Aug 31

Making A Threesome Come True

This is a serial. If you would like to start at the beginning read: When the Sheets Talk.

I sat up, moving to my hands and knees and faced Rafe’s crotch. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his pants, probably because Mara had flipped my skirt up and begun tugging my panties down. My body felt electric.

Since Rafe was all about watching, I considered this scene from his perspective.

Mara and Rafe sat on opposite ends of the couch. I was kneeling over him with my ass in her face. Rafe had the unobstructed view across my back to see everything Mara did. When he realized I had stopped my unbuttoning efforts, he looked at me.

“Baby, this scene is scorching hot.”

I massaged his cock through his pants and grinned. “Can you get any harder, Rafe?”

“I don’t know, but I’m willing to find out.” He kissed my forehead.

“What do you think, Mara?” I heard the anticipation in his voice.

Rafe was nearly drooling, and I watched his eyes bug out as I felt the sting of Mara’s smack on my butt cheek.

“Oh, baby. Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

“This lovely ass gives a full moon a run for its money,” said Mara.

She leaned over and nipped me and then dragged her teeth across my tender skin. Rafe squirmed in his spot.

After soaking up his response and savoring the lovely tingling handprint on my butt, I wondered if I would make it through the intensity of this.

“It’s too hot, you two. I have to get these clothes off me.”

I stood up and pulled my shirt and bra off. After I shimmied out of my skirt and panties, I pushed them down my legs. Rafe stripped faster than me.

“Why don’t you sit on this end of the couch, Rafe. I want Beth to be comfortable. She can bend over the arm of the couch and be in the perfect position to suck you off. It will be the ideal height for me to kneel on the floor.

Yes. And do naughty things to me.

A chill ran through me as if a director of a movie just gave me my part. I was excited. Did actors and porn stars feel this way? I’d have to ask Mara later.

Rafe settled onto the cushions in all his naked and aroused glory. I walked around and bent over the arm of the couch. As I worked to get the angle of my position just so, Rafe gathered my hair in his hand and kissed my ear.

“You’ve never been more enticing to me than you are at this moment.”

“I can’t believe you supported me in being with this amazing woman.”

“I love you, Beth.”

Mara’s warm lips and tongue settled on me at the inside of my thigh, where my thigh and butt meet. Her hair tickled my skin. I inhaled and trembled. Warmth spread through me.

“We’re going to be so good, Rafe.”

I wrapped my hands around his cock and stroked up and down. He was massive, steel cloaked in velvet. This event stirred us up—our bodies, our desires, our connections.

As Mara’s lips moved closer to my sex, her talented hands kneaded my ass.  When she pulled my cheeks apart, my body read it like a signal. I went down on Rafe, consuming his erection and he rose to meet me. He tasted divine.

I had always relished giving him head, but today was special. It was as if both Mara and I were blowing him. Every nibble, touch, or little suck that she planted on me rolled through my body and came out my mouth on him. It may have been more than Rafe anticipated. He moaned and danced in his seat. I heard his head tossing to and fro. I imagined he was consumed with looking and figuring out how to see it all. He remained connected to me, caressed my back mimicking my strokes on him. We must have been a sight, a fleshy, sexy machine, each of us a cog in our erotic system.

Rafe leaned sideways over my back and let his hand ride me like a roller coaster. He dipped between my shoulder blades down the curve of my spine and up my cheek. He ended his journey by exploring the crack of my ass.

“Yeah, Mara, that’s real good,” said Rafe.

His encouragement added heart to the mix, and it bound me to him.

Mara’s mouth and fingers were treating me right. Can a woman know better than a man how to please a woman? As that question sailed through my mind, I realized my body had an answer. I was dripping wet. The slurping sounds echoed through the room, Mara on me, and me on Rafe. We rocked together, and when her tongue drifted closer to my back door, I knew my orgasm was close. I could feel Rafe’s stomach tensing which always let me know he was about to come.

I tasted his salty spurt just as my orgasm started. Rafe moaned and crunched forward running his palm once again down the length of my back. Mara’s fingers were everywhere, driving me crazy. As if I had given directions, Mara shoved fingers inside me as Rafe plunged his into my crack and slid one finger into my slobbery, lubricated ass. Full, hot and exploding, I bobbed and groaned as the three of us made our orgasms happen.

When Rafe’s cock went soft, I dropped my cheek to his thigh, but Mara pushed me for more. She continued licking me while rubbing my G-spot as Rafe held me in place, wiggling his finger in my ass.

These sexy sensations overwhelmed me, and I gripped Rafe’s thighs tightly.

“You’re okay, baby. I got you. Go again. Ride it, for you.”

His encouragement was what I needed. I let it all go. The scream that emerged from my lips signified the best orgasm of my life.

The rest was a haze. I don’t know how long I laid with my face in Rafe’s lap, inhaling our funky sex scent. It was like a drug, and I must have fallen asleep.

When I woke up, Rafe was sitting on the floor, and I was on the couch. My head rested on his shoulder. Mara was gone.

“We wore you out.”

“Yeah, it drained me.”

“Beth, baby that was beyond what I expected.”

I laughed. “Me, too.”  I knew I would want more with each of them, together or apart.

“You want to do it again?”

“I do, Rafe.”

Rafe tipped his head over toward the table.

“Mara left you a note.”

“Ok.” I slid my fingers in his hair, reaffirming my connection and wondering how I got so lucky.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“I had a dream just now.”

“You did. What was it?”

“We had another threesome.” I held my breath for a second. “I watched you with a man.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “You don’t say.”

What did the note say? Read the next installment. Be Jeweled.

Aug 24

Orfeo’s Ascent: A Modern Opera – Part 2

#FollowFriday I am pleased to share the second part of this historical romance with heat!  Click here for Part One of Orfeo’s Ascent. Be sure to follow L. Devin Verity on Twitter. 

Peter edged closer. “Anwen? Where did he go? Are you all right? What’s —?” The softness of fingertips hushed his lips, tugged him closer to the shadows.

