Welcome to Day One of my Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters!
Each day, for the next fourteen days, I will be posting an excerpt from a work of erotica- and I promise each one will be hot!
Week One will feature stories I have written myself. Then, during Week Two, I will be sharing with you extracts from the works of some of my favourite erotica authors.
Let’s kick off proceedings with a healthy sized snack from my kinky courier story, Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures of A Delivery Man (OCPress, 2011)…
When Jenny’s regular film courier, John, reveals how she has become the centre of his sexual dream world, Jenny’s quiet existence is thrown into an arena of desire that she thought she’d long since abandoned.
One unexpected, head swimming romp later, and Jenny is left wondering if her courier will ever visit her again, and if he does, will he mention the hot sex they had on her living room floor that Tuesday afternoon, or will he pretend that it hadn’t happened?
When the following Tuesday arrives and John reappears on Jenny’s doorstep, the scene is set for a continuation of intensely kinky weekly meetings. There is only one problem. John really really isn’t Jenny’s type….
I’ve been thrilled with the reviews I’ve had for this story (despite it having the ability to shock some readers as the temperature of its chapters increases….!). If you’d like to read a few of them, just follow this link, or check it out on Goodreads.
I thought I’d dive into the middle of this one…so here comes Chapter 8…
Tuesday – The Plan
I have a plan. I just hope I can hold my courage and see it through…
“I don’t have long.”
John’s familiar words spilled from his mouth as he crossed the threshold of Jenny’s home. Throwing a handful of DVDs carelessly across the sofa, his lips were on hers before she had the chance to speak, his hands diving up and under her mini denim skirt. A murmur of appreciation escaped him as his traveling fingertips discovered her lack of knickers and stocking tops. “Shit woman, you get hotter!”
Allowing him to fall into their regular pattern, Jenny let John lead her toward the armchair. “You wanton woman, you’re already wet aren’t you?”
“I knew you were on your way.” Jenny didn’t say anything else as she undid his buttons, pulling his belt from his trousers, loop by loop. Stroking the leather lovingly between her fingers she smiled, “Did I ever tell you that I love belts?” Without waiting for a response, Jenny freed his length and made a fist around his cock. She pumped him twice—as she’d pre-planned in the solo-quiet of the previous evening— before abruptly letting go of him and walking away.
John’s face was a vision of pure confusion as, with hands on her hips, Jenny calmly said, “Get on your knees, delivery man.” He only hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping free of his pants and dropping to the floor.
Moving forward, without a word, Jenny gestured for John to remove his t-shirt. Walking around him in a slow circle, she examined him from every angle. John had had things his own way for weeks. It was her turn now. The old Jenny had certainly been willingly submissive; someone who relished being led rather than leading, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have the occasional urge to turn the tables and make her partner beg for mercy. She just hoped she hadn’t lost her touch.
Taking a black scarf from a collection of supplies she’d hidden beneath the sofa, Jenny deftly tied his arms behind his back. Unable to hide her pleasure as she continued to study him, Jenny whispered, “There is truly nothing as fantastic to behold as a fuck-me handsome man without power.”
Kneeling before John, she saw that his wide, dark brown eyes were watching her intently. Kissing each of his eyelids, Jenny collected a blindfold from its hiding place and, with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows and a teasing waggle of her fingers, plunged him into darkness. As John opened his mouth to speak, his favorite customer placed a fingertip across his lips. “No talking. Yes?”
John nodded obediently.
Viewing her enslaved lover, Jenny stroked his chest, enjoying the light spring of his hair as it tickled her palms. She knew she was going to make John late for the remainder of his rounds, but she didn’t care, and was going to make sure that he didn’t either.
Reveling in her unprecedented freedom, Jenny let her skirt fall to the floor, her memory teeming with images of their previous animal coupling in the back of his lorry. Her knees and backside still bore the marks of their frantic encounter.
Discarding her shirt and freeing her breasts, she made sure the cotton material caressed John’s tattoos, cleverly letting him know that she was undressing. Jenny placed her hands on John’s shoulders, pushing him so that he was face down on the beige carpet, his hands bound behind him, his arse in the air.
