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  • Fiction: Katniss' Choice

    Part of our bi-weekly erotic fiction series, this piece features none other than Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne, and Katniss Everdeen. Content, as usual, is NC-17, but you're reading a blog called Apples & Orgasms, so you're probably fine with that.

    As we lay entwined on the couch, I stared into Peeta. It was easy to get lost in his soft eyes. He cared for me with all his heart, and at times of tranquility like this, it made me uncomfortable. His kisses were soft, as if his lips could break me if he lost control. It always made me feel safe—quite the feat in District 12, even in the winner’s village—but sometimes, it made me miss Gale.

    When Gale touched me, a passion seared through my veins. He was strong and fierce, always handling my body with the swift agility only a hunter of his caliber could. He knew just how to touch me, and every time he did, he seemed to light me on fire even more than Cinna’s costumes ever could. 

    Peeta walked his fingers down my back, pressing the cotton of my shirt into my spine. It was closer than we’d ever gotten during the Games, but for some reason all I could think of was the grip of Gale’s big hands. And while cuddling with him was nice, Peeta certainly could learn a thing or two from Gale’s touch. I knew I couldn’t tell him this, of course—the idea that my mind had wandered to Gale during this moment of intimacy, our first one since inside the cave, would kill him. But I also could sense Peeta had a strange fascination with Gale. And though I knew now wasn’t the time to bring him up, I couldn’t help myself.

    “What do you really think of Gale?” I asked, immediately regretting my decision to bring him up. Peeta looked more shocked than angry.

    “Katniss, you know I’m no fan of the guy,” he said, continuing to aimlessly wander the length of my arms.

    “I know, I know. But I can’t stop thinking that maybe it’s because you’d be too great of friends. Maybe you’re more alike than you think.”

    Peeta laughed at this, the way he always chuckled when I did something he hated a little bit. Embarrassed, I sunk deeper into his arms. That was a surefire way of getting him to forget.

    We stared without speaking into each other’s eyes again. Days, I could do this for days, I thought. He stroked me, and the safer I felt, the more Gale drifted from my mind. I had finally reached a point of giving Peeta my full attention when we heard a knock. Before we could get up to check the peephole, the door flung open. 

    “Katniss,” Gale said, panting. “Can I hide here? They’re coming.”

    Gale plopped down on our armchair, and I brought him a cup of tea. He sipped it anxiously as I resumed my position on the couch, close to Peeta. 

    “Sorry if I was interrupting something.” Gale rolled his eyes at us. Without acknowledging our visitor, Peeta turned to me.

    “I need to take a shower,” he said, standing up and kissing me on the cheek. Gale ground his teeth as Peeta walked upstairs. As soon as the bathroom door shut, a wave of impatience came over me. I hadn’t been alone with Gale in months, and especially not indoors. I undid my braid and, as I fiddled with my hair, started interrogating him as best I could.

    “So…who’s after you?” 

    “Effie. She wants an interview about you, but I’m not going to give her one.”

    “Effie? That’s all? I thought you were in danger.”

    “Nah. But I figured you’d be with him, and I needed a good excuse for you to let me come in.” He flashed me a smile. I felt my body begin to burn.

     “I needed to see you, Katniss.”

    “Oh? How come?” I realized I was biting my lip. Peeta always took long showers, used too much hot water, thank god. There was no stopping this.

    “Because,” Gale said, leaning forward. “Because I think about you all the time.”

    He put his hand on my knee. Against my leg, still shrunken from the Games, it looked even bigger. He began to whisper.

    “I mean that. I think about you all the time.”

    As his body leaned close to mine, his hand slid further up my leg. Our foreheads touched, then our noses fell side by side. Our mouths were inches away from each other, and his hand—the one I’d been dying to touch me earlier—was inches away from where I wanted it most.

     Suddenly, Gale lurched onto the couch and kissed me. He had the same agility he always demonstrated in the woods, and apparently the same navigation skills—his hand quickly found my clit, making me moan. My sigh was high-pitched and I stifled it quickly, remembering Peeta. I could tell Gale liked it, though, because he slapped my clit again and again. This time the noise was loud, and so was my response.

    “Shh,“ I whispered through gasps. “Peeta’s upsta—“ Before I could finish the words, Gale covered my mouth with his other hand. He moved his fingers around my lips for a moment before sticking only his pointer finger in my mouth.

