Wednesday, June 29, 2011
“I just want to drop off my luggage, then maybe we could grab something to eat?
She nodded. He’d only been in town fifteen minutes and she hadn’t seen him in years. Whatever else she was planning for the weekend, it could wait while he had a meal, couldn’t it?
She smiled to herself. Actually, no. It couldn’t.
They reached his hotel, handed the valet the car keys, and he was glad he’d put out the extra few bucks and booked into one of the best. Crisp sheets on the bed, instantaneous room service, a well-stocked mini bar and lighting so deep you could bathe in it. They kissed – tentatively at first, a little nervous, a little shy. But his tongue had a will of its own, wrapping itself around hers, discovering the taste of her mouth, the strength of her lips, the sharpness of her teeth. His hands were on her breasts, pressing them against her body, her rock-hard nipples compressed against the firmness of her palms, as he backed her towards the wall. He stepped back a little once they reached it, and his fingers deftly undid the buttons of her blouse, his mouth still welded to hers.
She reached behind, unclasping her bra. Sliding under the material, his hands returned to her breasts, caressing their bareness, kneading the flesh while his thumb idly flicked at her nipples, sending sudden jolts of pleasure whispering down her spine. She wrestled to get at his shirt buttons, felt his wiry chest hair against her fingertips, and she broke his grip, broke his kiss, and took one of his lead-pellet nipples between her lips.
His hands were on her ass now; hers were tracing a sharp fingernail above the waistband of his pants, dipping occasionally beneath the fabric to scratch a vertical path from his belly-button down; it was a bit of a squeeze, but her hand forced its way down the front of his trousers, her fingers reaching… his cock was hard and pointing straight up; she curved her hand and two fingers and her thumb grasped its head and squeezed lightly. Roughly, his hands had hitched her skirt up, were making their own way down the back of her tights, his fingers tracing a blunt path down the crease of her ass. They paused at her anus, lingered for a moment and then continued on their journey, to the very edge of her vagina.
She could feel how wet she was, and shivered as one probing finger began smearing her juices back round towards her ass, rubbing them into the soft skin and poking, tentatively again, at her ass-hole. Releasing her light grip on the greasy head of his penis, she unbuttoned his waistband and slowly unzipped his pants, pulling down his underpants as she did so. A breath of musk touched her nostrils and a tremor of fresh excitement washed through her pussy as she took his surprisingly thick shaft in her hand. He half-sighed, half groaned, and his free hand shifted from her back to the top of her head, gently but firmly trying to push her down.
She stood her ground. She didn’t know why guys always do that – if a girl wants to suck him, she’s going to. She doesn’t need encouragement, and she certainly doesn’t need force. Instead, she kissed his chest; let her lower lip bruise his nipple before baring her teeth and biting it lightly. Now both of his hands were on her head, and she broke away from him altogether. “I think I need to lie down,” she whispered and walked to the bed, pulling her tights and panties off, shrugging away her blouse and bra.
She crouched on the comforter, watching as he undressed, gasping as she saw how far and straight his cock stood out from his body, eight throbbing, fat inches, with the pre-cum forming a thick, viscous drip from the tip. He joined her on the bed and she kissed him hard, tracing her fingers across his belly, through his groin, around the tops of his thighs. His hips were shifting with her movements, trying to direct his cock into her hand, but she was faster than him, running her fingertips behind his knees, then up and across his buttocks.
“Touch me again,” he breathed, and she let her hand move to his scrotum, pushing her thumb into the tight skin that stretched across his hard balls. She massaged them with her palm, while she worked her way up to squeeze the very base of his dick between her index and middle finger. His hand was on her mound now, palm flat against her pubes while the very tip of his middle finger forced itself between the lips. She ground herself against it, the motion rippling against her clit as she forced his finger in deeper; then rewarded him by taking him fully in her hand, slowly jerking him.
His juice pooled thick on her fingers, his smell was heavy in her nose. Without letting go of his penis, she pushed him backwards, his legs dangling off the end of the bed, and held his cock straight up in the air. Then, moving to kneel on the floor between his legs, she lowered her head and ran a questing tongue across him; her tongue tingling as it swept through the sticky coating that seemed to be flooding out of him. She worked up a blob of saliva and let it drip down, swirling it into his own juice with her tongue, then took him into her mouth.
