Under the Big Top Excerpt!

In celebration of my new eXcessica Edition of Under the Big Top: Clowning Around, I offer this tasty slice of Circus Sex. Enjoy!


The concession kitchen was cramped. Boffo and Carlotta were trying to fit into a space meant for one. The clown was tall and lanky, all firm edges nudging against Carlotta’s copious curves. There was just enough room to have him squeeze in behind her. She was getting Mrs. Moneymaker ready to spin hot sugar, and the awkwardness was exciting to her. There was no way for them to not be touching each other while she showed him what to do.

His arm was brushing against her breasts and his hip was nudging against the softness of her bum. She felt the warmth of his torso through her shirt. Carlotta heard herself chattering into the candy floss machine about  how it worked. Boffo was behind her, silent, but very present. She shivered and tiny beads of sweat rose on her lip and brow.

“Damn that clown… why won’t he talk? Am I even making any sense?”

She pushed back at him with her bum so she could get some sugar mix into the machine and was pretty sure he twitched.  Smiling to herself, she kept him against the wall for a moment longer, taking pleasure in his body against her. Her smile grew wider when she felt him rising in his coveralls. “Fuck it,” she decided, “I’m done being the only one talking.”

She flipped the switch on Mrs. Moneymaker and the kitchen filled with the whirring drone of the machine. The noise was so loud that you couldn’t be heard over it. In the tightness of this place her crotch pressed against the edge of the counter. The vibrating  machine throbbed mere inches from her pussy, right through her pants. It was provocative and distracting. Carlotta got the distinct feeling that Boffo was making certain she remained there by exerting just enough pressure from behind. Glancing over her shoulder she saw him smiling inquisitively, all innocent.

The clown reached past Carlotta, basically embracing her, to get ahold of one of the paper cones. His bicep flexed strong, lean, and perfect in her view. The already-warm room grew hotter as the machine came up to temperature. Carlotta grasped Boffo’s arm and pulled it in towards her, holding him tight against her boobs. “Who’s pinned now, funny boy?” she thought to herself. She held him by the wrist with both hands and, as the spun sugar appeared, she drew his arm forward and began to help him rotate the cone to catch the hot airy candy. His chest pressed against her back, along with the buttons of his overalls. He pushed his head forward so he could see better, peering over her shoulder. His nose brushed against her ear. His warm cheek rested against hers and she smelled the unmistakable show-business scent of greasepaint. She was certain his erection grew against her, from behind. Things were getting warm and personal between her own legs as the throb and grind of the machine worked on her.

So they made cotton candy.

It was slow going and they didn’t care. They botched the first one and laughed about it. Boffo nestled in with her, far more intimate than was appropriate. Carlotta relaxed herself against him. He was warm and lovely. It had been a long time since Carlotta had been close to a man and it got her motor racing. Not surprisingly, they were so interested in each other they began to pay less attention to Mrs. Moneymaker. Carlotta turned her head to look into Boffo’s eyes. They were deep and mysterious. The clown returned her gaze, but then she saw him flinch and felt him recoil. He had run his finger into the candy outlet and covered it with hot floss. Carlotta instinctively pulled his hand to her mouth and licked the sugar off.

She sucked, savouring the sweet taste on him. Her mouth was hungry. She took the length of his finger and sucked harder. She heard Boffo groan behind her as he ground himself against her from behind and pushed his finger deep into her mouth. Carlotta’s panties were damp from the incessant vibrating. She squirmed around and faced him. As she did so her nipples bumped against the buttons of his overalls and it was Carlotta’s turn to groan. She slowly pulled his finger out of her mouth. It would have made a comical popping noise had anyone been able to hear it.

Carlotta the Concession Queen smiled at Boffo the Clown. She reached one arm up behind his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. She didn’t have to pull hard because Boffo was keen. They began softly at first, exploring, but soon they latched onto each-other. He pulled her in and flattened her enormous breasts against him. Carlotta’s other hand began the journey down the open side of Boffo’s clown overalls. What she found pleased her. His cock was a nice handful and it was rock hard.

Standing straight and arching her back as much as she could, she unbuttoned Boffo’s coveralls and pulled them downwards. Boffo’s hands were lightning quick. He tugged both their   shirts up and off. His fingers ran along the smooth surfaces of Carlotta’s collarbone and shoulders. They traced the surface of her Maidenform bra, dancing over her nipples. Carlotta reached to remove it, but, to her surprise, Boffo was already there at the clasp. He undid and tossed the garment. Her breasts relaxed, free and naked against him. The sad clown grinned and joyously cupped her boobs, childlike except for his expertise. He teased her nipples with his fingertips and kissed her hungrily. Carlotta moaned in pleasure as she reached both hands down to play with the clown’s penis. She clutched and pulled him, giddy in anticipation.