“I paid him. He’s gone now.” Her fingers slid down, tracing Peter’s lapels. “The thing is… I’m feeling very much like our poor heroine.”

His heart clenched, his voice weak. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

She stood before him, her dress illuminating her figure in the most angelic and mesmerizing way. His breath caught.

The stage lights flickered behind them through the wall seams, prevailed upon the audience in the distance. Peter’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, glimpsed beyond his wife for a moment, recognizing the place as an unused, side-slated trap door beneath the main stage.

She grasped his shoulders and pushed him against the near wall.

“My lady, I’m not sure I understand your will,” he whispered, shame creeping into his countenance.

“If you don’t understand me by now, my lord, then I don’t think there’s much hope in continuing our courtship.” The delicate brow of hers cocked.

The viscount held himself perfectly still, assessing the lady’s intent. “You’re my wife.”

“Show me that is true, my lord. Please. Come for me.” She leaned toward him, standing on tip-toe to press her lips to his freshly-shaven cheek. Her mouth lingered, her hot exhalation at his ear.

The double-meaning of her phrase, the allusion to the scenes performed above, was not lost on him. His initial fears returned, his eyes closing to keep her out, to reject and protect her — even now.

“Mmm. Show me, darling.”

The sound of satisfaction evoked a shiver from him as her hands drifted lower, reaching beneath his coat to his trousers, the back and then the front.

His reaction left her without doubt, the answer of his affection evident. Her eyes flickered up to his, still closed.

“Peter?” Her voice broke.

The blue of his eyes finally shone down on her into the shadows, his breaths halting, frightened now at the revelation. “I don’t want you to see me. I’m not that man anymore, not the one you loved.”

Anwen’s eyes glistened. In reply, she left one hand to stroke his trousers and the other to deftly touch his cheek, trace his lips, before she kissed him. Gentle, pressing until he finally surrendered his lips to her, parting them eagerly, thirsting for depths of her, their tongues fervently tasting.

Peter paused, groaned, stepped back for a moment, his breathing erratic and alive. Paralyzed now by the notion of her so close, alarmed at the way her breasts pushed so beautifully from the cut of her dress — so wanton and ladylike at the same time and so very much in need of him. Could she?

She closed the distance between them swiftly, tenderly undoing his tie, his waistcoat, his shirt, as he continued to witness this miraculous act. All the while, she whispered, commanded, doted on his insecurities as his flesh revealed the wounds of war. In the darkness of the remote space of theatre, she undid him: one touch at a time across the map of his chest, the ridges and puckers of scars, and kissed him at each intersection of marred and smooth skin he thought too ugly for her to witness.

After she cleansed his shame, she gazed into his eyes and, silently, kissed him again. The breath of life restored, he fully returned her kisses, moaned in return with each rush of taste and tongue. His hands explored, traced her neck and jaw, the line of her throat where the dress dipped low to her breasts. She ached for him, hesitated for mere seconds to work free of the garment. Standing before him, his own body bare from his waist up, she now slipped off her shoes, gown, chemise, and revealed the most tantalizing detail: no knickers. He gasped. She grinned. She placed his hand on her breast, moving it gently as if reminding him of how she felt, how she moved in rhythm with her hips encouraging him with the press of her bare body against his wool trousers.

“You didn’t wear knickers,” he stammered.

“I’m quite well aware, my lord.” The innocent, coquettish nature thrilled him. “Touch me?”

 

The swell of music above. The hitch in his breathing as he reached, her legs parted for him and he cupped her with his palm, slipped one finger and then two between her legs, her hot center so wet he groaned. The moisture on his fingers he used to rub her, to remember what it was to arouse her to this state — her hair falling loosely from the tightness of the clips, her head tilted, her cheeks flushed.

“Mmm. Yes, Pet — darling — ” Her legs weakened with the stroking, the combined rub of his finger and then the come hither deep within, bringing her closer to bury her head in his shoulder, her fingers clutching his hair as she cried out against him.

The softness of the beckoning strings gave way to the tender plea of Act 3. Peter knelt before his nude wife, urged her to part for him once more, held her hips, felt her fingers in his hair again, pulling him to her for more, for supplication and need at once as his tongue and lips sucked and swirled, left her hips moving against him to chase the pleasure again. Her wetness only making him harder. Unable to stand the climb alone, she pushed at him, forced him to stand and relinquish his trousers. A quick glance into the surrounding darkness, Anwen took his face in her hands again, focusing his concentration fully on her with a powerful kiss and moan. The two knelt again, her hands grasping for his hips now, wanting him inside of her so badly that her own hips rubbed against him incessantly.

“Please — ” she said, reaching for him, gripping his shoulders, pulling him down to her.

He couldn’t keep up and nearly lost his balance. She spread her legs wide for him, still urging her hips upward toward him, the throbbing between her legs causing her to whimper for him.

The burst of tympani and soaring strings reverberated as triumph reigned on the stage above and Peter entered her, filling her so deeply that both cried out at the relief of the solitary ache so long uneased. He moved inside of her, slowly, savoring her at first, pausing to allow his fingers to elicit that exquisite sound of her moan once more as he sensitively circled her clit. Unable to stand the delay in completion, longing to reach the precipice, she pushed at him until he shifted, allowed her on top and merely watched her fingers trace and knead his chest as she rushed to the exquisite heights, her cries drowned out by the climactic victory of love aloft. His pleasure in seeing her come seared, brought tears to his eyes and a hot rush of his own surrender to her.

As the final sweep of the orchestra quieted, the heroine retrieved from the underworld, and the hero forgiven his passionate mistake — the couple came together below in a raw and desperate reunion. The crowd’s applause above thundered around them. The bows taken on the stage, the viscount and his wife finally parted in satiated bliss, more than five years in the making.