He half-growled, half-groaned his approval, as she gave his helmet a firm suck. She opened her eyes and gazed up his body; he lay completely askew, his arms and legs a jumble of angles, his own eyes tightly shut. Every movement she made, though, brought another exhortation, a series of increasingly explicit orders and instructions that thrilled me to the core: “Bite me… yeah, like that. But deeper… I want to feel your teeth at the root… oh God, that’s right, that’s it… hold me there… don’t move… now suck me like you’ve never sucked before….”
She obeyed every one, tightening her lips even more firmly around him; “don’t stop….”
Don’t worry, I don’t intend to. His words, his taste, his passion, all merged magically into the pounding of the blood in her ears, and she continued relishing, almost worshipping, that hot, seemingly endless shaft, her lips pursed around his flesh, clinging tightly to the hot, salty skin, while one hand held him firm and upright, and the other slid wildly across his thigh.
He clutched her hair, pulled her head up roughly. “Tell me how much you love it… love sucking it.”
“I adore it… so hard, so firm”; she knew exactly what he wanted to hear her say. “You fill my mouth, I want to suck you forever. And when you cum, I want to taste every drop.” Yet, even as her words were devoted to the matter in hand, and his cock shivered with excitement at the devotions that she dedicated to it, her mind was planning the evening’s real highlight… the main event, as it were. She’d spotted the fruit bowl the moment they walked into the room, and she’d long ago moved the it off the table, to the floor by the foot of the bed. Now, ending the conversation by taking one of his balls deep into her mouth, she reached out and plucked two grapes off their stalk, and rolled them in her palm, warming them just enough that their entry into her body would not come as such a shock.
“But now you have to do something for me,” she whispered, kissing his cock, then his stomach, then slowly up his chest, while her fingers slipped the first grape into her dripping hole. His hands were at her waist, hauling her up his body; with one last heave, she was astride his face, her pussy just inches from his mouth. His tongue snaked out; she felt it at her lips and sank down, enveloping it and then clenched her muscles, seeking out the grape, forcing it to the front… and pushed it into his mouth.
Well, he’d said he wanted something to eat.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 3:44 AM
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
BELOW BLUE LONDON (NOVEL) by Chrissie Bentley
An explosive cavalcade of ageless eroticism and timeless sensuality
Print edition - buy here
e-book edition - buy here
BELOW BLUE LONDON
Rated: 3 Quills: The Feasting Hall
Michelle Carter, a young professional in her first ever London apartment, discovers that she and her roommate, Janet, are not alone.
The past, too, inhabits the rooms, a sensual, tactile past that reaches back over 200 years, to draw the two women into the succession of sexual encounters that must be relived before they can be understood.
Set exclusively on London's Isle of Dogs, a tiny patch of land that has seen countless changes over the centuries, Below Blue London is a seamless combination of explicit erotic detail and expert historical documentation.
Sweeping from Yuppie brokers to Victorian dockers, from the desperation of poverty to the complacency of wealth, from the horror of the London Blitz to the luxury of the Royal Court, Below Blue London is an historical epic like no other
Wednesday night, though, the whole flat felt weird. I noticed it the moment I walked in. I'd had to go into the office that morning, and ended up stuck there all day. It didn't matter too much, because Janet was at the library again, and she'd not been home for long herself, when I stumbled through the door.
She was in her room. “It's okay, I'm using Bluetac, and I promise to clean it off when I leave.” One wall was festooned with diagrams. “I found a bunch of old Ordnance Survey maps. I photocopied them onto that clear plastic stuff, all in different color inks, and now I'm trying to line them up. Trouble is, they've changed the shape of the streets a few times and with so many other landmarks having either been demolished or altered, it's a total bitch. Every time you think you've got it, you notice something's a little bit out of whack, so you fix that and something else goes askew.”
“What else do you have up here?”
“I found some photographs in the library collection. It's amazing the stuff they have hidden away in that place. So I copied them, had them blown up. Look at this one, you can actually see the peoples' faces. I'd love to know who they were.”
“You could try the local genealogical society. I'm sure there is one. People are really into that family tree stuff these days.”
“Yeah, I will. Anyway, that's that, and over here, these are just a load of newspaper stories that I need to sort out. I've only skimmed them so far, but there looks to be some rather juicy....”
We both jumped.
“I want to feel you in my cunny.”
“Those are the same voices I heard before,” Janet whispered, and her hand reached for mine. “I thought I could feel something when I got home, but I was so anxious to get started, I put it down to nerves.”
