5 Days of 1001 Nights- Day 1
Welcome!!! Over the next five days I have the great pleasure (and I use the word advisedly!), of sharing with you, extracts and information about 5 different books from the stable of the 1001 Nights Press. The Pleasure Dial by (one of my writing heroes) Jeremy Edwards, Bottoms in Love by the brilliant Gregory Allen, PM White’s fabulous Volksie, Sharazade’s hilariously clever A Skiff of Snow, and Not Her Type, by that Kay Jaybee woman!
Not only that- but from today until Friday, you can get all 5 of these e-novellas from Amazon for the BARGAIN price of only 99c or 77p!!!!! (Buy links below)
As well as giving you the chance to sample 5 wonderful books, you can also win whichever of them takes your fancy by taking part in this simple COMPETITION!! Just read all of this weeks blogs, and then leave me a comment with your email address, telling me how many times I’ve the word “wonderful.” (Not including the text in the blurbs and extracts) The competition will remain open until next Monday, when I shall pop all the correct answers names in a hat, and draw out the winner!!
Who better to kick off this kink fest, than the excellent wordsmith Mr Jeremy Edwards, with a dip into his wonderful erotic comedy, The Pleasure Dial!
THE PLEASURE DIAL: An Erotocomedic Novel of Old-Time Radio by Jeremy Edwards
The year is 1934, and amiable New York gag writer Artie Plask has taken the West Coast plunge. His first day on staff with a top radio show introduces him to the irresistible Mariel Fenton, a wit among wits who immediately takes an interest in all aspects of Artie’s life—especially his private life. As Artie finds his feet in a world of blustering comedians, pansexual sex goddesses, timid screen legends, exhibitionistic scriptwriters, and self-infatuated geniuses, Mariel leads him on a zany journey up and down the pleasure dial—a giddy romp through Hollywood that’s chock-full of airwaves showdowns, writing-room counterplots, devious impersonations, naked meetings, and a sensuality-drenched assortment of erotic escapades.
Her ass. Her beautiful, bare ass.
Artie hadn’t known quite what to expect from a visit to Sheridan’s massage room, here on the second story of an office building in downtown Santa Barbara, but his attendance was being amply rewarded.
After a glass of the sherry that the specialist had offered upon their arrival, Mariel had undressed behind a screen and wrapped herself in a plush blanket. She had then deposited herself, facedown and with her wine-warm bottom exposed, on the table. Her cheeks glowed under Sheridan’s work lights, the plump little curves center stage in what felt to Artie very much like a dramatic presentation.
Sheridan, a thin, blond man with serious eyes and fingers like a concert pianist, rolled up his sleeves.
“Comfortable?” he asked solicitously.
“Oh, yes,” Mariel attested. “Very.”
“Excellent,” said Sheridan. “Then I’ll begin.”
With a deft, professional motion, he placed both his palms against the swell of Mariel’s bottom. The veins on his arms bulged as he applied an even pressure to the two hemispheres—something Artie noticed only in his peripheral vision, as his focus was naturally on the ass, not the arms.
With his thumbs operating independently from his fingertips, the masseur applied a sustained kneading motion. Evidently encouraged by Mariel’s moans, the masseur continued in this fashion for a while, using left hand and right to describe symmetrical arcs of pressure that rolled simultaneously outward from the meridian that was Mariel’s ass crack.
Benefiting again from his peripheral vision, Artie saw that Mariel’s toes were slowly wiggling.
He felt that maybe he should be taking notes.
“Are you ready for the pitter-pats?” Sheridan asked, leaning forward.
“Mmm,” his charge answered.
Artie appreciated how apt the masseur’s onomatopoeia had been as his gentle hands began showering soft, precise pats all over Mariel’s derriere. With the downtown sleepy on a Sunday and thus little noise through the open window, the *pitter-pat*s quietly dominated the auditory environment, while Sheridan’s measured breathing and Mariel’s intermittent moans provided a subtle counterpoint.
Eventually the pitter-pats accelerated. And, as in a symphonic interplay between percussion and strings, their frenetic stimulation alternated with deep, sensual massage movements whereby Mariel’s flesh was at once wrestled and nurtured. Her moans were positively earthy at this point, and Artie could smell her arousal as she presumably—as advertised—moistened the table beneath her.
His cock—his whole lap, it seemed—was achingly hard. He wondered how this treatment would conclude—or did he mean *climax?* And he wished, somehow, he could participate.
Something caught his eye. Beside him, Mariel’s clothes waited in a tidy stack—capped, like Mariel herself under normal circumstances, by the cloche. The cloche with the feather.
No sooner had the inspiration hit than the quill was in his hand, his eyes meeting Sheridan’s with an unspoken “May I?” as he rose. Turning to look at Mariel, he saw the look of encouragement on her face.
The pink cheeks danced as the feather skimmed and skipped, brushed and stroked. Mariel was so relaxed that instead of giggling, she responded to the titillation with syrupy dollops of lazy chuckles. Artie felt feverish as he passionately tickled her bottom, his dick pulsating with excitement. Meanwhile, Sheridan watched discreetly from the other corner of the table.
Then came the climax Artie had wondered about. Mariel spread her legs and straddled the massage table, sitting up and clutching her blanket to her breast to ride her makeshift horse. She had trapped the feather under her bottom so that the quill end stuck out like a tail and the tickly end, one could assume, pleasured her cunt lips as she ground against the table.
Artie watched with fascination as Mariel orgasmed in this bizarre but erotically compelling pose, her face radiant with silent bliss. As she collapsed back to her previous position, he felt his own quiet orgasm seeping into his pants.
Sheridan spoke. “You know, I’ve always wanted to grab her feather and do that.”
“You should’ve just asked,” Mariel mumbled.
Many thanks to Jeremy for sharing his work with us today! The Pleasure Dial is a superb read- you can see my review of it here.
You can check out Jeremy’s page on the 1001 Nights Press site here
You can buy The Pleasure Dial at the SALE price of 99c or 77p from-
Thanks again to Jeremy for kicking off this short series of story teasers from the 1001 Nights Press- don’t forget to grab your book bargains this week, and do come back for more tomorrow!!
Happy Reading Everyone,