The Magnificent Mari Freeman

I participate on a blog with Mari, Eliza Gayle, and Samantha Kane. I have slowly been getting to know Mari and she’s one of the most down to earth, beautiful people inside and out that you could ever hope to be friends with or blogmates with.

The cover of her book, Sin on Skin alone… Well, just look at it! It’s HOTTTTTT! Sin on Skin is Book Six in a series at Ellora’s Cave called, Cougar Challenge. You should go check it out! It has some very amazing authors that have participated!

Genre: Contemporary, Older Woman/Younger Man
Length: Novella
Available Now from Ellora’s Cave:
Author Website:


Wild women do…
That’s the theme for the friends Stevie Jones found at an erotic-romance convention. But as the women share their experiences with younger guys on their Tempt the Cougar blog, Stevie discovers she’s the least wild of the bunch. Finding a younger man isn’t the problem; after a lifetime of unfulfilled desires, Stevie needs a younger alpha man. In the meantime, getting a tattoo is an easy, safe way to begin ramping up her wild side.
Tattoo artist Errol knows instantly what Stevie needs, and it’s not just a bit of ink. He’s hot, young—and he’s just invited Stevie to his private BDSM club. Before you can say “green light”, Stevie is experiencing things she’d only read in her favorite erotic novels. Sinful toys, spanking benches and voyeurism are just some of the stops on what will become the wildest ride of her life.
Reader Advisory: This hot little number contains a scorching scene in which the heroine becomes a plaything for others—three others, in fact—including one very demanding Domme.

“So, what is it Stevie needs?”

She wasn’t sure what to say. Wasn’t sure how to verbalize it. She tried to think back to the characters in the stories and what had most appealed to her from their experiences. What had made her so hot?

“Honesty will get you exactly what you want. Maybe not exactly how you thought you wanted it, but the truth will help you.”

His voice made her want a lot of things. But how did she say what she wanted without sounding like a slut? She took another drink

“I want to be completely sexual, with no hangs-up, no fears.” She looked at the floor. “No accountability for the success of the experience. I want to be the object of the experience. I want sex to feel like something other than a chore.”

“You want to be a slut?” He walked past her, not looking her over yet, no judgment in his voice. “You want your body to be the instrument of pleasure for others? Is it that simple? We can start there.”

She looked down. He was right, of course. It wasn’t that simple, but he’d given her something to play with.

“Say it for me, Stevie. Tell me what you want.”

She took a deep breath. Yes. That was exactly what she wanted to be. “I want to be a slut.”

In no particular hurry, he turned to her. A wily smile came across his face. His eyes moved hungrily up her body, stopping at her chest. She held the glass in both hands so her arms were covering her breasts His glance darted to her eyes and he expectantly raised his eyebrows. It was an unspoken order. Stevie dropped her hands to her side.

“That’s my girl.”

The praise was for more than simply anticipating his demand, it was for her appearance.  His eyes were heated and his jaw tense. This young, hot man was not looking at her as if she were old or skinny. It was clear Errol liked what he saw.

“Through the next door is the playroom. We’ll start with a little intro to submission for you, my executive slut. That’s what you want? To be played with and used and have no need to moralize or worry about internal inhibitions? For me to take the responsibility for you being a dirty girl?”

 He pushed open the door to her right. She walked past him into the next room and he pointed to a small bench at the far end. “Walk to the bench. Bend over it and put your hands by the cuffs.”

Stevie was surprised at her lack of fear. The fact that he was fully clothed and standing there watching her as she walked away almost naked was so sexy. It made her feel sexy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling particularly sexy when she was naked.

The room was dim and larger than she’d anticipated. The walls were dark, with near life-sized photos of nude, highly tattooed men and women every six feet or so. A couple of long racks with lots of hooks holding the tools of Errol’s nighttime trade graced the walls on opposite sides of the room. Light flickered from artificial candles in sconces on the walls. The sensual lighting made her skin look warm and inviting.

 She strutted without looking back, glancing at the unusual furnishings placed around the room. Some she recognized from her favorite erotic stories. There were three different benches for various spanking positions. In the far corner was a large St. Andrews Cross. She passed a tall metal cage and a swing that hung from the ceiling, and every piece of equipment had plenty of space around it. There were beanbag chairs and large wedge-shaped cushions scattered everywhere. She figured when this place was full, it could accommodate close to fifty people.