“I felt it as well,” I confessed. “But same thing. We got talking and--”
“But lick me first. Make me wet, make me overflow.”
Janet's grip tightened. We sat on the bed as the entire room shuddered to the sound of a gasping sigh.
There were no more words, but there was no need for them. The hitching moans of a woman surrendering herself to the most voluptuous cunnilingus filled the air, the scent...the taste...of pussy flooded my senses and when I stole a glance at Janet, she was there as well, licking and being licked, encouraging and experiencing her own barreling orgasm. And then another sensation, of reaching out and being reached for, a hot, strong stiffness that was both a part of me, and apart from me, in my hand and being handled; in my mouth and being mouthed. Taking control and surrendering, silken wet and forged steel firm, salty and sweet.
“Look at the wall!” Janet's voice was barely a whisper, but I heard her and turned.
Locked in a convulsive 69, they were silhouettes, but they weren't silhouettes. You could make out every feature, every muscle, every curve of their bodies, but there was no sense of dimension, no depth or perspective. It was like watching an old, washed out and over-exposed silent movie being projected onto the side of a fish tank. A face, a woman's face, turned and stared towards us.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 3:46 AM
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Another exquisite image from my friend Sun Lover, purveyor of past delights in this department... the pose and the passion in the pic are unmistakable, and if you can scroll your eyes slowly down her body, and don't just jump the fun parts first, can you even imagine a better way of starting the day?
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:24 AM
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
A great book, it is truthfully said, is more than a story. It is also an idea, and it is equally true that the better the story, the greater the idea. Some of the most influential novels in modern literary history can also be ranked among some of the most boring. But they all affected the way people live, and did so in a way that permeates our culture and language to this day.
read more on the book's background at Eden Fantasys.
A mid-1970s movie version (The Story of Joanna) starring Jamie Gillis and directed by Gerard Damiano only glanced at the novel itself, but will still be a familiar tale to anyone who discussed the unread book behind the gymnasium in High School.
My own novel Miss America was written with at least half my memory fixed on the distorted descriptions that I picked up in the years before and after I finally read it. And visitors to the Second Life virtual world will not only find communities, but entire life forces built around the characters, places, the acts and even the sex toys that appear in the book. Few of which, again, bear more than superficial resemblance to anything conceived by Anne Desclos/Pauline Réage herself.
Which, in turn, is the story’s greatest triumph.
French erotica of the late 1940s/early 1950s was all but consumed by bondage and BDSM (a symbol, say the sociologists, of the country’s liberation from Nazi rule at the end of the Second World War). Watch the short stag films that make up the DVD Vintage Erotica Anno 1950, and elements of The Story of O flicker in almost every reel.
For Réage, the greatest challenge was surely to transfer that imagery to the printed page, and it is true that little of what she writes is any more graphic than the action appearing in those flickering little films. It was the establishment’s response, and the attendant knee jerk publicity that attends any attempt to “ban” or “suppress” a piece of art which sent the Story of O soaring into legend. But having done so, the book proved that it deserved its notoriety.
Without ever setting out to write a text book, Réage penned the ultimate treatise; without ever imagining that she would be instructing the next half century on the mores and morals of dominance and submission, she wrote the last word in self-help books. And so deftly did she weave her tale that any attempt (and there have been many) to detail the book’s actual contents, as opposed to their imagined ones, simply fall into cliche and salacious vagaries. Because ultimately, the Story of O is not about its titular heroine getting fucked five ways to Christmas by a succession of her Master’s closest friends; nor about a seemingly independent fashion photographer’s descent into the realms of sexual slavery; nor even about the average male reader’s uncontrollable urge to go out and buy a Master coat or cloak of their own, and find a girl they can use in the same way as O.
It is about empowerment; it is about strength; and it is about freedom. All of which continue to blaze no matter how distorted the mirror they are seen through.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 12:48 AM
Monday, June 20, 2011
Post-apocalyptic BDSM sci-fi fantasies are rare. Post-apocalyptic BDSM fantasies in which the heroine bites off a man's cock are even rarer.
