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Myra's most personal private asset is a stunner, and she's about to put it on display in a highly unusual beauty pageant. Fortunately, art photographer Craig has what it takes to prepare Myra for the most memorable adventure of her life...

Myra is my name.

If you had told me a year ago that I was going to enter a vagina pageant, I would have laughed in your face.

But here I am telling you my most improbable story.

I’m a slender, fit, dark-haired Caucasian woman, late twenties, average height, modest breasts, and a nice enough face. The featured attraction is definitely the super-toned body. I really take care of myself. I’m in the gym every day for at least an hour, toning and working the abs. I love working out and take pride in my body.

I also like looking at photos of other fit bodies, male and female, clothed and unclothed.

Several websites are great for that but my favorite publishes nude photos and selfies that men and women voluntarily submit. The website has a system for categorizing photos so you can find what you are looking for fairly easily, like blonde, redheads, brunettes, tall, short, big breasts, small breasts, well-endowed men, toned abs, and so forth.

This is where my story gets a little weird.

I feel like I look as good as any of the ladies posted on the website and decided to submit my own photo. Yup, I really did. I’d never done anything like this before and was nervous about it. I have an excellent camera and bought a tripod because I wanted to do this myself. It’s kind of embarrassing taking naked selfies, but I really got into it.

I wanted to make a classy photo, not just some slutty shot, but I wanted it to be explicit. I decided to shave my lower body. Well, that was pretty erotic in itself. After doing it, I decided I liked it clean like that.

When I’d worked up the nerve, I set the camera on the tripod, stripped naked, applied lotion all over my body, and tried a bunch of poses.

In the photo I ended up submitting, I was wearing oversized dark sunglasses, crouched on my haunches with legs spread, holding a glass of wine, wearing a floppy hat, with a nonplussed look on my face. The camera was low and pointed directly at my newly shaved area, but it also picked up my breasts and face. Sitting in the crouched spread leg position allowed for a compact close up that showed everything.

It was bold and provocative.

And I really liked it.

I modeled the shot after a famous photo of Debra Harry of Blondie fame. It’s the classiest topless photo I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing dark glasses, holding a drink, her fabulous breasts pointing straight ahead, and she’s looking away as if she could care less if anyone was looking. The photo not only made Playboy, it made the Best of Playboy Anthology. It’s really tasteful, and sexy, and Debra Harry just looks amazing.

So I modeled my photo after that except that the focal point is definitely my lower lips, shaved clean, and directly facing the camera.

Anyway, I sent it in.

Imagine my excitement to find my photo anonymously featured two weeks later on my favorite website. And, better yet, I was included with the classiest photos of the most beautiful toned and fit women. I studied them all and decided I could hold my own with any of these women.

Photos are listed by photo only, no names, but there is a place where readers can “like” or “comment”.

So I regularly checked the website to see how my photo was faring. That is, how many “liked” the photo and how many made a “comment.” This is where my story gets even more weird and starts moving us to uncharted territory.

About four hundred photos of nude women were posted on this website. When I posted mine, the most comments a photo had was about one thousand. Most photos had fewer than one hundred. Well, the comments on my photo just exploded and I couldn’t believe it. It was by far the most popular photo of the four hundred posted. I mean, like one year later, when the second most commented photo still had about a thousand comments, I had 23,000, all positive.

Are you kidding me?

I was astonished.

Want to keep reading and find out what happened next to Myra? Click here to order your copy of Kris Kassady's The Pageant - free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers and just $0.99 to buy.

Myra's most personal private asset is a stunner, and she's about to put it on display in a highly unusual beauty pageant. Fortunately, art photographer Craig has what it takes to prepare Myra for the most memorable adventure of her life...

Myra is a young fitness fanatic who enjoys looking at naked men and women. On a whim, she submits a naked selfie to an online photo gallery featuring 300 beautiful nude women. Myra is stunned to learn that the second most popular photo on the site has 1,000 likes, while her photo goes viral with an astonishing 23,000 thumbs up. OMG! Really?