    “Suck on it,” he whispered. My lips pursed tightly around his finger, and I began to see what he wanted. I moved up and down, swirling my tongue around the front, sides, and over the top. I looked up at him, taking care to make my glance as dirty as possible. He was going crazy, and I hadn’t even really touched him yet.

    “Show me your tits, Katniss,” he said, tearing off my shirt. He pinched my nipples softly before fingering and sucking on them, occasionally squeezing each breast with his whole hand. His attention to detail was incredible, and for the first time, I noticed something between his legs. It was hard as a rock, and it was huge.

    “Now you,” I said, pushing him off me and onto the couch. I stripped off his shirt, and for whatever reason, I allowed myself to be once again surprised by his body. I glanced from his pecs to his six-pack to his bulge, losing my focus on the task at hand.

    “Wow,” I said softly. He heard me and smiled, pulling my body closer to his for a kiss. I complied, but then moved away from his mouth. There were more important things to tend to.

    I kissed my way down to his nipples, stopping on his left. I sucked for a moment, then began to dart my tongue across until I felt it harden. I moved to the right, keeping a massage going on his left. He writhed beneath me in pleasure.

    “How…did…you…know…I…love…this?” Gale moaned. I spoke with my mouth still in place, the words muffled by his chest.

    “Because of the way you treated mine.” I licked my fingers and began to rub both of his nipples. He let out a sigh, and I began to kiss my way down his chest. As I passed his belly button, his hands found their way to my back.

    “Oh, Katniss,” he said, a bit louder than he should have. “Oh, god.”

    Since my hands were still occupied with his nipples, I untied the drawstring with my teeth. His bulge pressed against my neck, and I realized I couldn’t wait to see his cock. I slid his pants down, and there it was. Huge. Hard. Perfect.

    I licked the bottom of it, then kissed the sides, then thrust it down my throat. As I sucked, one of my hands pulled away from his nipples to circle his shaft, and the other followed to cup his balls. My back arched and my whole body thrust forward—I needed have as much of him inside me as possible.

    Gale reached down and fondled my breast, causing me to moan onto his cock. He sighed loudly as I pressed my thumb under his balls.

    “Oh, Katniss, oh,” Gale said as his eyes closed. His head fell back, and I continued to suck, just like I had done his finger. Suddenly, I heard a voice from behind me.

    “Katniss, you filthy bitch,” Peeta said sternly, a towel wrapped around his waist. I sat up, shocked—he never spoke like that. Gale lifted his head slightly and moved his hands to his cock, ignoring the interaction I was having.

    “You’re a whore, you hear me? I’ve always known it.” He walked closer. Naked on the floor, I felt trapped. I grabbed a blanket to cover myself, but Peeta snatched it away.

    “Oh, no. If he gets to see your tits, so do I.” Peeta pushed me onto the floor and stripped off his towel. His cock was throbbing, so big that I wondered why I hadn’t seen it before. He lifted my arms above my head and, using the towel, tied them to the table leg. My whole body was vulnerable, strewn across the floor between Gale, who watched and jacked off, and a boy who looked like Peeta, but sure didn’t act like him.

    “Look at you, you cunt,” Peeta knelt down next to me, placing a hand on my stomach. It was cold, and with a shiver, my nipples hardened. He lifted up his palm and began to walk his fingers in a familiar way. Only this time, instead of pressing cotton into my spine, they pressed my bare skin, and they definitely didn’t stop at my back.

    He walked his fingers past my hipbones and onto my pussy, undoubtedly noticing how wet it still was. He wandered around the area for a bit, not breaking eye contact with me, and, though he made no expression, I could tell he was pleased to find me hairless. I made a mental note to thank Octavia. Peeta leaned forward and blew on my tits, causing me to shudder in pleasure. He let his fingers steady for a moment, and then, when I couldn’t take it any longer, he let them enter me. 

    Gale sat up on the couch, watching us and rubbing his shaft. I arched my back as Peeta dug into me deeper. I moaned and shifted my glance to Gale. Come here, I tried to say. I think he understood, because he moved to the floor.

    As Peeta thrust his fingers inside me, I yearned for his cock. Gale began to kiss the front of my cunt, his body inching closer and closer to Peeta’s.

    Peeta felt Gale’s presence, and shifted forward. His cock was in my mouth, and Gale’s tongue had disappeared. I sucked and sucked as Peeta jammed his dick down my throat. I swirled my tongue and moaned and was completely caught up in the blowjob when I felt Gale enter me.

    “Ooooh,” I let out a sigh directly onto Peeta’s cock.