It surprised Carlotta when Boffo reached down under her ass and lifted her up onto the counter. That was a very strong clown. She was a big girl and he moved her as if she were a toy.  One moment she was on the floor fondling his penis, the next she was on the counter with her legs dangling over the edge. Eagerly, Carlotta reached into her pocket and retrieved her condom. She unzipped her pedal pushers and pulled them past her hips, kicking them to the floor. Boffo’s fast and capable hands removed her panties. The Candy Floss machine continued to drone, vibrate, and spray candy, but they had become oblivious to it.

Boffo stood above her. His torso was taut and chiseled, with a sparse crop of black hair across his pectoral muscles. She liked this “sex with a clown” thing, she realized. The fact that there was a nude man in front of her, with an attractive, rigid cock, was made only hotter because he had a clown’s face, eternally sad, but obviously delighted…. and his eyes never stopped connecting with hers. The man reached forward with his artists’s fingers and explored between her legs. He found her hot cleft and grinned at how wet she was. Carlotta handed him the drugstore prophylactic he had given her less than 24 hours before. He opened it and she helped roll it onto his turgid length.

“FUCK ME!” she yelled, loud enough that he could hear it above the noise of Mrs. Moneymaker.

Nodding seriously, Boffo pulled Carlotta’s ass to the edge of the counter and placed each of her legs over his shoulders. She was spread wide and laid back, beautiful and horny beyond measure. Her lips smiled at him, but her eyes were fierce with need. Boffo moved forward and slid into her with one thrust, not quickly, but firmly. Both their bodies shuddered as they revelled in it. He locked eyes with her and teasingly pulled his cock out, which made her scowl. Then he thrust into her again, to the hilt.

“Eeep!” she squealed… and no one heard her.


Sorry. If you want to find out what happens next you’ll have to read Under theBig Top: Clowning Around.

A Shamrock Shag Excerpt!

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! Here is a sexy taste  of my book,  A Shamrock Shag: Loving the Leprechaun. It’s part of the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords! The idea is to share a bit of hot and sassy smut that makes one tend towards self-love. I sincerely hope this does the trick for you! Click on the purple box to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there.  The following is erotic fiction. 18+ Readers, only!

A Shamrock Shag is my paranormal urban Fey romance. (Say that three times fast!) It’s about what happens when a girl and a Fey find love in the big city. If you hurry you can get it for a mere 99-cents as part of my St. Paddy’s Promotion. Here’s a big slice off the top of the novelette:


A Shamrock Shag: Loving the Leprechaun

Oh, she was pissed off. Connie Woo stomped along, so wet that she no longer cared about the puddles. The storm grates had backed up and overflowed.

“Fuck it,” she said. “Fuck him.”

Rainwater squidged between her toes. It warmed from her body heat, then grew cold again with new influxes from the puddles. And, oh, was it ever fucking raining…  Sheets, hammers, cats and dogs pounded the city. The cloudburst was a lavish symphony of primal moisture that Connie was oblivious to. She was too furious to notice.

Two blocks behind, Zack was mopping up the pitcher of beer Connie had recently poured on him. His biggest mistake was being shitty in the sack. His other mistake was telling Connie she needed to up her game.

She fumed at the predictability of it all. Zack’s mocky, bushy-bearded face had been getting on her nerves. Half the time he bailed on her just before they hooked up. Those hook-ups were nothing to write home about either… quick, grunty, one-sided affairs that left her to rub one out in the bathroom. Was it too much to ask to get a proper fucking?

Connie’s cunt tingled a bit at the thought. How long had it been since someone went down on her properly? Was there no such thing as a good man in the world? Someone to fuck and be friends with? Was she doomed to spin her wheels, looking for a soul-mate (or even a playmate) in an endless herd of manipulative man-boys?

The date had been going well. Zack actually showed up this time and they had been getting their drunk on nicely. She’d even been looking forward to the selfish fumblings that he passed off as a sexual encounter. Instead, he had revealed his double-douchey nature, resulting in a beer shower.

She tried to walk it off. The wet inside her boots worked its way up to her ankles. Connie blinked back tears… but not for her asshole ex. She wept for her Doc Marten Knee-Highs. Battered beyond redemption, those boots had shared her life. They had been her first expression of defiance back in high school, purchased with Grandma’s red envelope money from Chinese New Year. Connie’s parents went nuts when she had clomped sullenly around the house in them. Aiyaaah. So rebellious. She still wore them everywhere. Man, she loved those boots.

She made her way up Main Street, past the hipster coffee shops and vintage boutiques. The storefront awnings offered little cover from the deluge. The rain had long-since soaked through her pea coat. The water in her boots squelched in rhythm with her short strides. Connie was a tiny woman, five-foot-nothing, like her mom and grandmother.

The rain, impossibly, grew worse. Cold drops began to blow diagonally into her face, covering her horn-rimmed glasses with rain. Water trickled through her short hair, off her braided pigtails, and down her neck. The rivulets made their way to her bare shoulders and into her bustier. Fuckballs… She needed to seek shelter.

