(This is a fun series about how the pressures of moving, work, the stories of your wild friends, and pent up sexual tension can be the recipe for some very interesting dreams…
It’s a crossover event conjured up by my Substack Bestie Slutty Sabrina and myself in which we take turns writing episodes and let our stylistic differences run wild!
Episode 1 can be found here:
This series is for Adults Only and it’s a DREAM so literally anything can happen)
Latina Fury🔥
I always forget how much effort it takes to turn a few walls and old wood floors into something that feels like home.
I’m mid-move—boxes everywhere, no sense of order, and by the time my body finally sinks into bed, I’m wrecked.
Still, I grab my iPad and open Substack.
I have two friends I message about my stories—Q, the cheeky Brit with a distinct taste developed by almost two decades of reading erotica, and Sabrina.
They get me.
Not just the stories—but the way I feel them.
Characters don’t stay on the page for me.
They become real.
Fully formed people with voices, moods, and private little inside jokes that only I get to see.
I talk about them like I know them—because I do.
I can’t say exactly how.
It’s not normal, it’s kind of a condition.
Self diagnosed, but trust me it’s intense.
That’s what connects me and Sabrina.
I’m the librarian type—glasses, baggy sweaters, rarely leaves the house, mentally off somewhere in a daydream involving conflict, plot, and backstory.
(Think Tim Burton’s Selina Kyle before being thrown out a window and munched on by 800 kitty cats)
She’s the hot, unhinged fantasy girl—black card in one hand, bottle of lidocaine in the other. Chronically horny. Chronically gorgeous. Chronically living in a parallel dimension where every taboo is a dare she’s already taken.
And somehow—we just fit.
Because when she writes, I ride shotgun.
And when I obsess, she feels like someone actually gets her.
There’s something broken in both of us. And isn’t that kind of beautiful?
She sends me these wild, indulgent stories—jet-setting, power games, men who worship her, women who really know what they’re doing—and she knows exactly what they do to me.
Because I don’t just read them.
I feel them.
And lately… I’ve been dreaming about one of her characters— I know that she’s actually real but those lines aren’t so clear to me.
Her name is Candy Cane🫠
Though I refuse to call her that because I’m a Latina from the mean-ish streets of Chicago(no I don’t speak Spanish)…so I’ll just call her Candy.
There is something about her…
Since the first time I read about her spreading lidocaine on Sabrina’s pussy…
Since the first time I walked into the tunnel with all of the eyes…
Strange ones, not creepy ones, almost like cartoons but real…
What the fuck?
Blackness.
I call out, “Sara, can you turn on the light? I can’t see shit!”
Silence.
I can’t move.
My arms are restrained.
I feel the form of a cheap kitchen chair pushing into my back.
“Juni, if you are going through my journals again I swear to God— I’m going to tell Abuela about your stash of dirty magazines!”
Juni is my younger brother, whom I don’t live with anymore.
Wait…
I feel two hands squeezing my shoulder.
They’re NOT giving masseuse vibes.
Heels click and clack around me in a half circle.
Something is lifted. LIGHT rushes in.
My eyes struggle to adjust.
I hear her voice before I see her face.
“Who is Juni? Is he another agent you’re working with?”
Wait a second I know this voice…
I squint at the form, willing it into high def resolution.
It’s fucking Tessa…from my stories…dressed like Selina Kyle after being munched on by 800 kitty cats.
I breath a sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar face.
“Oh Tessa, thank god it’s you! Girl can you untie me quick, these knots are tight.”
This must be a prank cause she’s pretending like she doesn’t know me.
She looks at me with an ultra serious look on her face.
“I’m going to ask you one more time…”
I interrupt
“Why are you dressed like that? Wait are you taking me to Comic Con??? I always wanted to go!!!”
I can suddenly feel the motion of the van.
We are in a warehouse. 25ft ceilings. Concrete floors. Fluorescent Flood lights…
In the back of a van.
Must be a Ford Transit.
A tenaciously hard slap snaps me back into scene.
Something inside me starts to awaken…
“WHO…” slap
“Is…” slap
“Juni?” slap
I’m afraid.
Not of being suffocated with lip gloss by the self proclaimed “glowing goddess”—although at this point her lips do look rather delicious.
But because I recognize this feeling growing in my belly, behind my face, and in my ears.