But the Mistress and the Maggot is no mere exercise in sex-based savagery. She is also one of the last true super-heroines of our time. Read her adventures here.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 6:29 AM
Sunday, June 19, 2011
COUSIN TOM'S MOTORBIKE AND OTHER STORIES by Chrissie Bentley
Publication date: May 17 2010
ISBN/EAN13:1452864985 / 9781452864983
KINDLE EDITION NOW AVAILABLE buy here
print edition still available - Print edition - buy here
Seven hot new erotic adventures with the Rocky Mountains' raunchiest couple. Follow Cousin Rose and Cousin Tom as they hump and bump their way through Monroe CO - includes the stories "Cousin Tom's First Motorbike," "Cousin Tom's Revenge," "Cousin Tom Slips Behind," "Cousin Tom & The Sisters of Mercy," and more!
EXTRACT from COUSIN TOM'S FIRST BLOWJOB
Cousin Tom’s always been a kidder, daring me to do things that even Tomboys would think twice about. But then he hit me with a challenge that really left me reeling. At least until I’d had a moment to think about it.
“Bet you wouldn’t dare climb Dead Man’s Drop.”
“Bet I would.”
“Bet you wouldn’t dare jump off that wall.”
“Bet I would.”
“Bet you wouldn’t dare run into that orchard and grab us an apple each.”
“Bet I would.”
For as long as I can remember, Cousin Tom… I’ve always called him that, even though “jerk” is shorter… has spent his days dreaming up new things to dare me to do. And, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always done it. Throw a stone through a window, bark back at the vicious old dog that lived down the street, put a thumb tack on Professor Burke’s chair. He only needs to challenge me, “I bet you wouldn’t dare…”, and I’m already working out how to do it.
It’s not just one-way traffic, either. I give as good as I get, and Cousin Tom is on it like a shot. And, again, we’ve been like that our whole lives.
Well, there really isn’t much else to do round these parts, which is why – given the choice between heading down to the town library to study, or across to the playing fields to watch Cousin Tom play soccer, I decided to do both, cheering his team to a three-zip win, while wishing the cute center-forward on the opposition side would take a tumble on the touchline, so I could get a closer look at him. There isn’t much in the way of boys round here either, which is another reason I spend most of my time hanging with Cousin Tom. In the world of the blind, the one-eyed man is King.
“Hey Rosie, thanks for coming.” Still decked out in his soccer uniform, but his hair wet from the showers in the changing room, Cousin Tom was first out after the game, and nobly agreeing to join me at the library. “I won’t be too long in there,” I told him. “In and out of the local history room, promise.”
“No sweat. There’s nothing else to do today. Unless you wanna go get a drink first?”
Disadvantages of living in a small town. Fake IDs don’t work. Everyone knows who everyone else is, and you can forge the greatest driver’s license in the world, but the bar tender still knows what it ought to say. Cousin Tom, though, had never let details like that slow him down. “Okay. What you got in mind?”
“I happen to know,” he begun teasingly, “that a couple of the guys stashed some kegs round behind the old Matheson property. And I thought we should go and help them finish them.”
“Great.” It was only a few minutes detour off our path, and a mid-morning spent yelling from the touchline certainly was thirsty work. Plus, I could tell by the silences that kept enveloping Cousin Tom that he definitely had something on his mind, and I was willing to bet there’d be a bet in there someplace.
I was right. although the bets weren’t simply tame by his usual standards, they were lame as well. “Bet you can’t drink this in one,” he challenged as he handed me a chipped mug full of cheap beer, and I just snorted derisively. I’ve drunk Cousin Tom under the table more times than I can remember, and this afternoon would be no exception. But still I couldn’t help but suspect that he had something more on his mind - the bet to end all bets, the mother of all challenges. And here it comes.
We were back out on Main Street, turning the corner towards the library, drunk enough to be having fun trying to knock each other over with a hip check, when he came out with.
“Bet you wouldn’t dare suck my cock.”
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:51 AM
Friday, June 17, 2011
MISS AMERICA (NOVEL) by Chrissie Bentley
Miss America is a tense, extreme, erotic and often disturbing study of a young woman taken to the limits of her sexual endurance – there to discover that her limits are only the beginning. An interview with the author
I stood, scanned the seats that made up the front rows of the audience. My eye settled on a young man seated a little down from where I’d eaten my meal. His expression told me all about him.
Blonde, young, frighteningly Aryan, he had that self-righteous air about him that one normally only sees in old newsreels about the Hitler Youth. He stared back at me, his face a mask of disgust, and I could read it like a book. He had not enjoyed my display, not the tenderness of the love-making, nor the passion of the oral, nor even the unscripted violence of the sodomy. He could not understand why a woman had been permitted to do a man’s job; and he could not understand why that man had not been him to begin with. He would show these bitches how to behave, he would teach them to be fucked and to suck and to accept every kick, every punch, every brutal penetration for what it was, a gift from the Gods, the manna of their Master. Their lot in life. I read all of that in his stare, and I despised him for it.