Beginning at his feet, Jenny began a thorough survey of his whole body by stroking a silk handkerchief over his ankles, making John writhe under its tickling touch. Moving it stealthily up the back of his legs, she could taste the sharp tang of tension that infused the room.
He squirmed under her touch. Jenny could tell he was trying to anticipate her next move while struggling not to speak, and she smiled to herself as she dragged the gentle weapon of torture up behind his knees.
By the time Jenny approached the rounded cheeks of his magnificent arse, John’s breathing was ragged, and his tethered hands were clenched together with the effort of not pleading with her to speed up.
Completely absorbed in her task, alternating between both light and firm pressure, Jenny smoothed every inch of his back, his bum, and his sides with the handkerchief, making John flinch and whine until, as she reached his neck, he couldn’t keep quiet any longer, “Oh hell girl, I…”
Cutting through John’s sentence, Jenny said, “As I said earlier, I am very fond of belts. I particularly like the marks they leave behind when they bite the flesh. That sort of blotched, fuzzy, pink patchwork pattern.”
Winding the leather strap around her wrist before she took aim, Jenny let a gentle smack land against John’s butt. His sigh encouraged her, and she began to increase the power behind her strikes. Quickly building up a rhythm, Jenny ignored the growing crescendo of mixed wincing pleasure and protests that shot from his lips as she created a pleasing criss-cross of gridlines on her courier’s taut ass cheeks.
Stopping abruptly, hoping she’d made enough of an impression on his backside for him to feel her presence for the rest of the day, Jenny ordered John to sit up.
She lifted his chin, gave him a lingering kiss, and instructed him in no uncertain terms to shift onto his back. John, his lips pressing together, moved awkwardly, his arms trapped uncomfortably beneath him.
Resuming her delicate torture, Jenny began to work the fabric from his feet and up his legs, watching with fascination as his dick stirred. The courier was trying his best to obey her commands, to resist the urge to turn the tables and ravage her. Jenny—torn between being satisfied with his endurance, and wanting to take his obedience further—struggled with her own increasing arousal and fought to maintain control.
As the handkerchief approached his balls, Jenny cruelly skipped the area, moving onto John’s navel and chest, smiling to herself as his whole body shook with disappointed tension. Focusing on his nipples, Jenny rubbed the material over each one. At first gently, and then scraping her nails viciously across the sensitive flesh. His brow furrowed as his concentration became more fixed.
Only when another moan escaped him did she withdraw from his chest and head south. Wrapping the silken cloth around John’s shaft, Jenny pulled it taut, dragging the loose ends of it along his testicles, investigating every section of his scrotum with delicately precise attention.
Glancing up at his chest, Jenny could see the telltale blotching of scarlet dapple his skin, and knew he was close to coming. Her own need was also almost at breaking point, and she knew the time had come to put them both out of their blissful misery. Teasing a finger over his mouth to remind him to remain quiet, Jenny maneuvered John’s body into a cross-legged sitting position, and undid his binds. Then, picking up his hands, she placed them over her breasts while inhaling the delicious aroma of his body, which smelled of hard work with a pleasant undercurrent of sweet sweat.
Instantly, John began to mold them with his palms as Jenny fished a condom from her optimistically purchased supply. Easing herself onto him, Jenny slapped his legs sharply whenever he tried to move with her. At an agonizing snail’s pace, she began to juice him, rising up and down, until she couldn’t take anymore.
Thudding suddenly against John’s lap with a massive acceleration of pace, Jenny slammed against his length, until the full impact of his climax surged in an urgent rush. Ripping away the blindfold as she continued to move, Jenny peered into her delivery man’s eyes. John stared back with a desire so intense, his expression alone acted as the final stroke for her own muscle-gripping orgasm.
I made him over half an hour late for his rounds. He says he’ll forgive me, but that I’ll have to be punished for holding him up and making his bum sore. He has finally taken my phone number. I am to wait for a text with instructions on it. I also have to hunt out some really old clothes. I wonder why?
Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man is available from the OCPress and all good Kindle, Download, suppliers.