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“Whitney took me on a ride that made me question all I know about women, relationships and getting laid. What a funny, sexy, nasty little book.” – Patrick Quinlan, author of Smoked.
37 Stories About 37 Women
37 Stories About 37 Women
Fanny Press PO Box 70515 Seattle, WA 98127 For more information go to: www.fannypress.com www.whitney.fannypress.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Cover design by Sabrina Sun 37 Stories About 37 Women Copyright © 2013 by Brian Whitney ISBN: 978-1-60381-506-2 (Trade Paper) ISBN: 978-1-60381-507-9 (eBook) Printed in the United States of America
To Patrick for showing me that it could be done and to Heather for showing me how to do it.
1. Rachel 2. Kristie 3. Katrina 4. Sara 5. Melissa 6. Jennifer 7. Tracie 8. Lori 9. Holly 10. Caitlin 11. Brooke 12. Emily 13. Jessica 14. Erin 15. Amanda 16. Caseylin 17. Jayme 18. Brynne 19. Krystal
1 5 9 13 17 19 21 23 27 31 35 39 41 43 47 51 55 57 59
20. Maria 21. Alison 22. Laurie 23. Brittany 24. Deb 25. Avery 26. Ashley 27. Anna 28. Amy 29. Sarena 30. Shannon 31. Darcy 32. Sean’s Whores 33. Carrie 34. Francesca 35. Michelle 36. Sheri 37. Lindsay
61 63 65 67 69 71 73 77 79 81 83 85 87 91 93 97 99 103
e remembers Brynne better than he should. They only went out for beers once. They fucked maybe three times. He remembers she had a boyfriend who was mean to her so she got a little studio in town. That she was a bit overweight and that her breasts and ass were enormous. It was the most fucked up time of his life ever as far as women went. He was married and having sex with two women at the office. Jenna and Amanda. One he had promised to leave his wife for. Neither woman knew about the other. They were counselors at a social service agency. One day Brynne came in wearing one of those straw hats that young women wear when they want to show they are free and not corporate stereotypes. He stole it. Other than that, they had no contact, really, but soon they talked, and he decided the best course of action would be to tell her that he was cheating on his wife with two of her coworkers. Jenna and Amanda. Because honestly he simply did not have the energy to do it any other way. Oddly enough this worked. Soon thereafter they were fucking in her little studio. The only two details he really remembers from these encounters are 1—that you’d think an ass as big as hers would be jigglier, and 2—that the look she gave him when she put him in her mouth, which was supposed to be sexy, in reality made him cringe.
That’s how it would go. Brynne on top, with him shaking her tits around vigorously while she moaned and yelled, then him giving it to her from behind as he wondered why an ass as big as hers didn’t jiggle more as he spanked it. (Seriously, why?) The big finish was her on her knees, sucking him off and trying to look up at him in a sexy way while he tried not to giggle. All, you’d think, forgettable shit. But the reason he really remembers her so well is this: He was cheating on his wife with three women at once. All of whom worked together. One who thought he was going to leave his wife and marry her. Two who didn’t know about the other two. And one chubby formerly straw-hatted young woman who knew he was fucking three other women. He could get nothing done. His life had become nothing but a bad porno. All three of them constantly cycled in and out of his office. He would go into Jenna’s office and put his cock in her mouth, then go into Amanda’s and do the same. Then at lunch he would go to Brynne’s, and she would get on her knees for him. It is at times like this when a person is no longer in any doubt that he is completely and totally out of control. He knows that his job will soon be gone. He knows that his marriage will soon be over. His marriage to a good woman, a good friend. That he will lose his dog. That he will lose his house. He knows that all of these things will happen. And he knows that the proverbial straw will be the chubby girl who used to wear a straw hat. Until he stole it and threw it away.
