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Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition
Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition
Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition
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Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition

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With 15 rain-soaked stories and 7 storm-inspired poems, the Special Hurricane Relief Edition of the serial anthology Coming Together proves that water cannot put out some fires. All royalties from the sales of this volume will be donated to the American Red Cross for disaster relief efforts. Coming Together is "erotic altruism" at its finest!

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 24, 2009
ISBN9781452311357
Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition
Author

Alessia Brio

Take one part Appalachian redneck, one part aging wet dream, and one part filthy-minded wordsmith. Mix well and serve with chocolate-covered cherries. There you have the one and only Alessia Brio. Alessia writes all colors and flavors of erotica, from heterosexual to menage to same sex, and from twisted to humorous to deeply touching. (Sometimes, usually by accident, it even qualifies as romance.) Her work has earned her critical acclaim in the form of a few EPIC eBook Awards for Best Erotica, a couple Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and a Romantic Times Top Pick in addition to a plethora of glowing online reviews.Not all of Alessia's publications are allowed here on Smashwords due to censorship. Readers interested in the full catalog are encouraged to visit her label's website at www.PurpleProsaic.com

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    Book preview

    Coming Together - Alessia Brio

    Coming Together

    the erotic cocktail

    special

    Hurricane Relief

    edition

    edited by

    Alessia Brio

    Coming Together:

    Special Hurricane Relief Edition

    edited by

    Alessia Brio

    Copyright © 2009 Alessia Brio

    All digital rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

    Cover art © 2009 Alessia Brio

    This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

    A Coming Together Production

    http://www.EroticAnthology.com

    Smashwords edition

    https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/comingtogether

    License Notes

    Piracy robs authors of the income they need to be able to continue to write books for readers to enjoy. This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of ONE reader only. This ebook may not be re-sold or copied. To do so is not only unethical, it's illegal. This ebook may not be forwarded via email, posted on personal websites, uploaded to file sharing sites, or printed and distributed. To share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each intended recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you, please notify the author immediately. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this—and every—author.

    This is a collection of erotic fiction & poetry

    intended for the enjoyment of adult readers.

    Please keep out of the hands of children.

    * * * *

    Other works in the Coming Together series:

    Coming Together: The Erotic Cocktail

    v1 ~ v2 ~ v3

    Coming Together: Special Memorial Edition

    Colleen Thomas

    Coming Together: For Gabrielle

    Coming Together: For the Cure

    Coming Together: Under Fire

    Coming Together: With Pride

    Coming Together: Al Fresco

    Coming Together: Against the Odds

    Coming Together: At Last

    v1 ~ v2

    Coming Together: For Her

    This special edition of

    Coming Together

    is dedicated to the victims

    of all weather-related disasters,

    particularly those

    of Hurricane Katrina

    Table of Contents*

    Foreword (Victoria Blisse)

    Preface (Alessia Brio)

    Introduction (G.C. Rider)

    Disclaimers

    Wave Length (© Lauren Hynde)

    The Fury (© Sherry Hawk)

    Thunder Beach (© Dranoel)

    Identity (© Liar)

    Wet Panties? (© Will Belegon)

    Ridden Tempest (© Harley Stone a/k/a Lucky-E-Leven)

    Deluge (© Vella)

    it's raining (© Jamison Landry)

    Encore: Passadumkeag Waltz (© Dave Edgar a/k/a cantdog)

    A Storm in Time (© Savannah Reardon)

    When It Rains, It Pours (© Gabrielle Miel a/k/a Honey123)

    Wetter Has Never Been Better (© Alessia Brio)

    Katrina Dances (© Moonlight Elf / Luna Fae)

    Nouveau Soleil (© Rebecca Leah)

    Katrina (© Wicked Eve)

    Heather's Baptism (© Justanne Farrow)

    Curiosity is not becoming, Kajira (© Alex de Kok)

    Grande Dame (© Boo Merengue)

    A Break in the Storm (© Pat Daniels)

    Riding the Rain (© Duel Citizen)

    Romance of Atlantis (© Blue Rains)

    Tsunami (© Dr. Mabeuse)

    About the Authors

    Copyright Acknowledgments

    * poetry is italicized

    Foreword

    The language used to describe orgasms is often powerful, wild, and evocative. It pulls on the imagery of storms. Words like deluge and flood are used to describe the physical release of the sexual act. Stormy eyes lead to wet panties and then to thunderous orgasms.