She stopped at the bench Errol had indicated. It was almost waist high and at least three feet in depth—to support her upper body, she guessed—with a kneeling platform at the base. Like most of the equipment, soft black leather covered both the bench and the platform. Supple green-leather cuffs were attached to chains fastened to the edge of the bench farthest from her. Stevie bent forward. Her naked stomach shivered from the cold of the leather as she lowered to rest her head on the bench. Her arms reached out in front of her and her hands hung over the far side of the bench, next to the cuffs. Her legs had naturally spread to avoid the kneeling platform, her feet firmly planted on either side. Her ass was open and exposed and so was her pussy.

Music started playing in the background, but she still heard Errol’s approach from behind. “Now, tomorrow night,” he said as he moved in front of her and knelt so they would be eye to eye, “there’ll be a party here.”

He’d removed his shirt. Stevie looked over his muscled chest and could now see the entire tribal design. It covered his left shoulder and snaked across his chest, appearing alive and moving in the low lighting. She caught the smell of fresh soap. “This room will be full of players and voyeurs.” He buckled the first cuff on her small wrist and looked her over with hungry eyes. As he spoke, he ran his fingers down her free arm. The gentleness of his touch made her wonder if the books about all this had been correct.

He got the second buckle latched and tested the chains with a little tug. “How are you, Stevie?” He looked her in the eye. The lengths of chain allowed her to reach far enough forward to touch the design on his shoulder as he knelt in front of her.

“I’m okay,” she said as she traced one of the designs. Okay was an understatement. She felt the leather of the cuffs on her wrists and it was as if, by fastening those simple restraints, Errol had set her free of all her hangs-ups. She didn’t care if her boobs were too small or if she was over forty. Laugh lines didn’t matter here. She didn’t care about budgeting initiatives or maintaining quality testing standards. She wanted his hands on her now.

Ava March – Object of His Desire

Object of His Desire
Genre: M/M Regency-set historical erotic romance
Length: Novella
Author: Ava March  
Available March 10, 2009 from Samhain Publishing   

He thinks he’s just a wallflower. Little does he know he’s the guest of honor…

It’s the last night of a week-long house party in remote northern England. Every sensual delight imaginable is right at Henry Shaw’s fingertips. Yet all he wants is to be with his host, the deliciously handsome and enigmatic Arsen Grey, Marquis of Somerville. Henry’s certain it’s love, not mere infatuation. He’s also sure it’s hopeless. After all, the party’s purpose is to find Arsen a new mistress.

Arsen longs to leave the glittering, jaded world of the ton behind and find someone who will value him for himself, not his wealth and his title. He suspects that someone could be the strapping country gentleman he’s caught staring at him. Henry is loyal and dependable, nothing like his other acquaintances. Arsen sets a plan into motion, one designed to get Henry into his bed. One that includes a test of devotion.

Arsen never expected that in winning Henry, he risks losing his heart.

Warning: This title contains a m/m romance between an obscenely wealthy marquis and a strong, silent country gentleman.


Henry took a deep breath and the unique scent of Arsen’s skin, the lingering traces of his cologne and the unmistakable hint of male arousal went straight to Henry’s groin. Lust flared, igniting his senses. His cock swelled, the arched length brushing the firm globes of Arsen’s backside.

Hand splayed, he blindly followed the thin line of hair from Arsen’s navel down to his cock. Henry’s fingers encountered silken skin stretched taut over the rigid length. Nipping Arsen’s ear, he drew his other hand up his chest, past the strong cords of his neck, over the bristly jaw and slipped his finger between Arsen’s parted lips. Wet heat surrounded the tip of his finger. Arsen suckled, pulling half the length inside. Henry’s ballocks tightened in envy, recalling the lavish sensation of Arsen’s mouth on that part of his body.

Henry stroked Arsen’s cock as he pressed his arousal into the cleft of his lover’s backside. The need to be inside of Arsen, to make love to him, gripped hold. To make Arsen his in every way. Trepidation threatened to infiltrate his desire, yet he pushed it aside, focused on the hope, the possibility. “Want to fuck you,” he breathed against Arsen’s neck.