It has plagued me and indiscriminately endangered those around me since I was a little girl…
It’s—
Latina
FURY
And when I get this way anything can happen.
I make the sign of the cross like Abuela taught me and ask for forgiveness in advance.
In my head obviously—my hands are tied!
“Juni Cortez—the fucking hero from Spy Kids you little bitch! And if you slap me one more time I’m gonna to drop your cosplay wearing ass faster than Peyton in a Frat House!”
That was mean.
It didn’t register though.
“Get her out of here!” she yells.
Two masked men, dressed in black from head to toe, that I can only assume are named Harry & Lloyd, grab my chair and toss it out of the back of the van.
I’m upside down.
Asphalt simultaneously whizzes bye and closer at the same time.
I close my eyes bracing for impact.
Concentrating. Channeling my rage.
Everything is slow now.
I hear the chair disintegrating on the pavement.
In a gravity defying move I burst out of my restraints, directing my inertia into an epic back flip.
Landing on my feet in dramatic girl boss pose— staring down my assailants.
Eyes flashing white with fury.
My leather jacket flows, my biker pants fitting just right. Black corset filled out perfectly by the incredible set of tits that I do NOT possess in real life.
I wonder where I got this outfit? Akira possibly?
Suddenly, I’m in a large room with a two way mirror.
A woman strapped in the corner, bound hand and foot, a bag over her head.
Silk crimson red bra and panties.
Honestly she looks delicious.
Her body looks vaguely familiar…like something out of my Substack inbox.
Tessa’s voice speaks over the intercom echoing off the walls…
“You’ve passed all of my games so far player 0069 but now you face your toughest challenge yet…”
I hear moaning coming from the corner—
That’s distracting
The door to the room opens and two characters dressed in Squid Games uniforms march out in perfect rhythm.
Their stomps creating the drum track to the scene.
We Will Rock You?
They line up on either side of the savory looking woman— who is now wearing red and white striped stockings.
Something about that fashion choice has always puzzled me. Like she thinks her name is a whole personality or something.
“Tessa you psychotic bitch! Whatever it is you have planned? You’ll never defeat me. I know everything about you! Even now I can read your thoughts…”
I stop mid-sentence stunned.
“That’s right Elara. You can. And so you know the stakes…”
I was stunned. It was all coming to me.
The idiot with a triangle on his mask pulls the hood off the woman’s head.
She shakes her blonde locks in slow motion—suddenly strangely complicit.
She stares me down and my knees get a little weak.
My mind flashing to last nights dream of waking up with that beautiful head buried between my legs.
A puddle of wetness pools on the floor beneath me.
A little excessive.
Who is directing this episode Quentin Tarantino?
“For your final challenge. You must survive 24hrs without tasting the Candy Cane. You know where I mean…”
“If you succeed…you both live.”
Candy- I REFUSE to use her last fucking name- moans as she pulls against her restraints.
Her tits bouncing in slow motion.
I guess they are natural after all.
“If you fail. You watch her die!”
Fuck Sabrina’s gonna be pissed cuz this bitch is probably gonna die, not gonna lie.
By the way when exactly did Tessa learn how to speak Korean?
And where are these subtitles coming from?
The door opens again and the room floods with bitch ass guards carrying sub automatic machine guns looking like PlayStation controllers.
They move between me and Candy.
“ELARA!” I hear Candy scream. “You know what you need to do!“
My eyes flash white again and I move with a grace never achieved in my two month ballet career!
Green Light.
Leg sweep. Neck snap. Grab gun. Fire.
I neutralize these pendejos with the ease of a fraudulent martial artist at an Akido demonstration.
(Of course I know that word, get over yourselves.)
One. Five. Ten. Thirty.
It makes no difference to me.
By the time I’m done Candy is very tastefully splattered with blood, not enough to invoke Carrie—just enough to be like, “DAMN, she’s hot!”
I guess Quentin isn’t directing this episode after all.
Not because of the underuse of blood— because of the suspicious absence of N-words up until this point.
Just then Samuel Jackson walks in…
Red Light.
“Nope, wrong set muthafucka! Capital One commercials are on lot B.” I yell towards him.
The ground is littered with dispatched foes.
He looks around and ducks out.
Green Light.
I hear the ticking of a clock…tick, tick, tick.