    Sex and storms are closely connected in the minds of many.

    However, the reality is that some storms are not sexy. Some storms destroy livelihoods, lands, and lives. Some storms happen on such a massive, unexpected scale that they cause total chaos.

    Hurricane Katrina was one of the extreme examples of this kind of natural disaster. This powerful storm smashed into a 90,000 kilometer area off the Gulf coast of America in the fall of 2004. It all but destroyed several towns and villages as well as the well known jazz capitol, New Orleans. The damage was catastrophic, and it will take years to rebuild all that has been damaged.

    Hundreds of thousands of Americans became refugees, seeking the very basics of sustenance: food, water, clothing, and shelter. They battled just to live—just to survive—and all they really wanted was to go home. Unfortunately, for many it was an impossible dream.

    When the denizens of the Author's Hangout at Literotica.com® heard about this, they naturally wondered, as we all did, how they could help. They pooled their expertise, their skills, talents and inspiration, and created this special edition of Coming Together. All the proceeds from the sale of this volume will go to the American Red Cross to help provide aid to those who most desperately need it.

    So you can do something to help. You have already done something to help just by purchasing this collection of rainy day erotic stories and storm-inspired poetry. We all can do something. We all have talents that we can use to help, and we can make a difference simply by doing what we can: by not thinking individually, but collectively—by coming together.

    ~ Victoria Blisse

    a/k/a English Lady

    www.victoriablisse.co.uk

    Preface

    Coming Together was conceived online in the Literotica.com® Author's Hangout. It is the result of many hours of collaboration between some very talented authors, poets, and illustrators who have (ahem) come together to produce a scintillating erotic cocktail.

    In each volume of this serial, the reader may partake of a variety of intoxicating spirits: group sex, romance, both hetero- and homosexual romps, humor, incest, bondage, anal sex, dominance/submission, fantasy, and fetish. While each individual ingredient may not suit the tastes of every reader, the savory combination of flavors is sure to stir every imagination.

    Proceeds from the sale of this special edition of Coming Together will be donated to the American Red Cross for Hurricane Katrina relief and recovery efforts.

    So, join us in a toast: to sex!

    Bottoms up,

    ~ Alessia Brio

    Editor

    www.alessiabrio.com

    Introduction

    Death and sex. Disaster and sex. It seems that personal tragedy requires affirmation of life. When faced with the apparently random acts and displays of unparalleled puissance and anonymous destruction, what bigger affirmation do we poor people know that has the same intimacy, the same energy, the same shout-it-from-the-rooftops-we-are-here, as the act of physical love?

    We pour our love, our hot volatile need, our gentle but urgent persuasions towards, around, and into our partner of the moment: wishing, hoping and anticipating our reward. That small, endless, titanic, momentary reward which leaves us less and increases us greatly. Knowing our variously voracious or inconsequently insipid appetites can never be filled we nevertheless contrive to partake of it again.

    In that act, that race towards orgasm, that outpouring of lust, we defy nature, scream at the stars, and challenge the cosmos to do its damnedest.

    And so, be it by acts of sexual abandon, gentle love, or basic urges, we declaim to an uncaring universe: We are alive. We thrive. We will continue.

    ~ G.C. Rider

    Disclaimers

    Coming Together is a compilation of erotic fiction and poetry. It is solely intended for persons of legal majority.

    Please note that Coming Together contains works of fiction in which the characters may not practice safe sex. The authors and poets featured in this volume of Coming Together encourage all readers to act responsibly and to take appropriate precautions against both unwanted pregnancy and the transmission of disease.

    For resources and frank discussion about safe sex practices, we refer the reader to the Coalition for Positive Sexuality at www.positive.org.