Peter swallowed, still trying to catch his breath after his performance. Anwen’s eyes floated over him, lingering as he fought with pulling his trousers up again. She lazily reached for his shirttail, tucked it in slowly, pulling him to her inadvertently as she went, and tidying the clasp. She finished and looked up at him. There was a difference in his demeanor now, a slight smile threatened at his lips. No words came. Somehow, each knew, as in their past life long ago, their love endured. He watched as she donned and smoothed her dress, hid the sweet indiscretion of their actions with her attention to detail, and then he took her hand to lead her out of the blissful underworld. Peter held his lover’s hand, his wife curious to see if he might lose the eternal battle for her soul, as the hero overhead had, as they wound their way out of the darkness and into the light of the theatre’s exiting attendees. Fingers interlocked with hers, the gentleman didn’t dare glance back towards her. Instead, Peter gave a gentle squeeze to her hand, made certain she remained with him, and, in his mind, imagined the possibilities of the reclaimed life that lay ahead.

Aug 23

Dr. J.’s Spotlight: L Devin Verity

It’s #WriterWednesday. Join me in welcoming a new voice to the erotica writing world. Today, I am sharing my platform with L. Devin Verity, who has woven a tale set in London that touches the heart and the body.  For me, setting a stage for an erotic romance in historical fiction is difficult to do. I’m excited to showcase a writer who does it well. Lie back and enjoy an erotic story from another time and place. You can follow her on Twitter. Click on her name above.

 

Orfeo’s Ascent: A Modern Opera Part 1 of 2

London, 1920

Peter stared at the opera tickets his wife, Anwen, left on the escritoire earlier as she had reminded him of their anniversary. Orfeo ed Eurydice. A dead wife rescued from the underworld. He knew the myth well: great love, tragedy, resurrection. Impossibility.

“We used to love it,” Anwen said, the wistful tone failing to conceal the present bitterness. He’d said nothing, so she’d added the postscript herself: “I know it won’t be like last time, but… ”

The words suspended, her figure disappearing back to her sitting room in the London town home. The last opera concert ended with the clamor of applause and a replaying on the gramophone once they’d arrived back at their country estate: stripping one another of every vestige of clothing in favor of the most indecent and exquisite lovemaking the gentleman ever experienced. The music set his wife aflame with passion she otherwise demurred, and they had only made it to the gramophone in the sitting room, the billiards table providing a level plane for her as he’d tasted her before taking her. Peter’s lips pursed, his eyes closed at the memory as his body tightened, lost in the resonating sounds of her pleasure from long ago.

Now, five years — and a war — later, she expected him to relive the magnificence of the last opera with her? Recapture an ecstasy he knew himself physically incapable of after the horror of his wounds? Couldn’t she understand he was protecting her from the sight of him, from the guilt?

Their marriage withered on the vine of silent, unrequited tension that held taut at every turn as Peter tried to resist and Anwen tried to push. The war still haunted him with physical reminders that he refused to allow her to see. Four months after his return from France, he’d kept her at a distance with the exclusive use of a valet — a man he’d served with in the trenches. The intimacy, the one part of their marriage the world could only guess at and the two of them took such pleasure in, disappeared at Peter’s insistence. She’d tried again and again, to pursue him, to reawaken his desire for her with her nightgown, her bath soaps and perfumes, her rather blunt and open invitations to her bed. He didn’t even look at her in those moments of absolute, tacit refusal and the tone of his voice, though pressed, carried a chill. What did he find so repulsive? Why could he not trust her with his body? She knew he’d been in hospital, knew his chest and leg had been badly injured, but what could be so wrong about her ministrations, her touch to those wounds to resurrect their life together?

Now, on their anniversary, staring into the mirror, she’d determined the celibate life would never work; she loved him, but he obviously didn’t feel the same about her. The form-fitting, tailored chemise and pearl white gown displayed her attractive curves quite tastefully. If he no longer loved her, then perhaps she would catch another’s eye this evening and test her chances in the social circles again as a single woman. After all, neither did anything wrong and their reputations would survive the disruption of divorce without taint or dishonor.  There would be whispers, but those would subside eventually and the war proved an acceptable excuse for nearly everything these days. She puffed the flower scented perfume and glanced at the photograph of him with her just before he left for France: his officer’s uniform dashing, his hat off for the photograph, revealing his light hair and intense eyes — gray in the photograph. Her heart ached, the heat of tears forcing her to grab the frame and push its face against the wood of the vanity.

“Never again,” she said. “I’ve loved you through this, but never again.”

 

After the bout with morphine, the doctor prescribed books, of all things. Peter stared at the Austen novel, dismayed. Stubborn, clever people living in a different time, a time before all of this chaos, he thought, standing by the window. The evening street lamps lit the night, punctuated the doorways and walks with a romantic intensity he’d not noticed before. Couples laughed together or huddled close. He thought of how Anwen knocked on the door to his room last night, invited herself with the sweet smile and hope in her eyes before he crushed her, yet again, with self-preserving will despite his heart pounding at the thought of seeing her become all his again, making her —  Why couldn’t they be one of those couples in the street? Carefree and content, intimate amidst the crowd of people. She couldn’t stand the sight of me, he reasoned. God knows, I can’t.

Hamilton, his valet, appeared with the waistcoat and finished helping Peter dress, carefully lifting his collar and completing the tie, covering the scars at the viscount’s neck.

“Will that be all, Sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

 

In the car to the concert hall, Peter sat mostly silent, politely complimenting his wife’s attire before retreating into his own thoughts.

“I can’t live like this any longer,” she whispered with hands by her sides in the seat. “I’ll be leaving for my parents’ first thing in the morning.”

He knew precisely her meaning; the opposite of the romantic jests Austen told. His chest pierced with the thought of losing her. A flash of his shirt going over his chest as the valet helped him dress. A yell from outside on the London street startled him; his blue eyes searching for the cause.

Anwen looked and saw his distress. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I wish — ”

Peter faced her, the street lamps lighting the inside of their car in patterned intervals. She saw the sober desperation in his eyes and heard the break in his voice when he finally spoke. “You wish what?”