Arsen stilled. Suffocating disappointment began its harsh descent. Henry had feared it had been too much to ask, but he couldn’t have held back the request if he tried. Now he knew—

Arsen captured the tip of Henry’s finger between his teeth. “Yes,” he moaned, pushing back against him.

Thank you, God! It was all Henry could do to keep from shouting the words. He was infinitely glad Arsen couldn’t see his face, for he was grinning like a damn fool. Too eager to wait another moment, he pulled his finger from Arsen’s mouth and worked the wet tip into Arsen’s hole. “Damn, you’re tight. When was the last time you were fucked?”

Grunting, Arsen arched his lower back as Henry slid in deeper. “I fuck. I don’t get fucked.”

Henry stopped mid-stroke. He blinked. “Never?”

Arsen looked over his shoulder, held Henry’s shocked gaze. “Never.”

He held his breath as he processed the significance of Arsen’s response. “But you’ve had male lovers?”

Arsen nodded once. “A few. Yes.”

“And you’ve never been penetrated?”


He pulled his finger from Arsen’s virgin arse. The vulnerability in the man’s deep green eyes made Henry’s heart clench. Suddenly feeling like the elder of the two, he smoothed his other hand over Arsen’s lean hip.

“Are you certain you want to do this? We don’t have to.”

Arsen let out a snort of contempt. “Yes, I’m certain. And yes, we have to.”

He nodded, understanding Arsen was trying to prove he looked on him as an equal. “All right.” He glanced about the room. “On the bed.”

Arsen half-turned from the window and arched one eyebrow.

“I can’t take you up against the wall for your first time.” He shrugged uncomfortably and tipped his head toward the bed. “Please.”

“How do you want me?”

The open question made Henry’s prick jump. “On the edge of the bed. On your back.”
He got another arrogant raise of a dark blond eyebrow.

“I want to be able to see your face. Just—” Henry let out an exasperated sigh. “Get on the damn bed.”
A smirk pulled the edges of Arsen’s mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Henry was tempted to smack Arsen on the bum when the man stepped past him. Instead he contented himself with watching Arsen sit on the edge of the bed. Reclining onto his elbows, he leaned back, long legs casually spread. The sunlight picked up the smattering of golden hair on his broad chest and played over the hard contours of his abdomen. His posture was one of easy nonchalance, but the once fully hard cock had lost some rigidity. It no longer jutted eagerly from the thatch of dark blond hair but arched over his ballocks. A clear sign Lord Somerville was a bit nervous at the prospect of getting fucked.

Take it slow, Shaw. Clenching his fists, he took a second to rein in the lust. When he felt he could proceed without pouncing on Arsen, he picked up the bottle of oil on the bedside table. He was about to pour a generous amount onto his palm when a thought occurred to him. Glancing down, he winced. “Would you happen to have a dildo? Something not too large.”

Arsen let out a startled cough. “I thought you were going to fuck me?”

“I am, but this,” he gestured to his rampant erection, “won’t go in easily. At least not the first time and not without some serious preparation.”

Arsen’s gaze settled on Henry’s arousal. The muscles in his thighs flexed and tightened, as if he was resisting the impulse to close his legs, keep Henry out. He dragged a hand over his face. “Bedside table. Bottom drawer. Before you ask, the staff put them there. And no, I didn’t tell them to.”

Resting a hand on Arsen’s thigh, he dropped to his haunches and opened the drawer. Inside were a few black velvet bags similar to the ones he had found in his own room. Gifts for the guests, a servant had explained. Based on the annoyance in Arsen’s tone, his staff had gifted their lord without his consent. Stifling a chuckle, Henry sorted through the bags and selected a white marble phallus complete with realistic ballocks and a convenient round knob at the bottom which served as a handle. The dildo was thicker than two of his fingers yet much thinner than his cock. The width around of a less than average man.

Rising, he set the phallus on the table and stepped between Arsen’s thighs. Instead of lifting Arsen’s legs, he dropped to his knees. At the look of puzzlement on his lover’s face, he rubbed Arsen’s thighs. “You need to relax, Somerville.”