Connie headed for the alcove of the nearest storefront. She found some cover by a green neon sign in the shape of a four leaf clover. The letters on the door, painted in gold, read “Shamrock Shoe Shop.” A cheerful bell jingled as Connie entered the place. Her glasses fogged over as she stood alone in the quiet warmth.Water dripped off her nose. It dribbled out of the holes in her boots and soaked the doormat. At this moment Connie became achingly aware of her misery. Soaked to the skin, her favourite boots destroyed, and fresh off a five-alarm breakup, she did the logical thing.

“FUUUUCK!”

The words came unbidden. They echoed, loud and satisfying in the empty store.

“Fuck fuck motherfuck! Fucky fucker fuck fuck FUCK!” She screamed at the top of her little lungs, fists clenched.

A young man emerged from the back room. He gave Connie a confused grin as he scanned her from tip to toe.

“I would love to help you with that, but I must say that I am not at all certain about your mother. Also, we may need to get to know each other first.” He appraised her from across the counter. “Other than offering a hypothetical fuck, how may I help you?”

Connie pointed a warning finger.

“Don’t be a smart-ass. I am in a situation, here.” She considered throwing him a few f-bombs and storming back into the wet, but then he came out from behind the counter. Damn…

This one had a smile and he knew how to use it. Also, his eyes nearly twinkled. Blue opals, she thought. He was a pale redhead with high cheekbones and just a scruff of a beard. He wore his hair trimmed in a cropped fade with a long top of lurid copper. Multiple gold ear piercings set off the look nicely. He wore a tight red t-shirt under his green work apron. Being rail thin suited his skinny black jeans, and his toned forearms sported a variety of colourful tattoos. Connie Woo was a sucker for a tattooed man. He also had a foreign accent. What is that, she wondered… English?

“By any chance is it raining outside?” he asked, offering a mirthful wink. Water pelted the front window. She gave him a murderous look, so he decided he to be businesslike. “Okay. Let’s assume you’re here for the boots you’ve ruined, and not just to get out of the rain.”

Connie frowned and murmured, “Yes. Let’s.”

“Here… Let me help.” He walked up and began to undo the wide black buttons of her coat. Connie allowed him while she counted his freckles. She enjoyed his quick and casual touch. Her anger diminished. Many people would note his small stature. At five-foot-two he stood barely taller than she did. Fine by her. Zack had been a doughy tree of a man.

She shrugged as the small fella tugged, and they got her coat off. He darted into the back with the sodden garment. Connie decided that she was terribly in favour of his tight butt, but wondered where her jacket had gone.

The shop was lost in time, like a place from an old photograph. Wooden panelling, hanging light fixtures, and a long oaken counter harkened to a bygone era. Age-old checkered linoleum in red and green made up the floors. Bench polishers and repair stands stood bolted to the work area behind the counter, with various sheets of leather hanging on the wall. The relatively small space was neat as a pin. The friendly scents of leather and glue hung in the air. Above the door to the back there hung a wooden sign that read, “Kiss me, I’m Irish.”

The man appeared in the doorway and came towards her. He crossed the room briskly and stood close, reaching past her shoulder to turn around the sign on the front door. She liked his smell, which reminded her of a walk in the forest: musky and clean at the same time.

“I was just closing,” he said, nose to nose with her, “but I’ll make an exception for you.” He took her hand and led her to an overstuffed leather chair in the corner. Built for shoe sizing, there were extenders to rest your legs upon.

“Come on. Let’s investigate your footwear debacle.” He sat her down and pulled up a low stool so as to squat in front of her. She appeared tiny sitting in the massive chair. His friendly smile shifted to professional concern when he inspected her boots.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph… What did Dr. Marten ever do to deserve this?” He feigned horror, but shifted to friendliness. “First things first. Technically, I’m closed, and it is now happy hour. I have a very important question.” He spoke gravely. “Guinness, Kilkenny, or Strongbow?”

Connie smiled for the first time since entering the room. What the hell… she had planned to be out with a man for drinks this afternoon. Any port in a storm. She offered with mock reluctance, “Well… I guess I couldn’t say no to a Guinness. You know… just to be sociable.”

He darted into the back again and returned with a couple cans of beer and two glasses. He popped a Guinness and allowed the pleasing hiss to release as he slowly poured a proper pint and presented it to her. After serving himself, he held up his own.

“May misfortune follow you the rest of your life, and never catch up.” He laughed. It was full of mirth and infectious as hell. Connie laughed along with him and clinked his glass.

“What’s with the red and green ensemble, English? Are you one of Santa’s helpers?” she asked him, flirting.

“No.” He smiled sharply. “Your ears must be water-logged or you could plainly detect that I am Irish, not English… So it should stand to reason that I must be a Leprechaun, don’t you think?” He rolled his eyes sarcastically and took a long drink from his beer, but he seemed to be watching her closely.

