisticated about these things. I'm an innocent virgin, you know. An ingenue like me? Who am I to suspect this creep, getting off to my unspoiled little body.

The creeper needs to come. He can't hold out much longer. His redhead virgin fetish is too much for his pervy mind.

He wishes I'd fall asleep. He'd love to sneak into my window. Right to the edge of my bed. I don't even know he's there. Fueling his fetish with the vision of my exposed flesh.

I'm sleeping on my belly, oblivious to the threat. He's right there. Entranced by the sight of these little cotton panties.

That's where he wants to come. Right there, on my little bubbled butt. All over those white panties, and the virgin body beneath. He can't help himself. He has a redhead fetish, you know.

#

It's terrible. The things insomnia does to a mind. A stainless, virgin mind, armored in its own purity.

It's the dream.

The dreams always startle Carolina. One moment, she's curled in sleep's feathered nest, the next, she's floundering wide awake. It's not easy, living in the body of a hormonal teen. She wishes she could make it through one night, without these lustful distractions.

The dream came again tonight.

You know. Yes, that one. The sex dream.

Even the thought of sex surfaces in Linah's mind as a whisper.

Meet Carolina's libido—a naughty interloper she refuses to acknowledge. He's like that goofy cousin who always turns up when she's out with friends. Embarrassing her at all the wrong moments. Sex. An annoyance in her life, since he first turned up at puberty. Even here, in the shelter of her own room, Linah distances herself from her desire.

But in her dreams, she can't dodge him. Sex has her at its mercy, while she's a captive audience.

Once, these horny flutters only troubled her while she slept. Now, desire stalks into her waking life—a nag who pesters at his will.

Go away so I can sleep.

I'm sorry Mama. Your precious angel tries so hard to be a good girl. I can't stop these naughty dreams.

Tiny aches of pleasure patter like raindrops through Lina's body. She squirms atop her mattress, wishing sleep would come. Eyes clamped tight, she welcomes tears, anything to wash away these naughty feelings.

How will I ever escape?

Linah remains an innocent. Her eighteen years barely mark her a woman. She's still learning to navigate this grown-up universe. She wanders without a map—a stranger in an alien land.

If only she could duck around a corner, and wait until the impulse picked another soul to bother.

Life goes according plan, but desire threatens to steer her from her plotted course. So much about sex remains hidden in dark waters. She's barely explored its surface, and it awes her. Carolina gives wide berth to the looming iceberg of her sexuality.

Tonight, collision seems inevitable.

Why do these feelings persist? Why this tingling—down there—in my veejay. Why, oh why, can't I ever sleep without these dirty dreams.

Sex churns in Carolina's consciousness. A vortex, spinning in shadowed depths. She trembles at its relentless pull, and wonders at its whelming beauty. Sex is such a mystery. She wishes she could test its waters, without plunging into the maelstrom.

Plucking the cherry. There's such a finality to it, isn't there? No room for buyer's remorse. Better get it right.

Virginity is the most fragile of bubbles, shattered by a single prick. Linah refuses to settle for any-old cock when the time comes.

Sex is a selective process.

Beyond her dreams, Carolina has never seen, nor handled, a cock. Not in the flesh, anyway. Her limited exposure, she owes to Cass, BFF and perennial bad influence.

Cass knows her way around some darker strands of the world wide web. She's shown Linah things—she shouldn't. But Linah's never seen an actual cock. She doesn't count the internet.

Does a blind man miss his sight, having never encountered beauty?

Scales fall away from Linah's eyes. She has a revelation, of sorts. As if she's stumbled over a lovely cock, on the road to Damascus.

Are cocks beautiful?

The thought bursts, unbidden, into Linah's cluttered head. She isn't prone to ponder the aesthetics of cockdom. How does one sort them out. The good, from the bad, and from the ugly. Where is the cutoff? In cock credentials, how good, is good enough?

Pay attention kiddos. This is your brain on lust.

All she wants is to steer her brain toward slumber. All she gets are rebellious hormones, flooding her synapses with pretty cocks. She tries to steer her faculties toward some path less addled by lust.

That's the way of sex. She's never had a cock, but her untouched veejay yearns for one.

Veejay? No—it's a pussy. Come on, Carolina. Say it. Pussy. Pussy. Pussy.

A fledgling, dirty mind takes wing. Here and now, Carolina Carter claims ownership of her desire.

Little girls bury their sexuality in timid euphemisms. Veejays are for children. Empowered women cuss. They speak desire in worthy terms. They cuss about their naughty, dirty cunts.

A surge of newfound power floods her fatigued nerves. Tiredness and anxiety flee. For once, her sexuality is at peace with the rest of her being. She greets her reclaimed pussy on its own terms.

Naughty, naughty, pussy, troubling me so? Can't we come to an understanding? Can't we come together? Can't we come?

Linah wanders through an orchard, overripe with fallen fruit. Forbidden fruit.

How can a woman hunger so? For delicacies yet untasted? Why does my pussy echo with this hollow ache? As if it knows a cock belongs there? As if my body knows, by instinct, the unlearned steps of some primordial dance.

Linah hears the music of desire. Sex—summoning her horny soul like a perverted pied-piper. Its an old song, that every woman learns by heart. Linah's body hums to its rediscovered rhythm. She opens herself to the music.

Desire—new and ancient—forms like a black hole. Linah finds herself captive to its pull. The irresistible force of lust draws the young woman into its gravity well.

Her sex grows thick with lust. A woman's body knows the way. Even virginal, Linah recognizes the inscrutable pang beneath her navel.

Her body knows the tight bud of need, burgeoning within her core. She knows the way of sex. Desire blooms without tending—springing into existence of its own accord.

Linah tosses in her bed, attempting to ignore lust's emergent presence.

If I could just go back to sleep...

It's useless. The more a woman starves desire, the more her hunger gnaws. The tightness in her pussy swells, and swells. She'll have to feed this hunger soon.

I can't take much more. This dirty need.

Desire perches like a magpie on Linah's shoulder. She tries to turn away, but it's always in her face, pecking at the eyeballs of her awareness.

Lust burns like a dying star, ever expanding, to the moment of its fatal collapse. This singularity of need, binding the young woman in its dense attraction. Linah pools her focus into its inescapable gravity. Sex.

A woman's body knows. She must endure this thrumming need. She must. Or she'll lose herself to it.

The rational Carolina knows better. She understands the myriad reasons she should turn back. This hunger is fire. It only grows, and grows, consuming all in its path. She knows she can't outlast the flames.

I can't take this need.

Linah's hunger yowls like a slavering hound, yapping at her fleeing heels. Desire is gaining ground. She hears the snapping of jaws, so close she can taste lust's fevered breath. She'll never outrun desire.

Linah surfs the nimbus of a raging sun, riding its corona toward an inevitable wipe-out. She can't escape the relentless pull of her need. A solar storm of gnawing madness churns below her. Lust threatens to swallow her whole, and she's plunging toward it, nearing terminal velocity.

Forgive me, Mama. I'm going to fall.

Resistance exhausted, Linah faces her desire, and swan dives into its depths.