    Wave Length

    © Lauren Hynde

    They dance on the beach

    where tides succeed

    and draw patterns

    upon their bodies and

    on the hard dance floor

    (sea's antidote of salt and iodine

    and droplets of sweat)

    in abandoned motions

    they dance since crepuscule

    and they may dance till dawn

    but they will not dance

    after tonight

    masks of foam

    disintegrate by light and rend

    their skins defenceless

    to the erosion of sea and time;

    some say the wind

    won't be back to this beach

    so soon, unable to breach

    the opaque wall of algae

    and with no wind,

    essence of lightness,

    of all aerial progression,

    all dance will cease

    their metrical ballet has

    the weight of consciousness

    and the elegance

    of time-proved lovers;

    their subtle gestures

    forever imprinted in their skin

    will resist the attrition of reality

    and seek the following night

    in successive curves of the body

    that will define their own

    as they melt in a chorus:

    dance and remembrance.

    ~ ~ ~ ~

    The Fury

    © Sherry Hawk

    I looked out the window at the sky growing dark with storm clouds, and uneasily wondered why my husband wasn't home yet. I love storms, but this one had been called dangerous more than once on the weather forecasts, and the scenes of devastation it had left behind in the areas it had already gone through were frightening. The wind whistled through the trees next to the house, growing louder and louder every minute, starting to become almost a muted roar. I paced, watchful and worried, in front of the big picture window in the living room, chanting, Come on, come on, like a mantra to bring him home safely.

    Finally, I saw headlights turn into our driveway at the far end. Relief washed over me, almost leaving me limp, and I went out on the back porch as he pulled his truck around to the back of the house. He came bounding up on the porch, soaking wet, and shaking the rain out of his hair.

    I'm glad you're home. I was beginning to get worried! We've got to get the horses in the barn before it gets any worse. I was almost having to shout over the wind howling through the massive oak trees behind the house.

    Okay, babe. Give me just a second, and we'll go round them up.

    I ducked back into the house, grabbing my oilskin, and then whistled up the dogs to help get the horses towards the barn. Our horses have never liked being cooped up, and I knew that with the weather as bad as it was, they would be skittish and hard to handle. I looked down at my Australian shepherd, Taz, and pointed out towards the pasture. Go get 'em!

    He took off like a shot, ears laid back against his head in the driving rain and tail up like a flag behind him. Trixie, his female counterpart, took off after him, and I knew it was just a matter of time before I saw the horses topping the rise at the end of the pasture, relentlessly being driven towards the barn by the dogs.

    Martin rejoined me on the back porch after grabbing his own oilskin, and we tugged the collars up around our necks as we ventured out into the forty-mile-an-hour winds and the rain that was coming down so hard it stung when it hit my cheek. The huge pine trees behind the barn seemed to bend almost parallel to the ground, and I started to worry about one of them coming down on top of the old barn. I wordlessly pointed them out to Martin, knowing that my voice would be lost in the roar of the weather around us, and he nodded. He knew, like I did, that there was little we could do to prevent any damage this storm chose to inflict on us.

    At the barn, the storm seemed to conspire against me as I struggled to open the small side door. Once I had it open, it was snatched from my grasp by a gust, and slammed back into the side of the structure. It was a little quieter in the barn, but it only served to highlight the creaks and groans wrung from the old building by the storm.

    While Martin struggled to pull the door closed behind us, I made my way down the aisle of the barn to the sliding doors, intending on getting them open so the horses could easily come inside once the dogs had them headed this way. I slid the door to the side just in time to see the horses top the hill to the side of the barn at a gallop, head high, nostrils flared, and the two dogs nipping at their heels.

    I stepped to the side as Taz and Trixie herded them inside, and turned to see that Martin had the stall doors open. Each horse had headed to its own stall, snorting and blowing.

    They feel it, don't they? I almost yelled at Martin as I watched my gelding, Striker, paw at the stall gate, tense muscles highlighted in his chesnut neck.

    I haven't seen it this bad in years! he yelled back, busy throwing hay into each horse's stall, and checking to see that they all had water.

    Are you sure they'll be okay in here? What if one of those pines comes down on the barn?

    Martin looked out the door of the barn, and nodded his head at a lightning strike that arced out of a sky that had turned a sickly greenish-yellow. It struck the ground perilously close to us. They need to be in here. Out there, they'll be under the trees...and may get hit. They may not be happy, but they'll be safer here.

