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About the author:
Meet Hipsy Bohannon, an avid writer and user of deep smut. Hailing from the photography world of dark art, her fans have affectionately dubbed her ‘Half-naked Hipsy covered in blood.’ A professional recluse, Hipsy uses most of her free time loitering, stalking, and confusing the masses. Her creative writing roots grew from an awkward youth spent roaming the roads of the United States, Gypsy style. Solitary confinement in a car, heading from one place to the next, gave her ample opportunity to practice the art of crafting stories. She now calls the middle woods of Upstate N.Y. home sweet home. Solicitors and company are not welcome!
What inspired you to write your book?
The song She Let Herself Go by George Straight, actually.
Here is a short sample from the book:
She turned around till her back was to him. Her hands were shaking, her heart racing. She hadn’t been this nervous in years. She took her first stance, arching up on her tip-toes, her arms outstretched above her head. The song went over and a new one took its place, one she had heard before, yet had never really made any sense to her, till now. It was about wanting to get out of town, heading somewhere far away from the city.
The words rang out in Jezze’s ears as she cast her spell over him. His mouth fell open a bit, his heart thudded in his chest to the beat as his eyes took in her every perfectly executed move. She was a real life ballerina. She was smooth and flowing, spinning and twisting her toes in the dirt, her hands in motion. He had never seen anything like it. Her sundress fluttered as she moved without effort. She didn’t trip, she didn’t stumble or stop to ramble. Her eyes were focused on something only she could see. He watched her muscles flex, watched her stretch and bow. Her body seemed to be without bones.
“Holy shit…” he gasped out in a whisper as she flipped up onto the hood of one of the old cars. She continued her dance, her body light, never bending the well-built metal and steel beneath her toes. From one car to the next she leaped. Each time, his breath hitched, his heart stilled. He had to stop himself from running to her, worried she would take a tumble. She didn’t though. Spinning and spinning on the hood of a Camaro, twirling on the roof of an old punch bug. She was powerful, and delicate, the things only a woman could put together and make work to her advantage. She floated across the cars till she came to be on the hood of the beast.
The song went on to talk about blushing cheeks and wanting to be remembered, even if it was only in the dreams of another. The music slowed as she came to slide down the windshield, her feet coming to rest on the front bumper, her back pressed to the hood, her body arched.
Jezze was on her before the last beat faded out. His body pressed hers into the hood of the car, his hands wrapped up in her hair, his mouth taking everything he could from hers. He couldn’t get enough of what was up under him.
Izzy had lost herself to the song, to the dance; Jezze seemed to have come out of nowhere. She had no clue how she’d ended up on the hood with him so hard and strong above her, but she didn’t have time to question it.
Outside, lightning struck out, thunder boomed, and the heavens let loose of the storm it had been holding at bay.
He tasted like smoke, like Jezze Jamez, and like everything new she had experienced tonight. Country music and mud puddles, places created out of a dream. His hands were everywhere, pulling her thighs up to rest on his hips, ripping her dress up over her head until the cold metal of the hood touched her back and flattened her ass. Another solid tug had her panties off.
He entered her without warning, making her cry out. When had he gotten himself free? How had she missed it? It had to be his kiss; it had ravaged her lips and stopped her thoughts.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. Please let me have you, please,” Jezze panted into her lips. It was a begging praise, and his needy, raw tone had her body gushing, and her legs spreading wide to give him all the room his muscled hips needed. She cried out again, her mouth gasping and her lips trembling as he filled her over and over, his cock slick from her want.
It was happening so fast that it felt unreal like she was seeing it all from above. She looked down to see herself on the hood of the car, breasts bouncing with every powerful thrust Jezze dealt to her much smaller body. Her hair was wild, her eyes even more-so. She looked possessed as she ripped at his clothes, his faded old T-shirt was stripped off over his head as she used her heels to shove down his jeans until she could force herself up into a sitting position and grab two handfuls of his toned ass. She wanted more. She had no room for more, but that didn’t stop her from jerking his body to hers.
Jezze climbed up on the hood himself, pulling her with him by two handfuls of ass-cheeks. He didn’t give a fuck about the dents his body weight would cause; he would pound them back out another night. Tonight, he wanted to pound her out. He couldn’t seem to get close enough to her, couldn’t get deep enough inside her. He wanted to crawl under her skin, be closer to her than muscle to bone. He sucked her breath from her lungs, savoring the taste. Her air was better than his.
The rain hammered down on the barn’s tin roof, deafening, but somehow her moans and whimpers for more rang out over the noise. Her hips bucked hard, her nails digging into his flesh, making him hiss. She nipped at his chin, his cheeks, biting and begging him for more.
They made the car jerk, her body sliding on top of it as he repeatedly forced her to take long, hard, solid strokes from his bat of a cock. Each time they were together he swore she fit him better and better like he was making room inside her, pushing back her walls. She was taking in more of him, with each stroke. She pulled him to her, flexed her walls with the gasped order,
“Make me yours.”
God damn if only she meant it.
With his face buried in her neck, sucking and licking the taste of her sweat, he couldn’t think of one good reason why he shouldn’t make her his, keep her forever and never let her go. When it was all said and done, he would have ten or more reasons why he couldn’t ever really have her, but right now all he had was ten inches of shaft pressing into her wanting and wet walls. It was beautiful. It was the devil singing church hymns in an opera hall surrounded by angels and demons all singing along, crying at the beauty of the words in the tune.
For this moment, it was just them and the beast, dirty, sweaty, and attached to each other in the most sinful of ways. It was biting and clawing, thrusting and grinding. It was saying things they never would say any other time.
“Cum for me Izzy. Let me feel how bad you want me. Show me,” he begged, holding both sides of her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him as he pounded her for all her body could take.
“I want you so bad, oh God, I want you!” she cried, echoing his plea, her hazel eyes tearing into him until he felt her body lock. Her pussy gushed, tight and throbbing, draining his seed from him. Three final hard, deep thrusts sent his hot juice deep into her core until he had nothing left to give her but pained grunts. Her legs locked around his waist and trapped him balls deep in her opening. It was painful, his cock too sensitive. But he stayed put to let her finish, let her walls work him over even as it made his body jerk and tremble above hers. Her hot core pulled whimpers from his lips as he kissed her face all over, sloppy and wet. He just wanted to lick her clean of him.