Craig Donnekee is an art photographer who specializes in preparing women for the annual Vagina Pageant. Nicknamed Donkey by his lady friends, he too is stunned by Myra’s amazing asset.

When Myra learns how Donkey got his nickname, an inferno erupts between them.

With Donkey’s coaching, Myra enters the Vagina Pageant, but as the event approaches, the reality of what she’s about to do hits home. Does she have what it takes to do this? Is she really going to put it on display in front of a thousand drunk and rowdy weirdos? And what makes her special part different than the twelve other finalists?

If you like smoking hot erotic shorts with plenty of heart and humor, you’ll love The Pageant. This sexy short story is perfect for a sizzling one sitting read on your favorite couch.

Cecily is a reference librarian. She’s a virgin but she doesn’t want to be. Then Winfield walks into her library…

I saw him immediately when he walked in the door.

As before, his first glance was to see if I was sitting at my usual post, and then he quickly averted his eyes. I, of course, did the same.

If we were going to have a contest on who was more shy, I wished him the best of luck. He’d be up against the shyest person in the universe.

I fidgeted and watched out from the corner of my eye as he settled into the seat he’d been occupying for the last two weeks, the one with the perfect view of me. He’d been coming in at about ten and staying until noon every day that I worked. As was his regular routine, he set his laptop on the table with a bottle of water and began typing. He wasn’t taking notes because he had no books or papers visible. Whatever he was writing was coming directly out of his head. And it appeared to be never-ending, because he typed intensely for two hours, the only exception being when he occasionally glanced my way.

On those few occasions when our eyes met, we both instantly looked away, and I felt the adrenaline rush from our cosmic communication.

We’d only had one verbal exchange, on his first day in the library two weeks before when he approached the reference desk. I saw him coming and thought he looked interesting, but nothing more. My infatuation was not yet underway. He was just another library patron. I looked up and smiled. He smiled back and asked where the restroom was. I pointed in the direction of the restroom, and that was it. The whole dang thing. Our one and only epic communication.

The library lets patrons stay as long as they wish during business hours. So we have the homeless, regular visitors, kids, retirees, folks with disabilities, as well as those enjoying the air conditioning in summer, the heat in winter, the comfort of a soft chair, or the newspapers and magazines in the periodical room. But most come for the free Internet, and I assumed that Ichabod, as I called him, fell into that category.

Aside from his focus at the keyboard, the occasional glance at me, and a regular trip to the restroom, his only other ritual was filling his water bottle at the drinking fountain. Both the restroom and the water excursion involved walking past my desk. During the first week, he’d taken care of both on one trip. But a few days into the second week, he’d started separating them. He now went to the restroom at about eleven and to the water fountain a half hour later. When he got up for either mission, I was highly aware but used all my self-control to not stare.

However, two days before, and for the first time, he smiled at me on both passes. Yesterday, he’d given me a little nod of the head like we knew each other. Baby steps. Maybe by the next millennium, he would figure out an excuse to ask me another question. But he had upped the ante with the smile and nod, and I was resolved to respond in kind. I’d been wracking my brain for two days on the next best step, and I’d finally figured it out. As the eleven o’clock bathroom trip approached, my heart rate elevated, and my hands got clammy. I had a plan and was determined to execute it this morning, even if it went against my every instinct.

I was looking at my laptop and pretending to work, praying that someone did not approach my desk. My heart was pounding, and my hands were a mess. But my plan was in place, and I was determined.

I hoped I wouldn’t throw up all over him. That wouldn’t be a good next move, now, would it? I watched the clock slowly tick its approach to eleven. His trip didn’t always occur right on the hour, but it was usually within five minutes either way. The bewitching hour passed, and I grew more unsettled by the minute.

Finally, he stood and started making his way toward me. He was in his customary black tee shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals. I hadn’t been able to read the art on his shirt, and I was curious. As he approached, I saw it was St. Vincent, a New York rock singer whose real name is Annie Clark. I knew her music and liked her. She had a small but loyal following. The black shirt had a simple photo of Annie centered on the front. Perfect, we had something in common.