The car stopped. Quickly, the driver came around and opened Anwen’s door before she could answer. Peter stepped out on his side and cast a weary glance to the surrounding spectators chatting and walking into the great hall. He’d brought her here during their first month after having taken up together in 1914. The driver gave a brief nod and helped Anwen take the first step toward the entrance, and Peter admired his wife’s profile: rich brown hair luxuriously curled, her nose long and aristocratically angled, and her figure flattered by the silk of the dress she wore. He saw the shimmer and glow of the gown, and his eyes widened, flashed to hers, and caught her staring back at him.

“Are you ready?” was all she asked.

Peter smoothed his white tie and waistcoat. “Ye-yes.”

 

The couple took their seats, demonstrating a courteous facade to those near them. As the opening chords of Orfeo ed Eurydice began, the zeal and tempo startling Anwen nearly to the point of impetuous applause, Peter kept his eyes on her as much as he did the assembly of professional musicians. The scent of her perfume fused with the heat inside the Hall, intensifying the effects, forcing Peter to concentrate and not lose himself completely in her rather than the music. Peter could tell by the ways her eyes glistened short of the eleventh minute and then lit at the bold chords and powerful bursts of crescendo at the loss of Orfeo’s wife and his stunning grief, that tear drops threatened to spill at her delicate, dark lashes.

Peter, discreet in his movements, removed his handkerchief and made as though he meant to simply lay his arm beside her and placed the silk in her gloved palm. Anwen felt the pressure of his fingers in her palm and glanced to him, lips parted slightly and eyes flickering between joy and something Peter couldn’t quite name. She mouthed the words ‘thank you’ and dabbed at her eyes as she turned, leaving the besotted, anguished gentleman to observe her profile, the tears still escaping. Inexplicably, with one hand still dabbing, the other rested once more beside his hand and, tender, the back of his hand touching hers, Peter’s larger hand opened to reach for hers only to feel her fingers lay instantly in his—willing him to hold hers. Caressing, surrounding her small hand in his, the constriction in his own throat bringing a heat to the back of his eyes, Peter smiled, looked down at his program so as to be inconspicuous, and then gazed straight ahead to the stage.

By the end of Act 2, Anwen disappeared. At the interval before the final act, an usher found Peter and handed him a note.

Please come. – A

“Follow me, Sir.”

The usher led him down a corridor, which twisted around to what must’ve been behind the stage. Before he could speak, the lights dimmed and the usher disappeared.

“Come closer.” Her voice in the darkness.

Aug 21

At the Heart of a Threesome ~ffm~

This is the fourth episode about Beth, Mara, and Rafe. If you’d like to start at the beginning. Click HERE to read When the Sheets Talk.

Good to his word, Rafe had invited Mara over to our house the following weekend. My heart pounded in my chest. The two people that lit my fire were huddled together on the couch clarifying our threesome plans. There were so many things I loved about both of them, and it was amplified seeing them laughing.

Rafe heard the floorboard creak.

“Beth, come join us.”

Excitement registered on Mara’s face with a grin. She licked her bottom lip and bit down on the corner as she shifted to open a space between them. I scooted in. I couldn’t decide who smelled yummier. In a relaxed manner, Rafe draped his arm around my shoulder, kissed my hair and looked down at me.

“We’ve been talking about what turns us on and how to work the boundaries for our love-in.”

“Man on a mission, I see.”

I rubbed my hands up and down my thighs. My silly childhood fear that I might not get what I wanted, reared its ugly head.

“I appreciate being with couples, especially focusing on the woman as long as the man is on-board. It’s important we’re all on the same page, Beth,” said Mara.

“I reassured Mara that I am 100% into this plan. I explained that I want to honor your fantasy of a sexual encounter with a female separately as well as when we are all together.”

I blew out a breath. The words sounded so different floating through the air at me in Rafe’s voice than they did in my head. But, yes, this is what I want. They both stared at me, and I realized no words had come out of my mouth.

“Yes, Rafe. That would be brilliant.”

“I have a different idea than the one Rafe suggested,” said Mara.

I looked from Rafe to Mara.

“Okay.”

“Beth, it might help if the three of us enjoy a little time together before you and I are alone. That way, you can see how you like Rafe’s response and if our combined three-some sensations are meeting your expectations.”

“That is an interesting idea. Not one I had considered, Mara.”

I lifted a questioning eyebrow at Rafe.

“If you’re good with it, I’m good with it.”

I nodded my head at Rafe. He fiddled with my fingers providing connecting reassurance.

“I also told Mara, that this is about you two being sexual while I touch you.”

The shower scene replayed in my mind. When I had described to Rafe what Mara had done to me, it ramped him up. I imagined how he would sizzle watching her do sexual things with me.

I turned to Mara.

“Rafe is a voyeur. He loves to see how I experience pleasure and then he’ll be the recipient of our sexual activity through me.”

“I get that. No problem. Do you get turned on with him watching?”

“I do when he watches me masturbate. You’re the only other person I’ve been with, and Rafe didn’t observe us.”

“That’s why I thought maybe we could see how you feel when all three of us are together. It’s up to you.”

“Rafe, I think it’s a good idea. We can make it up as we go along finding what’s fun.”

“I’m with you, Beth.” I glanced down and saw Rafe’s erection bulging in his pants.

“I believe you are. How shall we proceed?

“How about stretching out on the couch on top of both of us? We’ll mingle our efforts and see how you respond,” said Mara, as she gazed down my body.

Wow. The fantasy I had is coming to life. It is real. Two smiling faces prodded me to move, and I did.

Since I wanted to feel Mara’s warm lips on mine, I laid my head across her lap and put my legs across Rafe’s thighs. When my body connected to each of theirs, a sexual jolt coursed through me from head to toe. My want and desire hung in the air like a kite in the wind, dipping and soaring. I had to stay in the lead to assure Rafe I was okay.

I wiggled around on the couch repositioning my skirt. When Rafe stroked my bare legs, I reached up and pulled Mara’s face to mine. Plump, soft lips greeted me and then her tongue caressed the seam of my mouth. I opened anticipating her velvet feel. Rafe began working long kneading strokes up and down my legs. Their combined touches made my insides shake. I hadn’t expected this amount of intensity. It was as if someone had turned up the dial on my internal thermostat. I moaned into Mara’s mouth, and my knees automatically dropped out to the sides over Rafe’s lap.

