I point to my right nipple and to my mouth. This isn’t so hard to understand and she reacts right away and takes Lena’s nipple in her mouth. All without looking away from me for even a second.

Even though I find that she could really show a little more imagination and initiative, her fixed gaze suddenly turns me on. Her mouth wide open on Lena’ nipple and her large quizzical eyes. I make sucking and licking motions with my lips. At the same time I look at her hand meaningfully while I slip my own inside my pants.

She stops for a moment puzzled, probably thinks that I’m starting to masturbate now with their image in front of me but then she understands and slips her hand inside Lena’s waistband.





You need to do a complete check. I have this date tonight, I want to leave a good impression. Ever since I’ve known that today will be our first time, I feel funny, different than usual.

Maybe you’re nervous, I suggest.

Bullshit. I’m never nervous. It’s purely physical. When I walk it feels different, when I stand, and when I sit, too. You have got to check it.

She drops on the bed, puts up der legs, her knees together like a roof ridge.

One moment, I say. I fumble with my belt, unzip and kneel in front of her.

But you have got to be honest, promise? She has put one arm under her head, looks at me through her legs.

Sure, boss. I bend her knees apart, pull her close by her legs, place her calves on my shoulders.

I can’t feel anything unusual, I say, as I slide into her in a single motion, almost a little too fast.

Maybe that minimal resistance one often meets in the beginning is missing, this small rejection following the opening up, I think but don’t say it. Everything fine, I say instead.

Shut up, she shouts at me. You can’t judge after two seconds. You’re supposed to feel not talk.

I shut up obediently, move back and forth.

Slides nicely, I say, but bite my lip right away in order not to be shouted at once more.

She gracefully ignores it, waits a few seconds, lets me continue my motion.

Slides nicely? She repeats.














Voices from the Corridor
A Collection of erotic tales and visions
by Annemarie Ryders & van Rijn

The Voices from the Corridor are a collection of erotic fast fiction, each one preceded with a drawing as a highlight and key. The primary story element is the text, with the illustrations and graphic compositions used as essential stylistic devices to convey atmosphere as well as interpretation. So the book is really an illustrated narrative and, but provides features from Comic and Graphic Novel.
The strongly sexual color of the motifs show distinct references to the scope of Pulp and Low Brow, not fetish fixed yet distantly related to Stantoons, Hentai and other sex comics but much more extensive and ambitioned in terms of the text.
The episodes depicted, at first seemingly disconnected and isolated, take place in an uncertain time and space within the environment of an erotic club of sorts of unclearly mysterious ambience. The narrator's character is a hermaphrodite and one of the attractions of the place. She lives and works there, as a woman mostly, and in the course of events finds herself in a confusing plot of similarly vague definitude as her own gender.
The reader participates in the events like a voyeur. He is presented by quite an abundant panorama, lush and exaggerated like a look into a kaleidoscope. Yet, on the fringes of this view, places of increasing opacification and darkening are noticeable.
Van Rijn's illustrations which Dian Hanson has described as "…very pretty, very elegant, but fully explicit …", are the starting point and pivot of Annemarie Ryder's tales. Behind the alias hides a German author who has worked as a writer in various areas for more than ten years and has received various awards. Humorous, ambivalent, full of surprising turns and paired with an extraordinary fresh and relaxed depiction of sexuality, Ryders here comes up with the lyrics to an enigmatically flowing tune, remnants of a dream: Voices from the Corridor.














You’ve never seen her flesh so exposed, it sits there as if peeled from a rind, all swollen, doubled in size. You press your tongue into the burst fruit, slide it across the slit, meet the little kernel that waits there, hard as a rock, for its finder.
Her thighs tremble, she presses her pelvis in your face, lets your mouth, your nose, your chin sink into mounds of flesh. She sucks air sharply, moans, drips, you lick it all up, you won’t miss any of it.



 

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