As he approached, he looked at me and smiled, extending a little nod. But this time, I stood to join him in his journey. By God, a lady had to go to the bathroom too. So what if our trips down the hall just happened to coincide. Yes, I’m a very clever woman.

When I rose, he looked at me with surprise. I stepped away from my desk and moved out to his side, smiling at him. I had my line prepared. I was determined that we were going to have a conversation.

Either that or I was going to have a heart attack and drop dead on the spot. My heart was beating against my frail rib cage.

I sucked up all the power available to me and let it fly. “So, what are you working on so hard over there?” I almost choked and hoped he didn’t notice.

He looked at me with a nice smile. He acted surprised but pleased. “I’m a writer. Working on a story.” New York accent. That fit with the tee shirt.

“Wow. A writer. How exciting. You’re very into whatever you’re doing.”

We were walking together and having a conversation. And he was a writer. How cool was that? The restrooms were not far, so we didn’t have much time. Fortunately, I didn’t have high expectations.

My goal had been to take the next step and send a positive signal.

Mission accomplished.

Before he could respond, we arrived at our destinations. My door was first, and I went in as he proceeded to his. I didn’t have to go, so I waited calmly until I heard the toilet flush in the men’s room, assuming it was him. Then I washed my hands to approximate the time he might take doing that. I wanted my exit timed so that we’d get a return walk together. I stood at the door, peaking out a crack.

When I saw him appear, I stepped out, and there we were again, together.

I was prepared to ask more about his writing, but he jumped in with his own question, perhaps to divert from the topic, or perhaps to show interest.

“How long have you been a reference librarian?”

It was a lame question, but he hadn’t had much time, so I took it as good faith effort.

“Five years. I got my master’s in library science and landed this job shortly after. So it’s the only job I’ve had in the field, but I like it here.” I wanted to divert it back to him. “How about you, how long have you been writing?”

I asked the question just as we were arriving at my desk. I’d wanted to get a question out so we would have an excuse to stop and talk. He couldn’t walk away from an open question like that. We stopped at my desk to allow his response.

“About five years too. I got my degree in creative writing, and I’ve been driving Uber to make some money. I write in the morning and drive later in the day. Got to pay the bills, you know.”

A struggling young writer. How romantic. I loved that.

“Good for you.” Before he got away, I wanted to send my final message. “I’d love to hear more about your writing, if you’d like to share.”

His face lit up, and my insides warmed. He liked my suggestion.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

I could tell he was about to get away, so I made one more effort to keep things alive.

Looking at his tee shirt, I said, “Nice shirt. Annie Clark.” There were no words on the shirt that said St. Vincent or Annie Clark, so I was showing off.

“Very good. She’s not that well known out of New York.”

“I saw her play The Moore in Seattle last year.”

“Nice. She puts on a great show.”

Okay, then. A lucky connection. But we stood awkwardly, neither of us able to prolong the conversation, before he finally nodded, turned, and walked toward his table. I collapsed in my chair, a nervous wreck but quite pleased with myself. I had upped the ante. We had an actual conversation. I had learned something important about him. And I suggested we get together. I understood his freezing up at the end. That was probably a lot for him to absorb too. I expect I caught him by surprise. If he wanted to get together, he knew the ball was in his court, and he knew I’d say yes. I really couldn’t expect more than that in one day.

Want to keep reading and find out what this writer and the Naughty Librarian get up to? Click here to order your copy of Kris Kassady's The Naughty Librarian - free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers and just $0.99 to buy.

Cecily is a reference librarian. She’s a virgin but she doesn’t want to be. Then Winfield walks into her library…

Cecily is a quiet, introverted reference librarian who maintains an active sex life. Unfortunately, she’s the only participant in her hot private sessions. At twenty-seven, she’s a virgin, but she doesn’t want to be.

Winfield is a young writer who ghost-writes erotica for a bestselling author while pursuing his own writing. He spends mornings pecking away on his laptop at Cecily’s library.