I stepped towards him, came to a standstill just inches away. The dildo, slicked with Chloe’s shit, danced in his face. He brushed it aside, like he would an annoying insect.
“Suck it,” I commanded.
Once again I was spat at, and this time his aim was unerring, catching me hard on the cheek. I did not flinch. “Suck it,” I repeated.
He gathered himself in his chair. Any moment now he was going to rise up and hit me. The room knew that, too. Any moment now.
“You heard her. Suck it!” Magdalene’s voice rang out. The man turned to face her.
“I refuse.” Now he did stand, a hand pushing me to the ground as he stormed past me, across the center of the room, past the table to which Chloe had once again been secured; and smack into the line of attendants who now blocked his way.
For a moment, there was an impasse. He stood there smoldering furiously; they stood there staring back impassively. Then, as one, they swarmed upon him, grasping his arms; pulling his jacket down behind him to lock his wrists together. His trousers were dragged down, pulled off and discarded. His briefs came with them. His waistcoat and his shirt.
Naked, he was dragged to one of the tables; its occupants swarmed from their seats to form a loose semi-circle around him. Forced to his knees, his still imprisoned arms were tightly bound to the table leg. His captors stepped aside; the man tried to rise but was quite unable. Again I stepped in front of him, angled the shaft to his lips.
His teeth were clenched, his jaw immovable.
“Here, this’ll open his mouth!” Somebody hurled a lit cigar across the room. I glanced at it; an attendant bent to retrieve it, and then very slowly, very deliberately, touched the glowing embers to the man’s hand. He opened his mouth to scream; I plunged inside.
I had switched off the vibrator. I wanted this to be slow, ugly, the most humiliating moment of this repulsive man’s life. I did not even fuck. Rather, I thrust the full length into his throat, and then merely pantomimed movement, so that he might choke on the cock, and choke on his fear of what would eventually happen… of what was happening… to him, in a room crammed with the very same people before whom he had once preened and posed and pontificated.
A thick accent called out from the circle around us. “Hey, Jurgens!” I was right, he was German. “Remember that whore in Dusseldorf? Maybe her ghost has caught up with you at last!”
A bustle of whispers. Still barely moving, just a light swaying motion so he’d know I was there, I strained my ears to catch what people were saying. “Street girl.” Yes, I got that. “Dusseldorf.” I know that as well. “Police. Murder. Choked. Prick.” Put them altogether. “Never caught.” Well, Jurgens, you’ve been caught now.
I looked down. The dildo was in his mouth to its root. I pulled back a little, saw his eyes… not so proud now, rather pitiful in fact… register a moment’s relief, thankful that the ordeal was ending. Wrong. It’s just beginning. I pushed forward again, and now I did begin fucking him, riding his face like I’d ridden Chloe’s ass, but there was not even a hint of gentleness now, not the merest glimmer of mercy.
That’s for my first night in the dungeon. That’s for the cocks up my ass. That’s for all the cum that I’ve swallowed. That’s for Chloe. The list was endless. Every indignity, every humiliation, every whipping and slapping and pinching, every spasm of pain and suffering and terror, and that’s for every night I’ve wished I was dead, and that’s for every girl who is dead, that and that and that and that and…. And then I came, wishing that this thing was equipped with a reserve cylinder so that I could flood his throat and drown his stomach, and then pull out and soak his face, so that the entire room could see him on his knees choking and sobbing and begging and screaming, and blowing great bubbles of snotty white from his nostrils.
I kicked him hard in the balls; he tried to scream but I was too deep in his throat; he gurgled instead, then collapsed to one side, so I kicked him again. I tore at the dildo, unfastened the clips, removed both the sensors and then, leaning over his prostrate, gagging form, coughing up cum and snot and bile, I lay the contraption beside him, so that the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes would be its one wide eye staring back at him.
Then, turning on my heel, I walked across the floor, past the roars of applause, into the hallway and back to my apartment. I knew I would pay for this later, but right now, I didn’t care.
Right now, I was Miss America.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 3:42 AM
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
BOY FUN ONE
includes HOW MANY TIMES IS THE FIRST TIME by Chrissie Bentley
Top erotica authors are collected here to explore a whole range of scenarios and situations in which guys get up to no good with each other.