    “Suck it, you hungry slut,” he ordered. “Think of me always as the boy with the bread. I would’ve fucked you then and there.” With every one of Gale’s thrusts, Peeta experienced more pleasure, and he knew it. My body gripped Gale closer as they fucked me. I could feel my tits bounce.

    “Flip her over,” Peeta commanded Gale. It was incredible to see him like this—so determined and demanding. If he had exhibited half this much bravado during the games, he could’ve won without me. Gale flipped me as he was told, and Peeta began to slap my ass.

    “You wanted to fuck, huh, Katniss? Why didn’t you say so, back in the cave,” he said, spanking me harder. I moaned, and Gale moved toward my mouth. He crouched near my face for only a second before Peeta told him to stop. 

    “Do what I say,” he told Gale, who froze. Peeta picked my body up and entered me from behind. He felt large inside me as he pounded, and I heard him call out to Gale. 

    “Let me suck you.”

    Gale straddled me and as Peeta took in all of him and fucked me even faster. I moaned, then screamed, then announced my impending orgasm.

    “Pound me, Peeta. Fuck me hard. I’m close.” I felt Gale shift his position and lower down to my lips, his obscenely large shaft soon pulsating in my mouth. I moaned as Peeta fucked me, but Gale’s cock smothered the sound. I felt my legs go rigid, and, as Gale pulled my hair, I began to come.

    I felt Gale’s release inside my mouth, and graciously swallowed all of it. Peeta pulled out and exploded against my chest, his cum all over my tits. The three of us collapsed into a pile. I flipped over, exposing my cum-covered chest. Each boy grabbed a breast and began to squeeze softly.

    “Well, Katniss,” Peeta said, looking briefly at Gale. “Take your pick.”


  • Nothin' But A Number: The Quest To Keep Count

    After a one-night stand last night, I spent the morning how any self-respecting hungover woman would: I slept until 2, took four Advil, and tried to the list out all the men I’ve had sex with. I’ve always thought my bedpost notches a point of pride, and adding one to my mental tally has always been an enjoyable sign-off. It’s the same thrill as entering a finished book on Goodreads—you add your trophy to your collection, and start looking for your next long-term project.

    A friend of mine once said it’s creepier to keep count than to not, but I disagree—knowing my conquests' names and my number gives my madness a method. Listing helps me remember, functioning as my own perverse scrapbook. At the very least, it meant I was organized.

    Somewhere along the line, though, I lost my devotion to upkeep, and this morning, I realized I’d completely lost count. I was used to forgetting some last names, but my number entirely? I was disgusted with myself. Not remembering made me feel like more of a whore than my 20-30 sexual partners ever have. Each liaison turned into a forgotten, unworthy blur.

    As I picked up my pen to write them all out, I realized I didn’t even have the patience. Many had slipped my mind or were better left forgot. I’d have to come to terms with my new, numberless identity. Best not think about it too hard. 

    Do you keep track of your sexual partners?  

  • The YOLO Paradox: The Four-Letter Acronym vs. the Four-Letter Word

    It's been said (though probably by a white person somewhere) that dating is the hardest part about New York. It's harder than doing laundry. Than catching a cab in a hailstorm. Some say its even harder than (gasp) finding an apartment. But this sea is big, and its fish don’t seem that ineligible. So where are all the better halves? To answer that, let’s analyze NY through the lens of our generation’s most annoying acronym.


    New York is one of the most happening cities on the planet, and living here means being at the center of it all. The desire for new experiences inherent in New Yorkers leads to a thirst for stories and lack of commitment. To put it in terms we can all understand, YOLO.

    But what happens when this YOLO philosophy meets infinite opportunities? Combine the desires to do everything and be everywhere with humanity’s time and space limitations, and you’ll likely wind up disappointed. Enter FOMO. Once it strikes, the cycle begins: you try to cure FOMO with YOLO, this gives you different FOMO, and it goes on until eventually you die.

    This is the YOLO Paradox: the more you care about the life in your years, the more regret you’re going to feel when you can’t accomplish your perpetual To-Do List. It’s buyer’s remorse. And when capitalist theory finds its way into our relationships, they’re just as doomed as last year’s smartphones.

    The sheer fact that we have so many datable options in New York means we’re going to weigh them. While that may mean we’ll wind up with someone great, it’s going to be a bumpy ride before we get there.

    In the meantime, let’s all just hope that last sentence was innuendo.