Cecily has Winfield in her sights but doesn’t have a clue how to seduce a man. Is it possible that he could be interested? How can she get his attention? And does she have the nerve to make a move? Perhaps he’d be interested in seeing her private erotica collection?

If you like smoking hot erotic shorts with plenty of heart and humor, you’ll love The Naughty Librarian. This sexy short story is perfect for a sizzling one sitting read on your favorite couch.

Bree likes her men supersized. And Rodney is definitely qualified. Has Bree’s insatiable appetite finally met its match? Get a free erotica novella extract of Kris Kassady's Size Queen below...

Hi, I’m Bree, and I’m a size queen.

There, I said it.

Well, I didn’t start out as a size queen. It just happened.

In fact, I’m the last person you’d expect that from. I’m a petite Asian woman, five-three, one hundred pounds, slender, lean, and small-breasted. You’d think any size would get the job done for little tiny me.

And, well, it does. And I’ll take it any way I can get it. But I learned a lot from my marriage. Let me rephrase that: I learned a lot from my marriage despite my marriage.

Okay, so that’s a long story that I’ll summarize just for you.

I was married to a decent guy for a while. I thought he was a great guy when we got married. Unfortunately, the marriage didn’t work out, so I’m single again. Our sexual appetites were very different, but that wasn’t the problem. In fact, I loved our sex life. I just wanted more of it. The fact that he was average in size didn’t bother me. I thought we did really well together. I just wanted us to do really well together more often. Like, every day more often. Like, maybe twice a day now and then. I couldn’t help it. I just wanted it all the time, and he didn’t. But that didn’t cause the marriage to fail. I had my devices, so to speak, to manage that part of the situation.

The marriage broke down over ambition. Like, I had it and he didn’t. There’s so much in life I want to do. You know, like travel, see the world, socialize, party, work hard, save money, make friends, and live in beautiful places. I want to live life with gusto, make something of myself, go places, grow, and leave a mark on the world.

Brad had a different view of life. Bless his lazy little heart, that guy could sit on a couch 24/7 watching football and car racing. His definition of happiness was a couch, a can of beer, a television, and any sporting event, good or bad. The sport didn’t matter. Football, baseball, basketball, and soccer were favorites. But volleyball, wrestling, bull riding, ping pong, badminton, and bowling were all in play. Yes, bowling. Brad could watch bowling all day long.

One time while he was watching a football game, I decided to give him a thrill. I sauntered into the living room butt naked with my sexiest swagger, dropped to my knees between his legs, pulled his jeans and shorts to the floor, gave him a raging hard-on, sat on his lap, and banged his brains out while I was screaming and moaning.

How did he respond to that? Yup, you guessed it. He watched the game with his chin on my shoulder. Good God, really? Was that my destiny in life?

I wasn’t intending to get into the whole size thing. Like I said, it just happened. Honestly, I was more than happy with his average size and was pretty skilled at making it work for both of us. And I do have a tip for you ladies out there dealing with small or average.

Yup, you’ve got to get it hard, real hard. Like rock hard. And my experience is the only way to get that done is with your mouth. But you probably already knew that. Once you’ve got it super hard, you just grind your place on it, and that usually gets the job done. Honestly, size doesn’t matter in that situation.

Since Brad and I had such different appetites, I had no choice but to supplement with a side program. Don’t get me wrong, I was never unfaithful to Brad. I didn’t have affairs or see other guys. I don’t believe in that. But while he was watching football, it wasn’t unusual for me to be in the bathroom taking care of business.

My first vibrator approximated Brad’s size. I thought that was considerate of me, and it certainly got the job done. When I needed it, I just had my own little party. He didn’t need to know about that and, besides, it took the pressure off him. What man wants a sexcrazed woman all over him when he isn’t in the mood? So I was doing him a favor, right?

On one occasion, I ordered a classy new device, and Amazon sent the wrong size. Really, that’s what happened. It wasn’t my mistake.

It was all on Amazon. I opened the box and my eyes got real big.