“You don't know how many times I've dreamed of this,” I whispered, holding him close to me. “You don't know how many times I've dreamed of a lot of things,” he smiled, his breath and then his tongue warm on one of my nipples. I stroked his hair as he closed his lips around it, then let out a small groan as he shifted slightly, and began tracing down my stomach.
He moved slowly, almost distractedly. Light kisses, soft bites, gentle nuzzles. I felt his tongue flick inside my belly button, then move sideways and linger gently on my side. His body, too, was in barely perceptible motion, shifting his weight, maneuvering around. Turning my head, I could see his prick swaying, a sheen of pre-cum catching the light from the bedside lamp. I wondered what it would taste like, but resisted the temptation. I wanted to see what he was planning, first.
Marty’s mouth was lower now, kissing my stomach, just inches away from my granite-aching cock. He showed no sign of being interested in that, though; one moment he was close enough that a simple twitch would have touched his tongue, the next he was softly biting the top of my leg. Then, as his hand gently cupped my balls, he stopped and looked up at me with an expression of unfathomable innocence. “You're probably going to think I'm an absolute idiot, but - what do I do now?”
“Nothing... you're doing fine,” I whispered, but he didn't move. “No, I mean...” his hand slipped onto my shaft. “I've never...” Again his voice trailed away, and I suddenly understood. “Whatever you want... whatever you think will feel good - for both of us.” I racked my brain for the right words. How do you explain to someone how to suck your cock? “You put it in your mouth and....” No. I tried to play it cool. “Kiss me again like you were doing, but this time don't cover so much ground”
“Like this?” His lips grazed my the base of my shaft, lingered for a moment, then retreated. “Yeah, but a little harder, and a little longer.”
“Like this?” Again I felt his lips there, exactly as I said; a little harder and a little longer. “That's it. Now keep doing that for a moment. See what I taste like, use your tongue a little.” Obediently - that's the only word for it - he began sliding his mouth gently around, occasionally touching the top of my sac, but always stopping just short of the head of my cock.
I was rock hard by now, but his hand kept my cock pressed firmly to my belly, as his tongue began to roam more freely. “Let it go, touch the tip,” I breathed, half-conscious of just how absurd those words sounded, but scarcely caring as his lips finally closed over the end. “That's wonderful,” I sighed. “Don't stop.”
“You're not going to...”
“Cum? No, not yet. I'll let you know.” Much as I would have loved to, I didn't think Marty would appreciate a mouthful of spunk this early in his apprenticeship. But, no sooner had that thought crossed my mind than I almost lost it altogether, as his lips sunk over the tip, over the head, and half my cock disappeared inside his mouth. He held me there for a moment, withdrew and then sunk down again. From the back of his throat, I heard him moan, then gasped with amazement as he licked me again, his tongue sweeping across the top of my cock, then pausing to twirl a little, as though it was trying to burrow inside the hole, and winkle out more of the pre-cum that was now begin to flow so freely. “You like that?” His voice was dancing. “I'm glad. Because I can't believe how delicious you are!”
His head dipped as he took half... more than half of me into his mouth, and then his movements grew more frenzied, fuck-sucking my cock as hard as he could, pausing for a breath, tossing a loose strand of hair from his face, and then taking me deeper every time. Again his cock was right in front of me, so close I could almost taste it, and so wet with his own clear juices that I could have drunk from it. It was too late to stop myself; I reached out and grasped his ass, dragged him over my face and pulled his hardness into my mouth, sucking hard even as I forced my throat to relax around him
My nose grazed his ball bag, and he gave a little groan. But nothing was going to distract his from his new-found pleasure, nothing at all. He slipped off my face with a whispered “you'll get your turn in a moment. But I want to see what you really taste like.”
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:54 AM
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Classic cutie masturbating and sucking">
Classic cutie masturbating and sucking
You do need to feel for the guy, though... after all, setting up the camera was probably his idea (it usually is). Not in his darkest nightmares could he have foreseen a visit from the Melty Man!!!!!
Oh, and Quote of the Day... around the 19 minute mark... "Don't you cum... I'll be out of this chair so fast. So don't."
Classic cutie masturbating and sucking
You do need to feel for the guy, though... after all, setting up the camera was probably his idea (it usually is). Not in his darkest nightmares could he have foreseen a visit from the Melty Man!!!!!