Arsen scowled. “Since you’re intent on fucking me, you might as well call me Arsen. I believe we’ve crossed the line of formality.”

“Well then, let me help you to relax, Arsen,” he said, grinning, loving the way the name flowed from his lips.

He took hold of Arsen’s semi-erect cock, lowered his head and sucked his cock. Fingers tangled in Henry’s hair, urging him to take more. The length hardened in his mouth, the tang of pre-come teased his tongue. Using the saliva dripping onto the large ballocks, he lubricated one finger. Slid it in Arsen’s arse as Henry continued to suck his prick.

When Arsen began to rock his hips in counterpoint, Henry slid in another digit and went back to work—sucking cock and finger-fucking Arsen’s arse. All the while refusing to think of how perfect Arsen would feel wrapped around his cock, for if he did, he’d come all over the floor again.

© Ava March 2009

Birthday Girl Lissa Matthews

Genre: Contemporary Menage
Length: Novella
Now Available:
Author Website:


Kasper Griffin is in love with two people: his business partner and lover, Tony and their business manager, Lucy. Kasper and Lucy have been involved in a sexual affair for the past few months and he’s decided that it’s time to bring Lucy into his relationship with Tony, making them a permanent threesome. Having talked with Tony at length and knowing that the man is eager to explore Lucy himself, Kasper is still uncertain how Lucy will react to his proposition.

During a recent trip to Egypt, Kasper learns of a turquoise stone rumored to lower one’s inhibitions. It’s the perfect gift for Lucy, a way to introduce her to the idea of a complete partnership with him and Tony. He does not tell Lucy of the charm, but after he gifts the stone to her in a most provocative way, sexual desire besieges her at every turn, opening her to ideas she’d previously not considered.

With some charm and coaxing from Tony and Kasper, and a heart to heart with her brother, Lucy realizes that love and the hot sex to which she’s become accustomed is what she desires more than anything and she wants to share it all with both men. 


The thumb sized turquoise stone settled gently in the red gold curls covering her wet, heated sex. Kasper Griffin’s hand slowly drifted down, one long finger sliding inside her, eliciting a moan from them both. This sweet and not so innocent woman was hot and so responsive to him, to everything he said or did and he shook each time she uttered a sound. Just like now.

Kasper looked up to find her blue eyes watching him. They seemed more intense now than the other times they’d been together. Maybe it was from the stone linking with her, like the old woman at the bizarre said it would, he didn’t know, but they were gleaming with a lust that burned straight through him.

Against her honey-gold skin, his darkness contrasted sharply and the turquoise was brilliant. It seemed that in some indefinable way it was meant for her. Both were smooth, the rough edges having been stroked and rubbed away by time and life. Both were cool at first touch, but warmed in mere seconds. He’d never known a woman and a stone could connect like this, and he was fascinated by it.

“You should be wearing turquoise daily. It’s beautiful against you.”

She lifted her head and looked down. “Mmm. Yes.”

Her smile was both angelic and wicked at the same time. His finger still inside her, he twisted it, and curled it up, her back arched, her legs tensed and opened wider, sending the stone lower until it came to rest against her clit.

“Oh my,” Kasper whispered. “Maybe a piercing here, hmmm? A ring with a turquoise teardrop?”

“Oh yes, maybe.” She gasped as she spoke. “And maybe you should stop toying with me, Kas. Please.”

“Toying with you? Is that what I’m doing?” He wiggled his finger inside her, then slid it out of her. He saw she was watching him again and he knew she was wondering what he was going to do with the juices coating his finger. She licked her lips in suggestion and he smiled, knowing she wanted a taste and she pouted a little when he licked one side of his finger. “Yes, baby, I suppose I am toying with you, but then…” He lowered the finger to her mouth and she opened it readily, sucking it between her lips, her tongue swirling around it. She sucked his finger like a cock and there was almost nothing in the world better than a good cocksucker. Almost. “Then again, maybe I”m not toying with you.”

Kasper got up on his knees between her legs draping hers over his thighs. His finger still in her mouth, he took his cock in his other hand and guided it inside her pussy. Her teeth raked his skin and her hands fisted in the sheets. She loved to fuck.