“My baby’s enjoying this, Mara.”

“I think she is, Rafe.”

Mara continued kissing me, and when her hand touched my breast, an all-encompassing ache bloomed in my pelvis and surprised me. Mara lifted my shirt and caressed me at the swell of my breast. It electrified my skin. After she pulled my bra cup down, she sucked her index finger while she looked at Rafe. Oh, god, what was he thinking? With her wet finger, she drew circles around my areola. She pinched my nipple as Rafe scraped his nails down the inside of my thighs. I quivered. When she leaned down and licked my hard nipple, Rafe massaged my vulva through my silky panties and grazed my clit. His touch reminded me of how much I loved Mara’s velvet tongue between my folds. I nearly exploded, and so did Rafe. His erection nudged me on the back of my leg, and it was getting harder. I wanted more from both of them.

“Mara, I want to go down on Rafe while your tongue and lips are between my legs.”

Rafe sighed and stared off into space signaling to me he had begun to create a visual image as he had done during our shower experience.

“Oh, yes,” said Mara.

“Rafe, I want you to watch everything Mara does to me because I’ll be giving those same sensations to you.”

Rafe chuckled. “Whose dream is coming true here?”

“Mine. Now let’s get our clothes off.”

What happens next? Read Making a Threesome Come True.

 

Please head on over to Masturbation Monday and find other tasty delights!

Aug 14

The Lover In My Dreams

My writing group gave me a song lyric prompt and I wrote this story based on that. I ask you, does love resonate in our body forever?

I woke myself thrashing in the bedcovers. It was hot. When I opened my eyes, it was all black.

Where am I?

What’s that smell?

I felt anxious. My skin was clammy. I kicked off the sheet to get some air on my feet. A hand grasped mine and squeezed. I flinched, and the hand dropped away.

My heart rate picked up. As I focused on my chest, rising and falling, I drifted back into sleep, and the lake reappeared in my view.

“Ivy, come on.”

“Jasper, I’m not a mountain goat like you; slow down.”

I had prepared our spot earlier. I could see the moon peeping over the tree line. The fireflies danced across the sky like miniature, floating beacons. It was a humid summer night, but a light breeze stirred, and the scent from Mr. Harvey’s lavender fields drifted over us.

When we reached the landing, I wondered what Ivy would think.

“Jasper, you’re a romantic.”

“Do you like it?”

She knelt down on the quilt covered with thick cotton blankets and sighed.

“Chilled wine and food. What’s not to like.” Ivy held out her hand to me. When I touched her fingers, she laced hers into mine and pulled me down to her. Kneeling face to face, I saw the moonlight sparkling in her eyes.

“You’ve earned bonus points for thinking ahead.” She nuzzled my neck and planted the softest kiss there.

“What do these points get me?”

“A sexy surprise. Open the wine.”

Ivy plopped down in the middle of the space. I wanted to remember this view forever. Her long blonde hair across her shoulders dipped down to the swell of her breasts in her V-neck halter top. She stretched her long toned legs out in front of her and removed her sneakers. I could barely get the wine open for watching her. She was inviting.

“What’s in that other basket?”

I smiled to myself.

“Dessert.”

“Tell me. Is it my favorite? Did you pick up Mrs. Harvey’s lavender shortbreads?”

“You’ll see. Have a little patience.”

I finally got the cork out, poured two glasses and sat beside her.

“It’s a gorgeous night.”

“It is, Jasper. Fancy wine, too.”

“I wanted to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yes, I hope so.”

“Jasper, you got word, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I got the job.”

I knew that she would be disappointed because it was across the country.

“I’m so happy for you. It is what you wanted.” I heard to sadness in her voice. “Let’s toast to your new job.”

“Wait a minute. I can’t celebrate unless you are happy too. Let’s get you some dessert.”

“Dessert? With wine.”

“Don’t you want to see if it’s what you think it is?”

I reached over to the basket and pulled out the wrapped cookies and handed them to her.

“Wow, Mrs. Harvey is working some new packaging. Lovely ribbons.”

I held my breath. I watched Ivy untie the bow and look at me.

“Jasper there is a knot, and something’s attached to the ribbon.” The perfect gasp escaped her mouth. “No.”

“Ivy, I know you had plans for grad school, but I want you to go with me. I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?”

Her shoulders started to shake, and she nodded her head.

“Say something.”

Through a tearful laugh, she said, “I can go to grad school anywhere.”

I unknotted the ring from the ribbon and placed it on her finger. She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“I guess you deserve a surprise.” She pushed me over on my back knocking our glasses over and kissed me. As Ivy’s body covered mine and our kiss consumed us, I absorbed the wine, lavender, and her taste, at that moment.

She clawed at my clothes and I at hers until they were off.

“Me first,” she said.

Her tongue made a path down my chest and then she tickled my happy trail on her way south. My erection jerked, and she giggled. “Who’s impatient now?”

“Me, evidently,” I said as she took me in her mouth and with her loving strokes brought me to the brink of an orgasm.

“Wait, Ivy, I want to see you. I want to be inside.”

She looked up, smiled, and straddled my lap. I lifted her up, and she positioned my cock at her opening and sat back down on me. She was warm and tight. We gazed into each other’s faces.

“Come on you ‘ole goat, let’s do this thing.”

“Sex or marriage?”

“All of it.”

We wrapped our arms around each other and both pumped up and down until our orgasms took us. Fish jumped, frogs croaked, lavender wafted, and the love of my life had said yes.

We snuggled pointing out stars and talked about our future life. We rolled over and leisurely loved one another. The cosmic glue of sex sealed our love for eternity. It was locked in a night I would always remember.

I awoke from my dream with a start.

An unfamiliar face hovered over me.

“You old goat, you woke up smiling.”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my bed?”