He wiped the foam from his lips and asked, “And you, my dear, are obviously, what? What do they call it? Oriental?”

Connie gave him a playful kick. He caught her foot gently with his free hand.

“My folks are from Hong Kong. I am from here. Some might call me a banana.”

He cocked an eyebrow quizzically. She thought it looked good on him.

“Yellow on the outside, white on the inside,” she said, smiling at the old joke.

Connie had a beautiful oval face with dark almond eyes. Her full lips showed bee-stung russet lipstick. She used a judicious hand with her makeup to emphasize her sharp eyebrows and pale, smooth complexion. The woman wore a tight red bustier and a short denim mini skirt with strategically torn thigh-high fishnets. Her whole body was in miniature: lean and with a waspish waist, but curved and soft in all the right places.

Connie remained unsure about this guy, but she got a positive vibe from him. She perched on the giant chair with her foot in his hands, curious as to what might happen next. Besides… she could hear the storm outside, and being out there would suck profoundly. Her beer tasted delicious and soothing. They silently regarded each other over the rims of their glasses. Some might say they had a “moment”.

The man broke the silence and began unlacing her boot.

“I’ve been called a banana before,” he offered playfully, “but, you know, for other reasons…” He trailed off conspiratorially.

Connie licked the beer off her lips and made an innocent face.

“Really? Whatever do you mean?”

“Yes, well… I suppose I should tell you because there’s a good chance you will find out anyways.” He added in a broad whisper, “It’s because I have a penis.”

Connie choked on her beer and laughed out loud.

“Oh… I bet you do.” She said. “You will be pleased to learn that I do not,” she quipped. “I have something even better.”

She realized she had leaned back and relaxed her legs, spreading them just a bit. She luxuriated in the sensation oh having this man peel off her sodden footwear. He dared a quick glance up her skirt, blushed, and focussed on his task. His strong, callused hands got her boots off in a flash. One of her toes peeked through a hole in the fishnets.

“You must be freezing,” he said, and used a soft leather chamois to dry off her feet. Connie’s nerves buzzed a red alert from her toes all they way through her legs, straight to her pussy. She played it cool and sipped more beer, trying to hide the randiness this impromptu foot massage provoked.

“I hate to tell you,” he said, rubbing her feet systematically, “that in my professional opinion, these are boots are fucked.”

She liked the way he said “fucked”. He took his time and enunciated the consonants. Connie wondered if he fucked the same way he said it. That made her squirm in her seat.

“No way!” she yelled. “I need my boots. They’re special…Whoa!” He rubbed the ball of her left foot. Flashes of mild, tingly pain shot up her body and evaporated, disappearing as she relaxed. She leaned back and remembered Vincent and Jules’ discussion about foot massages in Pulp Fiction.

This was getting intimate. The space between her legs simmered. The man moved on to the other foot.

“Well… some say that I’m magic,” he said, concentrating. “Let’s see what I can do.” He rubbed his thumb along her arch while pulling on the ball of her foot. Connie squealed, then grunted, then got quiet. She watched him earnestly and sipped her beer again.

“Holy Fuck. Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Right now I’m busy.” He put his beer aside, took her foot in both hands, and flashed her a naughty smile. He leaned in audaciously and kissed her exposed toe.

Connie gasped, then laughed. She saw him looking to see if he’d gone too far, so she wiggled her toe and nodded.

He kissed softly first, but when he came back for seconds he took her toe into his lips and began to suck. Connie moaned and became as wet as a happy hour highball. Her whole body thrilled with arousal as he kissed her dainty foot.

“You can take this out of my bill, later,” said the man.

Working both his thumbs into the hole in her stocking, he ripped it wide. His hand went in and cupped her calf, which allowed him to draw her foot forward to his mouth. He sucked each of her toes, starting with the big one and working his way down. He used his free hand to knead and massage her other foot.

Connie leaned back in the overstuffed chair. All her pleasure centres screamed for attention. Her earlobes burned hot and her breasts ached. Her elbows tingled and her thighs twitched. Between her legs, her pussy was a tender knot of desire: warm and waiting. She noticed abstractly that she’d emptied her beer. Wow… that went fast. Discarding the glass, she put a hand on each arm of the chair and skooched her bum forward. The denim skirt rode up, exposing her pale thighs and black thong.

He stopped kissing her toes and peered up at her. Using the fingers of each hand, he traced lines from her ankles up to her thighs. As he approached her pussy, Connie blinked and bit her lip. Finally, he cupped her ass on each side and pulled her forward to the edge of her chair. He leaned in and lay his face between her legs, rubbing his nose and lips against her. The man nibbled as he kissed, taking in her wonderful sweetness and spice. After an eternity of pleasant agony, he tucked one deft finger under the fabric of her thong and pulled it aside.