She wanted sex as often as he did and he loved her appetite for it. Theirs was usually fast and hard, a primal mating of clothes ripping and up against the wall, bent over the bed or down on the floor fucking. But this afternoon was different. She was different. It was like a new energy inside her, forcing a new kind of hunger. She strained with need and he just wanted to come, wanted her to come, so they could do it all over again.

The Exceptional Eliza Gayle

Eliza is a special friend. She helped me get started and navigate my way through this crazy world of erotic romance publishing. She write a wide variety of books, mainly paranormal but she’s got a very hot BDSM series called, Purgatory.
Her most recent release is titled Lucas: A Black Cougar Novel and it’s a deliciously intense shifter. Those that have read it love it, reviewers love it, and I know you will, too!

Genre: Paranormal
Length: Novel
Available Now:
Author Website:

Kira MacDonald is in trouble. Plagued by false visions and erotic dreams of a man she’s never met, she fears losing both her psychic powers and her sanity. The cure? Finding and bonding with her mate. The stubborn red-haired warrior might not want one, but fate has other plans, plans that include her rescuing Lucas Gunn.

As the Guardian of his shapeshifting clan, Lucas Gunn lived a quiet, solitary life until he was kidnapped, examined, and tortured. Now imprisoned, his only tie to the outside world is the memory of his dreams and the passionate woman who appears in them. He thought she was nothing more than a vision. Then she came for him.

An uneasy alliance, a mating call that won’t be denied, rituals that must be honored, and unrelenting enemies who will stop at nothing to get what they want. It all comes together in the first of Eliza Gayle’s sensational Black Cougar Series. Passion and pride. Duty and danger. In the end, there’s really only one choice…for Lucas.


Lucas studied Kira’s backside as she followed the waitress to a table. He couldn’t ever remember seeing a finer ass wrapped in tight denim. Her skirt rose up when she slid sideways into the booth first, giving him a quick flash of tempting black lace.  Forcing himself to look away from her bare thighs, he took the spot across from her and caught her watching with interest. She gave him a small smile and in that one quick unguarded moment he saw a different woman. Not the one from his dreams or the trained soldier but instead a softer side that he longed to discover. His gaze focused on her soft, pink lips and the straight, white teeth that nibbled on the corner of her lower lip every time she sucked it in.

He picked up his own menu and tried to concentrate on the words printed in front of him and not the lush mouth he wanted to devour.

“What can I get you?” The waitress looked between them expectantly.

“I’ll take the French toast platter with extra bacon and some hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, please.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“What? I’m hungry.”

Shaking his head, he laughed, charmed beyond belief by that smile she kept flashing. After he ordered his own hearty breakfast, he waited until the waitress walked off before he looked at Kira again.

He turned her way and their gazes locked onto each other. This time there was no cute smile but, instead, a look of heat and curiosity. Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip and the urge to do it for her swept over him. His cock twitched in his pants and he had to grip the edge of the seat he was sitting on to keep from dragging her across the table and kissing her senseless.

“Why were you being held?”

“You really don’t know? Seriously, don’t they tell you people anything?”

She opened her mouth to say something and must have changed her mind as she slammed it shut and said nothing.

The look on her face changed and he felt bad for being a smart ass, even though he had no reason to feel that way.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?”

“Like what?”

Her question brought to mind every dirty thought he’d tried to push away. What would she say if he told her all he really wanted to do right now was lay her out on this table, spread her legs wide and feast on her instead of the food they’d ordered. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, grateful for the cover of the table.

“What about the—“

“Here ya go, sugar. Your french toast and chocolate, and your omelet and coffee.” She set the plates of steaming food in front of them and flashed a real friendly smile to him. “Can I get your anything else?”

She didn’t even bother to look at Kira this time but he did. “Need anything else?” She shook her head. “I guess we’re all set then.” With his thoughts consumed with touching her, he reached across the table and covered Kira’s hand with his own, cutting the waitress off. When their skin touched, he forgot about everything except her. Her heat reignited his barely cooled lust until his body burned to claim her.

“Lucas, I—I need my hand to eat.” Her whisper caught his attention and he realized he’d been holding tightly to her hand. He opened his hand and pulled back. She looked calm but he could hear the acceleration of her heartbeat as she picked up her fork and worked at cutting her breakfast into small bites.