Really? Well, that looked pretty interesting, but I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Honestly, I had no idea my body could even accommodate that brute. To little tiny me, it just looked huge. But it also was very arousing to contemplate. Anyway, I left it in the back of my underwear drawer for a couple of weeks but couldn’t get it out of my head. Hmm, that might be interesting. Oh, shoot, maybe I should just give it a test drive.

So while Brad was out buying beer one day and I was feeling pretty randy, I retrieved it from the drawer, lubed up, and settled on the bed naked. My plan was to not put it inside. I started with the vibrator on low, gently massaging my special place. Well, that was just sublime. We got the motor running and were just purring happily along. After a little while, I decided to slip it inside just a little ways to see what might happen. Oh my God. Wasn’t that special?

Let’s just say the shoe fit very nicely, and pretty soon I had the whole dang thing in there, and I was moaning up a storm until the train roared into the station. Well, that was certainly interesting.

And more than interesting, I learned something about myself.

The larger size was thick and eight inches long. What I learned is that my very personal pocket is only seven inches deep. Push as hard as I could, it only went in seven inches. Yup, we were at the end of the cul-de-sac, and there was no going any further.

But I learned something else too. This device was really thick. At least, I thought it was super thick. I’d never imagined anything like that going inside my body. But my personal little pocket had absolutely no problem with it. With a little lubrication, my special place just opened right up and welcomed that brute snugly inside. I guess I knew that. I mean, when a woman has a baby, her body opens up like that. And we all know any woman can accept any man, so the female anatomy is very accommodating that way.

The third thing I learned was that I really liked the larger size. I used it for a few months before I started pondering the possibilities and eventually found myself perusing options on the Internet. And this time it was not a mistake. Yup, you guessed it, I splurged and ordered up the King Kong extra-long, super-thick, nine-inch, deluxe, dual-speed vibrator. It was magnificent, top of the line, a high quality product that did everything except make espresso. So if you close your eyes and use your imagination, you can picture me on my bed holding King Kong with two hands and plunging it as deeply into my body as it would go.

And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is how little ole me accidentally got to be a size queen.


I finally worked up the courage to tell Brad our marriage was over, and that I wanted a divorce. He was stunned and didn’t understand what that meant. After a few days, I told him I was going to stay in the house, and that he needed to move out. That really surprised him. Huh? He actually thought he could just move into the guest bedroom. So I rented him a modest furnished apartment across town that I knew he could afford. On a Monday when he was at work at the mattress factory, I asked two friends to help move him out.

We packed up his clothes and moved him into the apartment.

I set up the bathroom with fresh towels and soap and made his bed with clean sheets. I bought toothpaste, toilet paper, and other supplies for the bathroom. I filled the fridge with beer and the freezer with pizza and burritos. Most importantly, we moved the television over and positioned it right in front of his favorite chair.

When he came home from the mattress factory that night, I took him over to his new apartment and turned on Monday Night Football.

He opened a beer, sat back in his chair, and watched the game.

I’m not sure when he figured out he now lived in his own apartment. I gave him a little kiss on the forehead, bid him a fond farewell, and walked out the door into a world suddenly open to new possibilities.

Want to keep reading and find out how Bree meets her match with Rodney? Click here to order your copy of Kris Kassady's Size Queen - free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers and just $0.99 to buy.

Bree is an airline hostess who travels to all major U.S. cities. A petite hundred pound woman, she still likes her men overendowed. Perusing a dating website that features qualified candidates, Bree is stunned to read about Rhino Rod and his prodigious asset.

Rodney is a former football player, wrestler, and body builder who now teaches high school and coaches boys’ sports. Nicknamed Rhino Rod for obvious reasons, Rodney responds to Bree’s invitation for a drink on her next trip to his city.

Sparks fly when Bree meets Rodney in the hotel bar and she starts imagining the possibilities. After determining that Rodney is safe, she invites him up to her hotel room.

Has Bree finally met her match? Is her tiny body ready for this? Has she completely lost her mind? Or is Rhino Rod just what the doctor ordered?

If you like smoking hot erotic shorts with plenty of heart and humor, you’ll love Size Queen. This sexy short story is perfect for a sizzling one sitting read on your favorite couch.


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