Oh, and Quote of the Day... around the 19 minute mark... "Don't you cum... I'll be out of this chair so fast. So don't."
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:41 AM
Monday, June 6, 2011
LOVE ON THE BATTLEFIELD AND OTHER STORIES
includes LOVE ON THE BATTLEFIELD by Chrissie Bentley
A collection of five erotic stories from Xcite Books with uniform, bdsm and multicultural themes.
Love on the Battlefield by Chrissie Bentley
Every year, the whole town comes together to celebrate the Civil War re-enactment, even if it’s a little scarce on the historical details! Up until now, she’s managed to wriggle out of the annual celebration, but this year’s she’s been conscripted to nurse the wounded Yankee soldiers. When teenage crush Gavin Black arrives on a stretcher, she has to get him out of his Civil War soldier costume in order to administer her special treatment. History is starting to look up...
Heat It Up by Shashauna P Thomas
Most people were put off buying the apartment because of its close proximity to the fire station, but for her, it was the perfect opportunity to indulge her ultimate fantasy. Firemen do it for her every time, but no other at the station gets her fired up more than strong, silent type Mark – in or out of his kit. When he offers to give her a private tour of the station, who is she to refuse? Things are about to get hot!.
State Champs by Garland
LaRhondra is always falling for the wrong guy, and Zak’s no different. He’s a member of their greatest rival band at the state championships and any inter-school “bonding” would make her a traitor in her band-mates’ eyes. Will LaRhondra be able to handle her crush, or will creating her own sweet music with the drummer in their band attire prove impossible to resist?.
Blue Pommes in Killybegs by Thom Gautier
Thom has come to Ireland ostensibly for a second-cousin’s wedding, but in truth to escape a difficult relationship back home in the States. When he meets bridesmaid Geraldine, he finds a kindred spirit, who gives back as much as she takes. When she claims that she can still fit perfectly into her teen uniform, the challenge is laid; the only question is, is Thom man enough to keep up with this feisty Irish lass?.
Uniform by Rachel Charman
Sometimes there’s nothing sexier than a bit of role reversal, and that’s exactly what she’s got planned for her beau. Donning the modern army uniform, this self-confessed tomboy is more than ready to “wear the trousers” in the bedroom tonight; the only question is, will her boyfriend be willing to take his off?
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:53 AM
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
THE EROTIC RETURN OF AMBROSE HORNE (NOVEL) by Chrissie Bentley
Armed with only his relentless curiosity for the darkest recesses of human sexuality, Ambrose Horne is the enterprising eroticist for whom no puzzle is too perplexing, no secret is too scandalous, and no position is too impolite. Now, gathered together for your reading pleasure, 'The Memoirs Of Ambrose Horne' reveals the Carnal Casebook of the Idiosyncratic Inquisitor, the one-and-only Ambrose Horne
EXCERPT (from LADY H____ LENDS A HAND)
Far more fascinating, Lady H_____ discovered, was his account of his marriage to the daughter of a local Squire, a fiery, passionate woman who filled his every need bar one. They had made love just once in five years, and that was only because convention and the law demanded that they consummate their union.
Since that time, Millicent had made it plain that sex had no part to play in their life together, either for pleasure or procreation, and her husband had meekly acceded to her wishes; so meekly that, after a time, he hadn’t simply stopped missing sex, he didn’t even think about it any longer. In fact, he admitted, his penis had already been absent several weeks before he even thought of contacting Ambrose Horne, so little attention did it demand.
Lady H_____ was tempted to ask him what all the fuss was about, then? If he didn’t use it and didn’t need it, then surely he could scarcely be missing it; rather, she mused, he should regard its absence as though it were a once-troublesome appendix. Such levity, however, scarcely seemed appropriate, even though Goffman’s temper markedly lightened as the evening wore on; until, by the time they retired to their separate beds, Lady H_____ was actually enjoying his company. Now, however, it was time to discover to what extent he might enjoy hers.
By the light filtering in through the undrawn curtains of his room (she really needed to speak to the footman about that), she could see Goffman asleep on his side. Slipping off her dressing gown, she slid naked beneath the blankets alongside him and, moving stealthily so as not to disturb him, angled her arm towards the man’s loins.