Her movements mesmerized him. When she lifted her fork to her mouth to sample the food, her mouth formed the perfect O as she took it all inside and clamped her lips around the utensil. Withdrawing the fork, she left behind a dusting of powdered sugar and a few drops of sugary syrup on her lips. All of which he wanted to lick off for her.

Blood roared in his ears as she repeated the process over and over. Since he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, his own food laid untouched.

“You not hungry anymore?”

“Not really.”

“That’s too bad. It’s really good.” She licked the last of the sugar from her lips, picked up her cocoa, and lapped at the whipped cream.

A low growl sounded from his throat before he could think to stop it and her gaze shot to his. Questioning him.

“It’s time to go.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Lucas looked in his wallet and grabbed out some bills, throwing more than enough on the table to cover their meal and tip before grabbing her hand and dragging her from the table.

“But—Lucas I wasn’t finished.”

The Awesome Ava March

Ava writes 3 things that I absolutely LOVE… Regency period, Erotic Romance with some D/s elements, and Male/Male. How can one go wrong with this combination? The answer? One can’t. 

She has generously gifted us with four yummy excerpts which I will post over the next two days. She said I didn’t have to use them all, but… Yeah, I’m using them all!

Bound by Deception
Genre: M/M BDSM Regency-set historical erotic romance
Length: Novella
Author: Ava March  
Now Available at Loose Id:


Lord Oliver Marsden has a secret. He’s been in love with his childhood friend for years, though Vincent’s never shown an interest in him beyond friendship. Ruggedly handsome, wealthy, and successful, Vincent is everything Oliver is not. And Vincent doesn’t prefer men.

Then Oliver discovers Vincent hires a man during his visits to a London brothel. Desperate to be with Vincent, Oliver orchestrates a deception, switching places with the brothel’s employee. When Oliver arrives at the bedchamber, he’s in for another surprise. Restraints and a leather bullwhip? Apparently Vincent isn’t as conservative as he appears.

Lord Vincent Prescot has a secret of his own. One kept locked away and only indulged once a month. But this month’s appointment is different. The mysterious man is so perfect, so beautiful in his submission, rousing protective instincts Vincent can’t deny. Yet he refuses to believe he might truly prefer men, for it could mean the end of his hopes of earning his father’s respect.
Will betrayal destroy them or will they be bound together by deception?

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and content, including bondage and spanking, male/male sexual practices


Rolling onto his side, Oliver reached for the top drawer of the bedside table and slid it open. The early morning sunlight seeping through the slits in the threadbare brown velvet drapes provided enough illumination for Oliver to see. But he didn’t need the light. His fingertips skimmed over the objects in the drawer, stopping when he encountered the distinctive ridges marking the veins on the shaft of the black marble dildo.

He set the dildo on the table beside the bottle of oil he hadn’t bothered to put away last night. Flicking the blanket aside, he lay back on the bed. The fire in the grate had burned out sometime during the night, but the chill April morning air did little to cool his already heated skin. He licked his palm then reached for his hard cock. It was the way he had started and ended every day for the past week, since he had last laid eyes on Vincent at White’s. His hand on his prick, stroking himself to orgasm. And after the dream he had last night…there was no way he could begin this day any differently than all the others.

That dream had been so vivid and crisp, so authentic, that when it woke him a few minutes ago, he had actually been shocked to find himself in his own bed, alone, without Vincent.

Closing his eyes, he fondled his cock as he sifted through the memories, those snippets of scenes from the dream, trying to decide where to start.

The brothel. That masculine, tidy bedchamber. Vincent, fully dressed and standing beside the large bed, arms crossed over his impressively broad chest as he appraised a naked Oliver.

Are you good at following orders? The deep cultured rumble of Vincent’s voice sounded in Oliver’s head.

 “Yes, milord,” he muttered.

I don’t recall giving you permission to touch your cock
Oliver snatched his hand to his side, left his prick resting on his lower belly. His breathing quickened. One time with Vincent and he was already addicted to the heady sense of anticipation. The added thrill of waiting, of being at another’s mercy, being forced to proceed at their pace.

Good boy. Then the hard command seeped back into his voice. Do you want me?


What do you want?