Connie twitched anxiously at the sensation of being exposed. Her pink, slick labia peeked from a wisp of black hair. He explored her with his pointed tongue, running it along her lips before slowing at the top. He flicked and probed her pretty pussy until her bud was revealed. Connie gasped and clutched the arms of the chair as his attentions landed on her clitoris. He sucked. Her world spun. She arched her back and stared blankly at the ceiling, surrendering to the near-mystical sensations dancing through her body. Connie’s legs trembled as she spread wide and rested her heels on his back between his shoulder blades, thrusting herself up to his mouth.

The man probed deep and hard, pushing his tongue into her tight cunt. Then he pulled out and licked her clit three times: once soft and twice hard. His licks fell into a musical rhythm, like an other-worldly jig. In this manner he kissed her, tirelessly tonguing in three/four time. Above his head Connie whimpered and wailed, growing more desperate with each successive beat.

She had long since closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye she saw green meadows all the way to the horizon. Her body whizzed through a bright sky. Her pussy spasmed. She felt as if she raced up a flight of stairs and leapt into an airy abyss.

She came like a thunderclap. Pleasure pulsed through her and overtook her body. She rode each wave of her orgasm, becoming an explosion of pulsating gold light.

Back in the real world Connie had grabbed the man by both ears and yanked his face into her crotch. She ground herself against him, breathing deep, but otherwise fell silent. She climaxed against him repeatedly, in rippling succession, and wept a few tears, making her mascara run. After a long time, and with a shuddering sigh, she finally relaxed and let him go.

“What. The fuck. Was that?” She murmured limply, looking down at the shock of crimson hair still nestled between her legs.

He peered up at her from under her cunt. Damn… his eyes did twinkle.

“Well… to be fair, that’s not generally on the list of services offered here at the Shamrock Shoe Shop,” he said huskily, “but you seemed to be a woman of profound and particular needs.”

“Huhn…” she started to giggle, “You got that right, Mr. Leprechaun.”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “The name is Michael O’Malley. You will need to know that because you will soon be yelling it rather loudly.” He stood up and began to take his apron and shirt off.

Connie sat up straight, aware of the near-criminal wet spot they had made on the chair. She followed his example and began to undo her corset.

“Oh really, Michael O’Malley? Whatever do you mean by that?” She discarded the garment and grinned. Michael stopped to admire her naked torso and smiled at her appreciatively.

“Well, I think it may be time to render that fuck un-hypothetical,” he said in a friendly tone, “and it would be impolite on your part if you got my name wrong as I shagged the living daylights out of you.” He grinned knowingly. “I expect there may be yelling.”

She watched him fold his shirt and apron precisely and place them on the counter. His shortness in no way undermined his lithe and tight body. His rock hard pecs and abs showed a dusting of ginger hair. Celtic knots and pagan designs ran all the way up his muscular arms and over his broad shoulders. Around his neck he wore a thick gold chain.

Michael unbuckled his belt (again, with a celtic knot as a buckle) and dragged his pants and briefs off. Between his belt line and his pubic hair the words “Magically Delicious” had been tattooed in old gothic style. Connie’s eyes widened. Things were coming up cock all over the place. He stood in front of her, nude. She smiled and tentatively reached a hand out, running her fingers lightly along the length of his beautiful prick. It was really something, and arched sinuously, growing before her eyes. She found her words.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had a penis.”


Whew! Is it getting warm in here? You should probably click this link and get the book so you can read ALL the sexy escapades these two lovebirds share.

Tracey DeSanto ~ eXcessica author

I am delighted to announce that I am now a member of the eXcessica authors’ co-op. This is a huge step for me. After a year and a half of thrashing around in the self-publishing wilderness… I have found my cabin in the woods. 

eXcessica is the brainchild of the amazing Selena Kitt. She’s one of the most accomplished erotica authors in the business, and she is also a community-builder. I submitted my manuscript for  A Shamrock Shag, and Selena was generous enough to invite me into her ranks. I’ll be glowing for weeks.

The main thing you will notice, as a reader, is that my books will now be available on all the platforms. I will be re-publishing my existing library under the eXcessica imprint over the next month or two. eXcessica will distribute my books to AmazonAppleBarnes and Noble (Nook)BookstrandExcessicaExciticaGoogle PlayKobo, and Smashwords.

And they do all the work for me!

God, how I love them! Somebody pinch me!

This will leave me free to do less busywork and more writing. As my fellow co-op author, Lisabet, told me, “With Excessica, you can write what you want, publish it WHEN you want, get the cover you want… But the distribution is much smoother than with self-publishing.”

My new books will be published under the eXcessica banner. I’ll still be here on social media with my silliness, doing promotion and hanging with you all, but I hope to be wiser and more effective. My fellow eXcessica writers make up a friendly community. We share information and ideas. We all help to row our communal smut-boat through the choppy waters of e-publishing. We are a merry (if bawdy) crew.