id it last three years or more? I can’t remember how long. I do remember I would build it up when you were away. You were nineteen when it started and I was thirty-six, I think. Married, of course. In emails I would fill your head with words telling you how I missed you and that I could not wait to see you over Thanksgiving break. But then usually when you came home I would just see you once. For an hour or so. This confused you and made you sad but once you went back to college I would begin again. I would appease you and fill those lonely nights away with something to look forward to when you came home. The fact that you had no boyfriend, or that maybe sometimes you didn’t fit in at this exclusive college in California was diluted by my words and the idea that there was something “different” in your life. Something your rich college friends wouldn’t understand. For me when you came home I felt as if I had to back up everything I’d written, when in reality I was really just enjoying keeping you. Sort of like an object on a shelf that one doesn’t really enjoy but impresses dinner guests. When you were away you made my boring marriage seem more exciting but when you were there I just wanted to hide. Not because I didn’t like fucking you. I did. It was more having to live up to all the bullshit I had been saying when in reality as soon as I fucked you I became sated and could easily
have waited another six months. While you wanted to lie in my arms and talk, I could not wait to leave. I did love one thing, though. I loved how you had no bedroom when you visited your mom. You slept on a mattress under the stairs on the first floor, where there was an open space. Your mom was a nurse and slept upstairs. She worked nights so just about every time I fucked you—right out in the open, beneath the stairs—your mother was sound asleep upstairs. It was incredibly easy to get you off. You were my type— a ridiculous round ass, silly boobs, a little belly for me to slap. You came quickest on top and when you did you would hold your arms up and make this odd little sound, trying to keep quiet so your mom would not wake and look down the stairs and see you riding my cock. It was sexy taking you like that. I often used to wonder what your mother looked like, whether I could meet her somehow, date her when you were away. Then, while you slept at the foot of the stairs, maybe I could fuck her, too. Maybe, when she started to come, I could pull my scarf around her neck a little tighter. So that she would not wake her daughter. If I’d been fucking your mom, I would have wanted to see you a lot more. Promise.
et’s do a timeline. Year one: You have a boyfriend, he has a wife. You meet at work. You are a law student intern. He works with prisoners. Krystal who is also an intern, works mornings, you work in the afternoon. You start to flirt then you meet at lunch for long drives. You often go to the this little nature preserve close by and sit in the parking lot, where he gets you off with his hand and you suck him off. You stop having sex with your boyfriend. It doesn’t seem right anymore. You fuck him. Sometimes at your place, sometimes on the ground at the nature preserve. You bring a blanket. You can’t stop thinking about him. Year two: You and your boyfriend split up. In large part because of your secret relationship. Now that you have your own place you and he fuck more often. A few times a week. He blows you off a lot, though. He will tell you that he is coming and then not show up. He does this at least once a week. The more he feels removed the more you feel obsessed. Year three: He is now thinking of leaving his wife. He starts to choke you and hit you a little bit while he fucks you. Since you are compliant he starts to choke you more to the point that you are almost unconscious. You’re a lawyer, now. Sometimes you go to work with bruises on your throat. He can’t seem to get
off anymore unless he is choking you out. You start asking him to hit you. Not hard, just enough that you see stars. Often now he comes over and you don’t fuck. You just kiss him from head to toe and then suck him off and lick his balls while he beats off. You ask him to insult you and tell you how stupid and unattractive you are. He does. You like feeling worthless. It makes you feel safe. Year four: You call him Master. He has handcuffs for you and a leash. As soon as he walks in he starts commanding you. He tells you to kneel. To kiss his feet. He walks you on a leash around your apartment and kicks you in the ass as he does it. He asks you to buy chloroform for him over the Internet. You do. He chloroforms you and ties you to a chair. He chokes you out so hard that at times you think you are going to die. He won’t be with his wife much longer. Year five: He is your Master. Sometimes he just puts you on a leash and has you stand next to the bed as he masturbates. He has you write, “Brian is my Master” five hundred times on a piece of paper and leave it in your mailbox for him to pick up. He has you steal things from one of your attractive lawyer coworkers. He emails you what to wear and whether or not he wants you to pull back your hair. He asks you to give him five thousand dollars. You don’t have it but he accepts three thousand five hundred in cash. He counts it as you suck him off. Year six: He leaves his wife for another woman and doesn’t tell you.
$11.95 Fiction/Short Stories
prisoner, a waitress, a virgin, a psychic …. These are a few of the 37 women featured in Brian Whitney’s slim but potent debut collection. Told through the points of view of sex addicts and their willing victims, these stories seduce the reader with their spare, rhythmic prose and hypnotic storytelling. Whitney reveals the dark side of relationships in permissive times—the drugs, the scamming, the cheating, the neediness, the love that somehow survives it all. Erotic, unflinching, surprisingly perceptive, this book will change forever the way you view the battle of the sexes.
hitney is currently working on his second collection of stories, 13 Stories about 13 Sex Addicts.
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