 “You. Your cock in my arse. Please, milord.”

Ah, you must be very, very good to earn that reward. First, you must show me how much you want me. Touch yourself, Oliver.

Reaching down, Oliver cupped his ballocks, dragged his palm roughly over his sac then up to his shaft. His grip firm, he picked up the familiar rhythm. He stroked the length, flicking a finger over the needy head, spreading the leaking fluid.

He ran his other hand up and down his abdomen, sweeping over the quivering muscles, pausing every now and then to deliver a hard pinch to his nipples. Lost in the decadent sensations, his head tipped back, his lips parting. He lifted his hips, rocking into each stroke. Faster and faster, his hand flew along his cock, chasing the climax teasing the edge of his mind. The muscles in his thighs trembled. His entire body drew tight. The orgasm coiled down his spine, gripped his bollocks.


Gritting his teeth, Oliver heeded the command. It hurt, in the most intense pleasurable way, to be left poised on the verge, teetering on the brink. Impatient and needy, his cock throbbed, sending heavy, quick pulses throughout his body in time to the rapid beat of his heart. He bit his lower lip, forced himself to remain still, to resist the almost unstoppable urge to touch his prick. Just one stroke. That was all it would take for him to come.

Are you ready for my cock?

“Yes, yes, please, milord.” The whispered words rushed out of Oliver’s mouth.

Then prepare yourself.

He snatched the glass bottle from the bedside table and poured a generous amount on his palm. Bending his knees, he spread his legs, feet planted on the mattress. He reached down under his thigh and oiled his entrance. Swirled his fingertips over the puckered skin then eased two of them inside. Scissoring his fingers, he stretched himself, prepared himself. His movements quick and efficient, to hold off the eminent orgasm strumming his senses. Then he coated the dildo, his hand slipping over the cool black marble. The width so substantial his fingers barely enclosed it. He had more than a few such toys in the bedside table drawer and this one most closely matched the dimensions of the real man’s cock. The crown wasn’t quite as broad and the length nearly an inch short of Vincent’s, but the shaft matched in thickness.

His arse tingled, eager and ready for that first amazing thrust. Holding the dildo by the flat circular base, he closed his eyes and waited for a moment. Let the anticipation build, let his nerves coil tighter and tighter. Sweat pricked his brow. A drop of precum leaked from his cock, dripping onto his skin. His ballocks clenched, drawing up so tightly it felt as though his testicles were trying to get inside his body.

Good boy, Oliver. Vincent’s voice was soaked in sin, low and luxurious. You want me, don’t you? Tell me.

“Yes, fuck me, Vincent, please,” Oliver said, the words hitching in his throat.

He positioned the dildo at his entrance then pushed. One long thrust, just as Vincent had done. Determined, persistent, demanding complete submission.

A wince tightened his brow, his mouth opening on a soundless cry of pleasure. He gasped for breath. Grabbed the blanket by his hip and gripped it tight. The intense stretch as his muscles worked to accommodate the intrusion caused a flush of raw heat to sweep over his skin. He shoved it deep, bottoming out, the base pressing hard against his flesh. It wasn’t quite as long as Vincent, and he craved that extra inch, the one only Vincent could provide.

Releasing the blanket, he pinched one nipple, twisting hard. Sharp sensation radiated across his chest. He arched his back and grabbed his cock, stroking furiously as he picked up a matching rhythm of hard, relentless thrusts. With each stroke, the veins along the marble shaft teased his hole, just as Vincent’s cock had done. His ballocks ached with a need to be touched. His nipples smarted, reminding him of the sweet luscious pain that was only a twist away. Damn it, he didn’t have enough hands.

“Beg for my cock. You want it, don’t you? Tell me.”

He could almost feel Vincent’s broad chest pressed against his, the heavy weight of his body, the heat from his skin, the warmth of his breath as he spoke those words into Oliver’s ear. He turned his head, searching for those firm lips, wanting to feel them against his own.

“Yes, I want you, Vincent. More…please,” he begged in broken tones.

If the real Vincent saw him now, like this — knees drawn up to his chest and ramming a big dildo in his arse…

© Ava March 2008

I need a really cold drink now!

Page 164 of 172« First...102030...162163164165166...170...Last »