    I helped him check the last couple of stalls, and then resigned myself to the trek back to the house in the rain. Even though the air was relatively warm, the rain was icy cold and would manage to find its way under my coat to drench me in seconds. I motioned to the dogs to stay, and nodded to Martin that I was ready. We ducked out of the side door, and it took two of us this time to get it closed. Martin swung the latch, and I turned to head back to the house. We both took off at a trot, holding our oilskins closed and hunching our shoulders against the rain. We made it about halfway to the house when thunder roared right above us, and the crackle of lightning made the hair stand up on my arms. A deafening crack sounded, and I looked up to see half of one of our massive oak trees leaning impossibly.

    Martin dived for me, and pulled me to the side as half the oak came crashing down where I had stood seconds before. He yelled in my ear, Tornado! and forcibly turned my head to make sure I saw.

    I looked towards the pasture and saw a dark finger reaching out of the strange sky towards the ground. It didn't seem real, and I probably would have stayed frozen there to the ground, but Martin grabbed me and pushed me towards the creek. We have to get to lower ground!

    I stumbled towards the creek, almost unable to see where I was going through the downpour—and still deafened by the thunder seconds before. Martin dragged me, forcing me to keep up with him, until I reached the short bank above the creek and fell about three and a half feet to the creek bed below. Martin was right behind me, and he pulled me up against him as we huddled against the small overhang that seemed to be our only shelter for the moment. I was shaking, not because I was cold, but because I had seen the damage tornados can do in a split second, and we now had one bearing down on us quickly.

    A rumble started getting louder, vibrating through my body, sounding like a freight train flying through the air above us, and again I noticed the sickly color of what sky that I could see between ominous, dark clouds.

    Put your head down! Martin yelled in my ear, and I ducked my head down against his chest. His arms went around me, squeezing me almost uncomfortably tight. I felt him put his head down next to mine, pulling us both against the steep bank and the meager shelter it offered. The crackle of almost constant lightning strikes left negative images on my retinas. Not being able to make sense of the chaos around me, I shut my eyes and prepared for the worst.

    For a moment, it almost seemed that the wind died a little, and I thought for a split-second that we had dodged a bullet. I was wrong. The fury had only taken a short breather, and when it resumed it was worse that before. The noise seemed inside me, making my whole body resonate with the chaos. I could feel Martin's arms tight around me: my anchor to the earth. The rest of me was consumed by the storm.

    Time dragged. The scream of the wind seemed about to burst my eardrums, and then it got just a degree quieter. I thought that I had to be mistaken, but after a moment I realized that I was right. The chaos in the air was almost imperceptibly slowing. I finally dared to raise my head and open my eyes and was greeted with a landscape that was vastly different than it had been when I had last seen it.

    The oak that had cracked in front of us looked like something from a war zone. Half of it was still standing exactly like it had been, the other half had been twisted from it, turned upside down, and slammed back into the ground. It had taken part of the barbed wire fence with it, and wire stuck out at weird angles from the tree itself. There were pine trees down in the pasture, looking almost like dominos in the uniform way they had fallen, one right after the other, and the shed where we had kept the riding lawn mower and yard tools was completely gone. The wood from it was probably two counties away. The rain had faded to a slow drizzle now that the wind wasn't flinging it this way and that.

    Martin was gazing around at our reconfigured yard, amazed we had escaped with just a few scratches. He finally looked at me and asked, Are you okay?

    I nodded, my mouth too dry from the terror-fueled adrenaline rush to speak. He brushed my hair back from my face, and looked directly into my eyes, You sure?

    I coughed and finally found my voice. Yeah, I'm okay, just scared, that's all.

    He pulled me roughly to him, leaned his chin on my shoulder, and I heard him say, very quietly, I was scared, too, babe.

    Martin kissed my cheek, then moved his lips to mine. He kissed me very gently—as if afraid I would bruise—and then his kiss deepened, and I kissed him back with a passion and urgency that surprised me. The adrenaline in my body came surging back, not in reaction to danger this time, but riding tandem with an overwhelming urge to feel his body over mine.

    I leaned back onto the mud of the creek bank, pulling him with me. His lips never lost contact with mine, and he groaned into my mouth with a need that matched my own. I could feel his cock even through all the clothing, hard against my belly. Martin raised up long enough to undo my jeans, and then my hands were with his on my hips, pushing my jeans down and off my legs. The mud underneath me was infinitely more welcome than my soaking clothes had been. Then, my hands met his again at the waist of his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper in our haste to reassure ourselves we were alive.