“It’s me, Ivy. I’m your wife.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.

“You are?”

She patted my hand.

“Nearly forty years now.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.

“That’s okay. I’ll remember for both of us.”

“What’s that smell?”

“I bought some fresh lavender.”

“It’s nice.”

“Yes, it is, Jasper.”

Aug 05

Get What You Need

I’m humming the Rolling Stones tonight. You know the song-You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Let me focus on the next line. “But if you try sometimes, well you might find you get what you need.”

I guess I needed change as a theme in my life. Some of you may know I have a new home and have been moving into it for the last two weeks. The move officially ended today when my child also ventured to a new home, complimenting his new job. Our entire family has been in transition.

But in the midst of house-moving hell, I had a website malfunction. Enough said on that. Except that maybe I got what I needed.

Several people in my writing group offered assistance. My fellow Wicked Pens provided lots of suggestions. My local author buddies offered ideas and help while calming me down. This situation reminded of the big hearts that fellow writers have and that I have the best folks in my writing circle.

But I have to tell you about the one woman, on a mission to make things right because she could. The sexy, naughty, tech savvy Mischa Eliot has been a one-woman dynamo building a new website for me.

In case you don’t know, she’s my twin. Eliza David calls us “SistersInSmut.” We are more than that. We are sisters in EVERYTHING. I will be forever grateful for her kindness towards me. Maybe I can get her a date with Christian Kane as a real thank you.

So if my website looks a little different for a day or two, you know why. Tweaking will continue. New stories will emerge. Writing horizons and projects will open up.

And as always, I’ll get what I need.

Jul 24

Dr. J.’s Spotlight: The Man, the Guitar Legend: Horatio Slice

Lucky me, I got a sneak peak of Oleander Plume’s new book, Horatio Slice Guitar Slayer of the Universe.

I can’t remember the last time the first chapter of a book pulled me in and anchored me, center stage, to a fascinating tale.  I kept thinking, what would happen if I told Horatio I read the first chapter three times in a row to savor it? I’m sure it would go to his head, both of them.

As I look back now, I realize the characters threw me into a scene from the movie, A Knight’s Tale. It was the one where William Thatcher and his mates ride horses into Paris for the world championship games. The tune “The Boys Are Back in Town” played in the background. That’s how I envisioned Horatio Slice with his crew, except they are gay, space pirates, and the horniest of men.

Horatio’s adventure moves us from one world to another, facing tasks and obstacles while meeting new creatures, who have sex in the most interesting places and fascinating ways. Did I mention there are unusual items and circumstances to enhance the pleasure process? Phew. HAAWWT.

As I followed Horatio on his wild hero’s journey, he and his mates not only endeared themselves to me, they captivated and mesmerized me. But more importantly, Horatio’s riveting tale champions the phrase: love is love is love.

I am so excited to have the creative genius of this book here today to answer questions. Enjoy meeting Oleander Plume.

Do tell, how did Horatio Slice emerge?

I dug through all my various revisions of the book, and discovered I started writing about Horatio in April of 2013, while attempting to answer a short story submission call for a “rock & roll science fiction fantasy” anthology. Needless to say, I never answered that particular query!

What a name, Horatio Slice, how did you come up with it?

I love naming the characters. Usually the names just pop into my head. I borrowed the name Horatio from another short story I was working on at the time, about a private detective of all things. I figured a rock star needed a big name, with lots of syllables. The last name had to be short and bold. From the beginning, I wanted him to be big and muscular to contrast nicely with his sweet and kind of goofy personality. Since I tend to write a lot of characters with dark eyes, I forced myself to make Horatio’s blue. I think my favorite thing about him is his optimistic attitude. We all need a little Horatio in our life!

Tell me about the other characters? Or maybe they want to speak to the audience?

Gunner Wilkes: “I was a college student until Horatio dropped into my dorm room, buck ass naked and sporting a full-on rager. Not that I minded, especially since I’m the one who brought him back to Earth using a machine I invented that created a portal into another universe. Sure, I’m a genius, and I expected the machine to work, but I didn’t expect Horatio to be naked. Or horny. Or horny for me. Which I also didn’t mind. At all.”

Snake Vinter: “I’m a space pirate. And a vampire. My hobbies include pillaging, sucking blood, sucking dick, wreaking havoc and drinking all manner of spirits. Sugar owns my soul. Seriously, I lost it to him in a poker game.”

Sugar: “How did I end up second in command on a metal pirate ship named Frances? Bad luck. Or, good luck, depending on your perspective. One thing I know for sure, if it wasn’t for me, Snake would be dead, or in jail. Don’t let him tell you any different.”

Besides these four, the book includes Saber and his twin brother Archer, Canis – a puppy by day and sexy werewolf by night, Seven, Stiles, Suki, Saki, Six, Spinner and Slash. Oh, and there’s Meridian, Mert, Bindrop, Shonty, Saul … did I forget anyone?

What’s it like having such a wild crowd playing in your head?

Distracting, and slightly confusing! But, I am drawn to character driven stories, so having a large cast felt natural, and I really enjoyed developing each one’s personality.

Where and when do you write? Tell us about your process.

I recently redecorated a spare bedroom and created a small but functional writing space. Instead of a desk, I use a recliner, and a lap desk for my laptop. There is usually a cat sleeping on top of my feet while I work, who, when he is not napping, takes great delight in shredding my notes or knocking my pen to the floor.

Most days, I get up at 5:00 am and start working. Well, after coffee, that is. If you are one of those people who can get up and start doing ANYTHING without caffeine, I’m going to suspect you are some sort of wizard or alien.

How has your writing career helped you to get to Horatio?

So far, I’ve been lucky. My short stories have been published by insanely talented people like Rachel Kramer BusselAlison Tyler, and Violet Blue. While some authors will advise against submitting to erotic anthologies, I say “Do it!” Not only will you hone your craft, but you will meet many other wonderful writers, like Dr. J., for instance!