So… 2017 is the year of settling into my new home at eXcessica and writing sequels to my most popular books. Be ready! They are coming! Here is the link to my new eXcessica edition of A Shamrock Shag to tide you over. It’s a sweet and smutty tale of how a girl and a leprechaun find love in the big city. I’m celebrating by offering a LOW discount price. If you haven’t read it yet, now’s the time. It’s the best 99 -cents you’ll ever spend for St. Patrick’s Day. Éirinn go Brách!

Also… here’s something new I’m trying. I made a playlist on Spotify to go with the book. Try it out. It’s kinda fun.

If you haven’t done it yet, please fill out the form on this page to join my mailing list. Also… keep checking this space for updates and free samples. I have a TON of smut a-coming!

Many thanks, gentle readers! Your support and generosity has helped me get to this fine new place.

 

Girl on Girl Action with Cats…

Here is a sweet offering from my book Shifter Shelter: Nipped by the Cub. It’s part of the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords! The idea is to share a bit of hot and sassy smut that makes one tend towards self-love. I sincerely hope this does the trick for you! Click on the banner to visit Kayla’s great site to read all the free stories there.  

Shifter Shelter is my erotic werewolf saga. In this excerpt (a whole CHAPTER!), the women of the animal shelter take a break from the shifter shenanigans to pay some attention to each other… in the cat room.


 Shifter Shelter, Chapter 8 – Cats

I realize, in hindsight, that I should have chased after him, but Dot was distracting. She turned her big brown eyes on me for some kind of explanation and wouldn’t stop looking at me. I couldn’t think of something reasonable to tell her, especially with the ferals still simmering in my loins. Such was my state I even considered telling her the truth.

At that precise moment Sam and Edna Donaldson brought in six tiny kittens. Apparently we had to take them or they would end up at the bottom of the lake. You know… country-style euthanasia. I fucking hate people. So that took a while. The cats were adorable, but we didn’t have room for them, as usual. We had to write them up and also lecture two grown adults about why they should bring in their pet to get spayed. I told them I wouldn’t take the next litter, which was a lie, but I was pretty ferocious. Dot backed me up with appropriate tuts of disapproval and withering glares.

By the time Sam and Edna left, I thought I was safe. Dot had seen them out and was waving at them, smiling and nodding through the closed door.

“Thanks for nothing Sam and Edna. Fuck you very much,” she said brightly, but quiet enough that they wouldn’t hear.  She locked the door behind them and turned on me.

“All right, now. Spill… What is up with this boy of yours? Is he really that crazy?”

“Today he is.” I told her. “Sometimes things get crazy.” The animal within me snarled. The moon was so close, and it was my job to hold it together. I picked up the box of kittens and made my way towards the cat rooms. Dorothy followed close. I could feel her warmth on my back. As we passed the door she noticed the caved-in rabbit enclosure.

“Hey! What happened to the Bunny Mansion?!”

“Er… Rapture got loose.” I lied.

“What? That big dog has been sweet as pie since your boy showed up.”

“Dylan’s not my boy.” It was mostly true, but I didn’t sound convincing.

“Oh really?” She spoke sarcastically. “So he isn’t the son of your ex? He’s not your little stepson?”

“That was a long time ago,” I protested, “and he isn’t a little boy anymore.”

Dot gave a dirty grunt. “No, he’s sure not.” She chewed her finger. “And you haven’t been playing with him? Because, between you and me, this place smells like sex. There’s a lot of sleepy eyes, messy hair, and bouncing dick in the Shelter this morning.”

We got the kittens into the cat room. All the resident felines yowled at us, hoping for food and love. They climbed all over me. It was a nice, familiar sensation. As Dot moved the new babies into the kitten condo she spoke low and dirty.

“Because, you know, if you aren’t with Dylan, or if you don’t mind sharing, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of him. There’s no talent in this damn town except for what I find at work.” I wanted to warn her that Dylan was more likely to take a bite out of her. That’s when she surprised me.

“You know what I’m saying?” She looked at me hard. “All the talent is at work.” She put her hand on my shoulder. It was a casual touch with an invitation attached. My pussy wanted to Rsvp.

I met her gaze.  “Help me out, here, Dorothy… Do you like men or women?”

She was candid. “Absolutely. I really like them. I thought everyone knew that.”

So… The stories about Dot having slept with both the boys’ and the girls’ basketball teams in high school were more than just rumours. Sexy minx. Some week I was having.

On top of being just a lovely person, Dorothy was a stunner. She was a wise and fresh twenty-year-old, with dark, rich skin and wide russet lips. Tall and lithe, she had long legs and strong biceps, with a generous booty and plenty up front. The dreadlocks in her hair were an intense black halo that gave a whiff of patchouli. I was struggling with a five-alarm case of the ferals at Moontime and that tends to make me saucy. I may have been more disposed to girly-time than usual.