A set of Lord H_____’s pyjamas had been laid out for Goffman; he had chosen, for whatever reason, to sleep in the jacket alone. (Perhaps because he has nothing to hide, the mischievous thought leaped unbidden to mind.) Extending the palm of her hand, she encountered the coarse scrape of his pubic hair. But nothing else. It felt so strange to place one’s hand in such an intimate spot, and encounter nothing more than if she were inspecting his back, but that was the case. Just as her eyes had told her the previous afternoon, the man’s body remained featureless from stomach to scrotum.
She withdrew her arm. In her mind, as she schemed this moment through the evening, she imagined that somehow, the missing member would miraculously return, perhaps while he slept, perhaps through the proximity of another human body. She was wrong and, temporarily bemused, lay on her back, thinking back to her conversation with Bessie this afternoon. ‘Awaken him in the night, keep the lights out ....’ She wondered if the woman had taken her advice, if – perhaps at this very moment – Randolph was discovering the delights of the tenderest kiss of them all. Whereas she, Lady H_____ ... oh, the whole affair really was so confounding.
She moved back onto her side, and allowed her fingertips once again to graze in the wiry fuzz between Goffman’s legs. Did he feel no sensations there whatsoever? No stirrings at all? He was sleeping deeply; her fingers drifted down a little, to stroke at the flesh where his flesh should have been. Even in a sleeper, such actions were guaranteed to provoke some kind of physical stirring, but she aroused nothing. Her hand cupped his balls. They, too, hung loose and relaxed, as though nothing on earth could interrupt their libido-less slumber.
Goffman shifted in his sleep. For a moment, Lady H_____ thought he was going to roll over onto his stomach, and put an end to all her explorations. Instead, he moved in the other direction, onto his back.
She thought again of Bessie. ‘Take him gently between your lips.’ The night was warm, the bedclothes were few. Inching slowly down the bed, turning herself around as she did so, Lady H_____ positioned herself carefully and comfortably. Then raising Goffman’s scrotum gently in one hand, she slipped a single egg into her mouth.
Local author, Chrissie Bentley, goes back in time across three books of short stories featuring everyone’s favorite erotic detective, Ambrose Horne!
The Erotic Adventures of Ambrose Horne
The Erotic Memoirs of Ambrose Horne
The Erotic Return of Ambrose Horne
With Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes movie going gangbusters on the DVD circuit, there could be no better time to step back in time with another of Victorian England’s greatest detectives – although you will quickly discover that Ambrose Horne had a penchant for somewhat earthier pursuits than Holmes.
The brilliant creation of Philadelphia author Chrissie Bentley, Ambrose Horne is the sleuth that society calls upon to unravel the mysteries that delicacy and discretion dare not discuss with anybody else. Three volumes of his adventures – each containing five full-length stories – include such seemingly unfathomable puzzles as a mysteriously damaged stamp collection (“The Coagulated Conundrum”), a lost book of the Bible (“the Rediscovered Heresy”), a plague of ginger-haired children (“The Midnight Succubus”), and more. But behind those simple descriptions, and the deductive process that solves them, there lurk secrets and situations at which Holmes would have blanched before he even picked up his deerstalker.
Each of the stories is genuinely gripping, littered with both arcane historical observations and fascinating period trivia, and all pose genuine mysteries for the reader to attempt to solve alongside Horne. Where Bentley steps away from the detecting norm is in the sheer eroticism of her storytelling – anybody familiar with her other writings will already be aware of the full XXX impact that she brings to every tale, and Ambrose marches proudly to the same delirious drum.
From the genuinely idiosyncratic manner in which he contemplates the matter at hand, to the distinctly unconventional means by which he concludes every case, Horne’s adventures are exhilarating excursions into a world that is as far removed from the typical view of Victorian England as it is possible to journey. At the same time, however, it is very easy to believe that both Horne and his memoirs really are genuine survivors of an age in which the merest glimpse of a lady’s bare ankle was sufficient to morally bankrupt a passing gentleman, suppressed for so long that society itself had forgotten him. Now he is back and, needless to say, he discusses a lot more than mere ankles.
These three fantastic books are all available at : Xcite Books
Amy Hanson, Wilmington Examiner
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:50 AM
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Post-Twilight, post-True Blood, post Let The Right One In, there have probably been more vampire stories written in the last five years than in all the decades beforehand, and that includes the bumper crops that followed sundry other past insurrections. Dracula, The Shining, Interview With The Vampire, The Hunger... all set the wheels of mini-industry rolling, and all added a few extra pounds to the bookshelf. And the realm of the erotic book has played as much a part in the party as any other genre.
read more at Eden Fantasys.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 3:54 AM