Two people I got to know early on happened to be Jacob Louder and Lana Fox, the dynamic duo behind Go Deeper Press. From the minute Jake and Lana launched GDP, I knew I wanted to write for them. (Did I think I was worthy? Not on your life!)

When you are not writing, what do you do for fun?

Besides writing, I also work a 40 hour a week job (nothing glamorous), so when I do have free-time, I love to hang out with my family, watch Supernatural on TV, listen to music and mess around with graphic design. And, drink. *mixes up martini*

What advice would you give to an aspiring young erotica writer?

1.      Don’t write what’s selling, write what sets your heart, (or your pants), on fire. If your work doesn’t turn you on, it won’t turn your readers on, either.

2.      There’s a fine line between offering advice and sounding like a pretentious twat. Never cross that line.

3.      Most importantly, find a good editor. Listen to that editor. Your editor wants to help you become a better writer. Let them.

Anything else, you want to share with the fans.

The world needs art, now more than ever. Please keep creating!

Oh, wait, one more thing: BUY MY BOOK. PLEASE. OH PLEASE. BUY MY BOOK. I HAVE KIDS IN COLLEGE, FFS.

Thank you for joining us today, Oleander. I wish you much success with this phenomenal book!
Please make sure you follow Oleander and all the boys on Twitter (click on their names) for some real fun.

Locate Horatio at the following locations:

Go Deeper Press

Kindle

Amazon print

B&N

Kobo

Inktera

Jul 17

Dr. J.’s Spotlight: Author Laura Lascarso

My connection with Laura Lascarso is fascinating. A common writing space is our link. We share a love for an ethereal retreat, a place that supports our creation and we alternate using it. There, we deposit the essence of who we are as writers. I like to imagine our energies mingle, as our muses and characters laugh and dance together. This October, at the Florida Writers Conference, we will meet in real life and share common space. Watch out world.

I am taken with Laura’s story, Andre In Flight. It is a male-male romance that captures the heart and spirit of love and desire.  This story demonstrates that sexuality can be an integral, as well as, an equal part of the human experience. Laura’s masterful storytelling lays bare the souls of the main characters as they grapple with their past, present, and future lives.

I am pleased to welcome her as my guest today. I hope you enjoy meeting author, Laura Lascarso.

Q: Describe your books and your writing style.

I write primarily young adult and new adult fiction, usually with a romantic twist. I try to capture a sincere intimacy between characters, because I think that’s one of the beautiful things you can do with fiction. You don’t just fall in love with the characters, but you fall in love with the relationships between those characters, the bonds they share, and the obstacles they overcome.

I usually have a theme I’m trying to explore as well. With ANDRE IN FLIGHT, I wanted to capture this idea of a love that spans lifetimes, but also with a bit of a dark side when love and tenderness veer into obsession.

Q. Talk about your process. Where do you write? When do you write? Are you linear or do you write scenes and put them together later? Who are your muses and where do you get your best ideas?

I have a day job, so most of my writing takes place after normal work hours, and in fact, I’m more likely to write after the family business has been finished, from about 9 p.m. to midnight. (I’m not a morning person.) I also try to get away for writer weekends. Dr. J. has been so very generous to provide her lake house for that purpose. 🙂 It allows me to go deeply into the story.

If my story is “working,” then the drafting of it usually goes pretty fast, two or three months. I’m a pantser, who’s learned to become more of a plotter. I have several manuscripts where I had to stop at about page 80 because the plot wasn’t working.

I got lucky with Andre, because that was one of the rare occasions when I knew the entire story before I began writing it. It doesn’t always happen that way. Usually there is a lot of “discovery” along the way (and sometimes a complete rewrite.)

I have a lot of muses—from headlines to poems to my own imaginings. I also look to the classics for inspiration.

Q: What are your favorite story lines to write?

I have so many! I think it’s like when I used to date. My friends would comment on how the partners I chose were all so different—they couldn’t find a pattern or a “type.” And I think my stories are like that. I like to think they all have heart, even while the story lines can be very different.

Q: When did you start writing male-male stories?

Andre was my first M/M romance, and I drafted it in 2015. I didn’t know much about the romance genre then—I wrote primarily YA. But I really like my publisher,Dreamspinner Press, and the readers have been very welcoming and enthusiastic, so I think I’m going to stick with it.

Q: How would your writing experience today, help a younger you?

I’m definitely still discovering new things about craft and story, but I think I’ve learned, overall, that you don’t have to choose any one route to publication, nor do you have to stick with it if it’s not working for you. I’ve been published mainstream and independent, and both have their advantages and disadvantages. I do think the key to being successful is building a readership, which is something I’m working on now, finding my readers and giving them more of what they want.

Q: What new exciting writing projects are on your horizon?

I had an M/M romance come out earlier this year in April, called The Bravest Thing, about a tumultuous affair between streetwise city boy and a hunky cowboy. Early next year, I have another M/M romance coming out, which is a best-friends-to-lovers story—my attempt at being a little more light-hearted and fun. And, I’m currently working on a revision of a near-future, adventure story, but I’m not sure yet where that one might find a home.

Q: When you’re not writing what do you like to do?

Lately I’ve become a real soccer mom. Both my kids play soccer pretty seriously, and it’s something we do as a family. I also like to go to the beach, camping and hiking. My day job is communications for an environmental non-profit, which is a great creative outlet as well.

Q: Anything else you want fans to know?

I’d say that if you like one of my stories, I hope you will try more. I read all my reviews, and I appreciate the time and attention readers spend in writing them. It really helps spread the word for authors when readers recommend books to friends.

Laura’s Social Media links.

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Pinterest

Jul 10

Dr. J.’s Spolight: Author Eliza David

A writer’s journey is not complete unless there are folks to witness your process and your progress. Those people are cheerleaders for your success. For me, that person is Eliza David. I can only hope to cheer as loudly for her as she does for me.

Eliza and I met on Twitter. I don’t even remember how, but our feeds crossed, and the rest is history. Besides being my #SisterInSmut, she is a resource person. Eliza is the most in touch, finger on the pulse of the writing world, kind of woman. Her new book, The Follow is out, and I invited her here so you could get to know her better and hear about her writing journey.