Her eyes ate me up and she wasn’t shy about it. Twelve cats were climbing all over us, purring, meowing, and rubbing against our legs. There was a pungent animal scent in the air and I began to suspect that me and Dot were responsible for a lot of it. On the day of the full moon, a concubine is at battle with herself. The ferals make her hornier than a hellcat in heat, but she has important tasks to attend to. My brain was telling me to go find Dylan, but the ferals were telling me to jump on this goddess in the cat room. It might have gone either way until Dot kissed me.

Her offering was a gentle, closed-mouth, nuclear explosion. The bees behind my eyes came back in a swarm. “Everyone seems to be getting time with you, Diana. There’s that sexy cop, and that sexy stepson… I have to wonder what the big deal is.” The second kiss had an open mouth. At least she wasn’t asking awkward questions about Dylan anymore. I kissed back. I added my tongue. Dorothy indulged in a sexy little giggle-snort, whispering, “I knew it.”

We stood and embraced as we explored each other with our hands. I found her ass and grabbed it, pulling her pelvis against mine. Her wide hips offered a softness that was lovely to hold. She ran her fingertips down my spine as I nibbled on her tasty lips. Her slender hands found their way under my shirt and boogied an electric dance across my skin, pausing to undo my bra. With a level of speed and skill that was new to me, she grabbed the wings of my bra, briskly pulling up and forwards while gathering my shirt. The whole thing came off over my head and was tossed aside. I was  suddenly very topless. Again there was a giggle-snort, this time followed by a deep and inquisitive kiss that dampened my twat and trembled my extremities. I clutched her bum. Cats purred and meowed at our feet, wondering what we were up to. It didn’t look like feeding time to them.

Dorothy stepped back and stared at my tits.

“Damn…” she said. “No wonder. Well, fair is fair.” She peeled off her shirt and sports bra and tossed her clothes on top of mine. Kitties had begun investigating the pile of abandoned garments. Dot’s lean stomach was lined with just a hint of abdominal definition all the way up to her breasts. Those were large and high: defiant against gravity as she shifted her weight. Her nipples were smears of exotic umber against her deep brown skin. They were constricting and rising in arousal. Puckered and lick-able, they were irresistible, so I bent down and took one into my mouth. I found myself unable to be subtle under these provocations and sucked hard.

Dot’s vocalization began as a high-pitched squeal and ran the register down to a low moan. She cradled my head, pushing my face into her tit while she stroked my back with her other hand. She arched her back and offered the other breast. Not wanting to play favourites, I was more than happy to shift my attentions. I licked first, then gathered her prodigious nip into my mouth and sucked the daylights out of it. This time Dot started with a low moan and went all the way up to a high-pitched squeak. The dogs outside barked a reply.

As I licked and sucked, Dorothy was reaching down. One hand played with my nipples, pinching and clasping with feminine roughness. The other led an exploratory mission heading south. Even through my fresh panties and blue jeans, the instant her fingers traced the surface of my crotch I kinda lost it, bucking my cunt forwards while standing hunched in front of her, licking her boobs. It probably looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. The ferals were trying to take over. I was decidedly juicy under the two layers of clothing, and it was starting to show.  With a giggle-snort she said, “My goodness, Diana… Are you wet all the way through your jeans?”

Dot stepped back again, grinning like a fool. I noted that it was more than possible to make her cheeks rosy. She leered at me, grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants, and shimmied out of them, making sure she jiggled her bosom at me for good measure. The clothes were tossed on the pile; a pretty siamese jumped out of the way. Standing tall and nude, Dorothy looked like some kind of statue, with perfection in every line, and curves that were impudent. I became alarmed by the exquisite beauty of her hairless pussy. She didn’t give me more than a glimpse, though, before she dropped to her knees. She spent a moment removing my shoes and pants in a very businesslike manner. My panties were thrown over her shoulder with a giggle. Finally, Dot reached around behind my bum and pulled me towards her, gazing at my muff.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” she said, and kissed me just above the pubic hair. Dorothy hugged my pelvis to her face. Her outrageous nipples brushed against my thighs while she kissed her way down to my excited privates with her soft mouth. As she found the top of my labia, she brought a strong hand up between my legs, encouraging me to open myself while standing. It was tricky, but I was up to it. She placed her tongue on my hood while her confident fingers spread my slick lips from below. Uhn! I was musing on why I didn’t seek feminine company more often as she slid two fingers inside me and sucked my clit. I twitched and flexed tall like a plank, screaming at the ceiling. My yell made the cats in the room scatter to the four corners. Down below Dorothy chuckled and began to fuck me.

She sucked and tongued as she poked and thrusted. I was a lagoon between my thighs, and as slippery as a salamander. As she finger-banged me she explored ever deeper, soon sliding three fingers in, right up to the hilt. I was semi-squatting and had turned my pelvis up so she could kiss me there. Oh! Kiss me, she did. Dot lapped excitedly, deep in my furrow, and then licked her way up to suck again on my bold, red clit. My skin got hot and itchy across my chest and shoulders. As Dot pushed her fingers into me, I bounced and trembled on her hand. My legs began to spasm.