    Again, he was on me—his weight a blessing—and his lips on mine. Martin pushed my t-shirt up and fastened his lips around my nipple. The contrast of the chill drizzle of rain and the heat of his mouth brought chill bumps to my skin. I reached between us and held his cock in my hand, heavy and familiar, and then guided him to me. It was my turn to groan when I felt him push into me.

    He pulled back briefly and whispered, Babe, I don't think I can go slow...

    I hushed him with a finger over his lips and whispered back, I don't want you to go slow. I arched my back, trying to draw his cock deeper into me, and his body answered mine. He sat back and hooked his arms under my knees, lifting my ass up to him, and started driving his cock into me—hard. I held on to his upper arms, trying to find leverage to fuck him back, needing him so badly it was frightening.

    He released my legs, and brought one of his hands around to my pussy, seeking, and then finding, my clit. His touch was all it took to send me sliding over the edge of an orgasm, screaming my pleasure to the clouds. He fucked me through my orgasm, and I could feel my pussy clenching tightly around his cock.

    I heard him groan, Oh, damn...babe... and then he put his arms back in place behind my legs and lifted me up to meet his thrusts.

    C'mon, baby, I gasped, fuck me. Give it to me.

    The sound of our wet bodies meeting, hard and fast, was a charm against danger. Martin threw back his head, letting the rain wash his face, and I felt him get larger inside me. He slammed his cock into me, over and over, until he felt me start to tighten around him again in another impending climax. With a shout, he came deep inside me, and I went with him, a sweet release.

    I pulled him back down to me and kissed him, slowly and sweetly, and then wrapped my arms around him, his weight familiar and comforting on me. He put his head next to mine on the ground, and said, I love you, baby.

    I love you, too, I answered. Then I felt the gentle benediction of the rain on my face and knew the chaos had been pushed back—and kept away from me—once again.

    ~ ~ ~ ~

    Thunder Beach

    © Dranoel

    A tear rolled down her cheek. She stared for a long moment. Another tear fell, then another. Then it was like rain. She remained silent.

    I was at a loss; unable to discern her emotions. I began to think I had, once again, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. All through my life, I seemed to have had a knack for it: an inappropriate joke when I should have been serious or serious when I should have just laughed and let it go. I began to feel that familiar pain—that pain that accompanies the heart being torn apart.

    * * * *

    It was our first real vacation together. We had been seeing each other for nearly a year and while we had spent many nights together—and a weekend here and there, this was the first time we had a chance to be together for an extended period of time.

    I was nervous at first. Could we spend that much time in constant contact without hating each other? Would I get on her nerves? For weeks before I wracked my brain searching for bad habits, studying everything I did, trying to find the slightest thing that would turn her away. Finally I realized, if she loved me those things would mean nothing, and if she had flaws they were already lost to me.

    Our week together had been perfect. We flew to St. Thomas, where I had booked a condo on the north side of the island overlooking Magen's Bay. Between the beach, snorkeling, tours to Blackbeard's Castle, and all the resorts amenities, we stayed pretty busy—never leaving each other's side and making love anywhere and anytime we could get away with it.

    Now, on our last night here, I knew it was time to make that final commitment. We went to dinner at The Petite Pump Room in Charlotte Amalie, where I requested a quiet booth in the corner. During dinner she snuck her hand into the pocket of my slacks, caressing and squeezing my excited manhood through the cloth of my pocket. I looked her in the eyes and whispered, What you are looking for is not in there.

    She looked confused, Oh, I'm pretty sure I want this.

    I'm sure you do, but I think there is something more you want, and it is not in my pants.

    She continued her ministrations while looking even more confused. I repeated, What you are looking for is not in there. You might try looking in my shirt pocket.

    She tugged her hand out of my pants and sat for a moment, simply staring at me. Her hand went to my left breast pocket and slipped inside, her curious stare transformed into an expression of genuine shock. Her jaw dropped, mouth agape, she slowly retrieved the ring from my pocket and sat staring at it. That's when the tears began to fall.

    She

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