Introducing the remarkable woman herself, Eliza David.

Welcome, Eliza.

Q: Tell us, who are you?

I’m Eliza David. By day, I’m a clockwatching cubicle dweller. By night, I write the naughty words. When I’m not writing, I’m reading, watching Sex & the City reruns, and/or stirring up trouble on Twitter.

Q: When did you start your romance writing?

I wrote my first novel, The Cougarette (which is PERMAFREE on Kindle US!), during NaNoWriMo in November 2014. In the beginning, I never planned to establish a career as a writer, you know? I just wanted to write the novel to say I wrote it. Almost 3 years and eight novels later…

Q: What are your favorite storylines to write?

I do enjoy an older woman/younger man trope. I also like fandom romance, such as latest novel, The Follow.  I like to write romance with that touch of real-life fantasy: What’s it like to be in your forties and taking a lover almost half your age? What happens when the object of your fandom wants you just as bad as you want them?

Q: What places are you most in touch with your muse?

Most of my motivation to write comes from asking myself questions until I feel a story brewing.  For example, with The Follow, I asked myself: What happens when a celebrity is diagnosed with a sex addiction…right as he’s falling in love? If I can’t answer it, I write it out.

Q: What exciting new thing is happening in your life?

I just released The Follow and I am so happy about it! It combines some of my favorite aspects of life: love, fandom, social media, and – of course – sexy times!  I loved writing the book so much that I had the sequel plotted out before the first book was released!

Q: How would your writing experience today, help a younger you?

I regret the years I didn’t spend writing as a teenager, although I was encouraged by my mother to write back then.  I’m just happy that, as I approach forty, I can crank out these stories and still go for my dreams.  I guess the one thing my writing experience would teach my younger self is to never stop dreaming.

Q: Anything else you want fans to know?

I want my readers to know that they keep me motivated to write the words. I feel blessed every day to have the reader base I have and I will never stop writing.

Thank you, Eliza, for joining us today. I wish you all the success with The Follow and all of your wonderful writing endeavors!

xoxoxo ~Dr. J.~

Lay the links on us.

Book Links:

Amazon – http://goo.gl/vgN5rG

Free Excerpt – http://wp.me/p7FjXC-Uh

Pinterest Inspo Board – http://pin.it/8zBW6r4

Twitter Tag – https://twitter.com/hashtag/TheFollow

Eliza’s Social Media Links:

Website:  http://ElizaDavidWrites.com

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00S3T495M

Twitter: https://twitter.com/elizadwrites

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elizadwrites

Instagram:  https://instagram.com/writegirlproblems/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/12419007.Eliza_David

Jun 26

Sprayed and Pounded

This is the third story in a series. If you would like to start at the beginning, read When the Sheets Talk.

I was jealous of the spa-rock floor pounded by the shower spray. I wanted a pounding, and it wasn’t happening.

Impaled on Rafe’s cock, he wanted to hear about Mara. I was embarrassed. No, I wasn’t. I needed to own my desires, but I wanted to keep that experience for myself. The problem was I didn’t hide things from him.

Rafe pulled me from my thoughts when his fingertips melded into my skin. His cock throbbed inside me. He sensed that I waivered, contemplating what to do. His teeth landed on that tendon on my shoulder, my spot of ecstasy. Adding his tongue and lips to the exploration, I dropped my head back. Rafe’s mouth produced magic here. He nibbled along my neck as he gripped my ass and when he reached my jawline, I caved. The words blurted out.

“I liked Mara’s technique better than yours.”

I worried he’d stop kissing me, but he didn’t. Instead, Rafe pumped his pelvis sending his cock deeper inside of me.

Needing to see him, I lifted my head. He nailed me with the intensity of his raw desire which pressed my buttons. I recognized that look. We were locked in for the final countdown.

“Her tongue was like velvet.” Rafe smiled.

Watching me, he created a rhythm. It caused body memories of Mara’s tongue work to flood me.

“Mara had a light touch. She teased me to come out and play.”

“Mmmmm, yes.”

Forehead to forehead, I smelled his want. My ass dragged across his hairy legs as he clutched my hips pulling me closer with every pelvic thrust.

“Her tongue danced on my clit.”

“And you liked it?”

I hesitated for a brief second. “I loved it.”

“You want more.”

“Yes.”

“I do, too.”

Rafe continued his stroking pace. This master of orgasm construction worked magic.

“Yes, Rafe.”

“Give me more.”

His words surrounded me like a warm towel, comforting and secure.

“She wrapped her lips around my clit as I do your cock.”

Rafe groaned. That was the detail he wanted.

“She sucked hard. She nipped me. Her teeth grazed…” I sunk my nails into Rafe’s shoulder blades.

“She swirled her tongue.”

His moan erupted, along with his orgasm. Fingerprints would reside on each cheek after this powerful grip. And then Rafe let me have it. Hard. With frenzied hammering, he took me with him.

The water splattered on the shower floor.

Our quietening gasps encircled the space. A lavender scent hung in the air. Locked together in a body embrace on the bench, I blew out one long breath.

“You get me, Beth.”

I ran my fingers through his wet hair and kissed his forehead.

“You get me, too.”

“I would like for the three of us to talk…”

“Before we become a ménage.”

Rafe chuckled.

“I want you to have time alone with Mara.”

“You do? Why?”

“I feel it when you think no one is watching. It’s the look you get when you’re around Mara. It’s yearning.”

“Rafe, I think I’ve denied it.”

“That’s why I invited her over.”

“You know what I want better than I do, Rafe.”

“We continue to learn each other’s wants.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet you have ideas swirling around in your mind.”

I tilted my head and gazed into Rafe’s expressive face.

“Yes, discovery ideas. If you have any suggestions, I expect you to share.”

His cock came to life inside me.

“I always will.”

Read the next installment. At the Heart of a Threesome.

Writing for Masturbation Monday. Click for choices in erotic stories.

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