Candy strains her neck towards me.
“Take me Elara!” She says desperately.
She is perfect. Everything about her.
I keep my distance.
“I can’t Candy. I have to resist.”
She stares at me.
“But I need you so bad…” she’s begging.
Fuck you Sabrina, why do you have to be best friends with the ultimate baddie.
I mean when is a girl like me going to have this kind of opportunity again?
Then Candy gives a sly seductive smile.
Some might say evil or even sinister, but let’s be honest if she was a man— they’d say determined or resolved.
Just kidding— they’d say creepy!
Two of the fallen combatants rise to their feet as if by magic, slowly floating to her side, completely devoid of all agency.
“I need it so bad Elara…” she says
Is she legit Jedi controlling them right now?
“I always get what I want Elara and what I want is you!”
I realize that to the reader this may seem incredibly suspicious. Why would she be trying to seduce me when my surrender would mean her demise?
I promise, if you had been there— it made perfect sense.
“Don’t you like what you see Elara?” She said innocently
The stooge on her left ripped off one cup of her top like JT at the Super Bowl and my knees buckled.
Her exposed breast was perfect. Her small pink nipple erect and glistening with…honey?
The other stooge ripped off the other cup.
I dropped to my knees.
Breaking.
A third rose to his feet with a bottle of baby oil—that had a picture of some 90’s rapper/producer on it that I didn’t quite recognize— and doused her with it like it was gasolina.
Meanwhile a fourth positioned themselves behind her removing their gloves to reveal the most sensual pair of feminine hands that I have ever seen and started running them all over her body.
“Fuck Elara it feels so good…” she moaned.
I crossed my hands in front of my head trying to block out the scene before me…but clearly peeking.
I could feel my rage dissipating and the power leaving my body.
The pair of hands moved down her slender waist to her smooth pussy slipping one finger through her perfect folds.
I felt a force pulling me to my feet.
A force that I could resist—because I’m a strong independent woman—but powerful just the same.
Let’s just call it a consensual force.
It was pulling me towards her.
Everything inside of me said that I should resist, direct my attention to finding a way out.
But I didn’t want a way out.
“Don’t you want to taste me Elara?”
Fuck…yes, yes I do—Can-dy Cane.
I hate myself for that.
My body is pulled closer and closer.
Every henchmen slides to either side making way for my arrival.
They’re still dead, it’s just their bodies sliding.
“I can’t Candy. It will kill you.”
“You are killing me right now, every moment that you keep me waiting.”
She lets me down on my knees before her.
My face only inches from her pussy.
I can hear music faintly playing in the background.
Is that Beyoncé? Too hard to tell?
Focus Elara.
I reach out my tongue, slowly licking her from bottom to top.
She shudders.
Nothing happens.
I lick her again.
She literally drips into my mouth.
She tastes so good.
Not like candy at all, not like cherries or peaches—like a woman.
And those who know, know.
I dive in like a girl possessed.
I want it all.
I fill my mouth with her juices.
Slide my fingers inside.
She sounds like a symphony.
Begging me. Pleading with me not to stop.
Now I knew why Sabrina couldn’t get enough.
The music get’s louder.
It is Beyoncé!
I look around and the dead bodies have reanimated turning into a flash mob, dancing to the rhytm, like a Michael Jackson led hoard.
I kiss Candy for the first time on the mouth, passing on her fluids, liquid seeping from the seams of our entwined mouths.
I hear Tessa’s voice over the intercom.
Laughing.
Singing.
Louder and louder.
Candy’s body explodes into a fire ball.
Literally, this isn’t some overused orgasm metaphor.
She actually exploded.
I killed that bitch with my weakness for pussy.
I wake up with a start, lunging out of my bed.
Fighting the flames.
Shit.
I’m in the bedroom of my new apartment.
My body jerks upright, drenched in sweat.
My phone is blasting “Single Ladies.”
My hands go straight to my tits and I drop back to my pillow in surrendered disappointment.
Yup, definitely a dream.
I stare at the ceiling.
Damn you, Sabrina!
(To be continued…)
Make sure to check out Episode 3 of the series coming soon and check out and subscribe to our authors…
Elara Rosalia Slutty Sabrina Allen Blaze
 | A guest post by
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I don’t know whether to laugh or be horny❣️
So far you both are nailing it!