I ran my fingers through her kinky black dreads, holding on for dear life. Somebody was muttering and pleading quietly, “please, yes… please, Dot… fuck me, please…” The dirty girl managed a fourth finger and began rubbing my clit with her thumb. Dorothy, who had been licking aggressively throughout this slippery joy-ride, then growled madly into me. This caused me to come abruptly. I pulled her hair and screamed, hopping up and down on my tippy-toes as she worked me like a Punch and Judy show. The joy flipped through me in waves as she pumped and kissed my simmering cunt. I ground into her face harder than I should have. It wasn’t polite in an employer / employee relationship. She wouldn’t let me stop coming, tasting my wetness and playing until I actually fell over and landed on top of her. Cats scattered anew, dogs barked afar.

I clutched and hugged her amazon body to mine, tremulous, and kissed her face, tasting myself all over her. She responded, rubbing her beautiful skin against mine and taking hot smooches. Sated, yet desperate, I reached down to Dorothy’s pretty pussy. She was a hot, open book. Oh, yes, my dear… now you’re gonna get it. Many cats were on the floor around us, sniffing and meowing and rubbing their soft fur on inappropriate bits of human anatomy. Dot twisted and slid herself against my fingers, groaning in a friendly way, but then she stopped and became stiff.

“Knocking,” she said. “Do you hear knocking?”

We went all silent. Even the kitties were still.

Wham! Wham! Taptaptap!

Fuck. I did, indeed, hear knocking. Someone was pounding on the front door, and it sounded insistent. Dot and I locked eyes and giggled. She snorted, too.

“You locked the door?” I asked.

“Uh huh.” She replied, and kissed me.

“Why?” I asked.

“I thought I might try to tumble you in the cat room,” She confessed. “Oh. Look. That totally happened.”

“It sure did.” I kissed her back. “I should probably get that.v”She answered. “I think I’ll just have to let you owe me one.”

I kissed her again, slow and long. “You bet I do.”

Wham! Wham! Taptaptap! It was louder.

“Diana?” said Dot, “I still have a lot of questions about Dylan an’shit.”

“No doubt,” I answered, evasive.

“Also… Diana?”

“Yes, Dot?”

“You can take your fingers out of my cunt anytime, now.”


Interested in learning more about the DeSanto approach to Werwolf Erotica? Check out Shifter Shelter: Nipped by the Cub.

Happy Birthday to ME! ~Newsy News!~

image-1-1Welcome to my First Birthday Party!  Tracey DeSanto is One Year Old.

Fifty-two weeks ago (November 18th, 2015) I uploaded my first book to Amazon. The learning curve to become a self-published smut-peddler was  steep… I was utterly clueless.

On the writing side, things have gone nicely… I’ve been promoting my library over the past few weeks and taking stock. The first thing I can say is I have a freaking LIBRARY! A year ago there was NADA. Now there is a variety of DeSanto treats to choose from. Yay, me.

I have always said that, as a nerd, I intend to visit my favourite realms and “have sex” in them. Today the DeSanto Smut Universe includes Circus sexSword and Sorcery sex, Shifter sex, Science Fiction sex, Horror sex, Paranormal Fairie sex, and even Old West Polygamy Farm sex. I have published EIGHT BOOKS. Please go to my Amazon page and check them out. They are dirty and nerdy. They are affordable. I am proud of them. Tell your friends and tell the world that Tracey DeSanto needs readers.

I have also been posting FREE EROTICA on my website. Check it out. You will find the stories satisfying, I promise! It’s all the DeSanto Goodness with none of the calories! What have you got to lose? I mean… the price ain’t gonna get any lower!

At the time of this writing I have (from all my books combined) 27 Amazon reviews. Amazon didn’t  crunch the numbers for me, so I did it myself. I have an average rating of 4.7 out of 5 Stars. In school that would be 94%, so I just  squeaked an A+! I am so thankful to the readers and reviewers who made that possible. Without them I am just someone with a dirty imagination and a computer… a very dirty imagination and a computer that needs replacing.

While the writing part of being an author has gone pretty well, on the business side, things are tougher. I have to acknowledge that, after a year, I haven’t made any money. There are expenses associated with just being Tracey DeSanto (website, covers, etc…) and my book sales haven’t covered them. It’s not a lot of cash, but Tracey DeSanto is in the red. That means that, at this point, writing smut is a hobby, not a job. So, for ebook business and marketing I have to give myself a C-. Not failing, but close to it.

Still… in the past year I have built a nice foundation. Also, and very importantly, I am having fun. If I can manage to turn this into a job, it’ll be a dream job.

In my bio I say that I want to write “positive stories that are hot for women, men, LGBT folks, singles, and couples.” I say that I will make sure “a dirty story is also a good story.” That, along with my nerdy scenarios, informs my DeSanto Manifesto (otherwise known as #BetterSmut.)

In a DeSanto book, generally, women are the stars of the show. They are agents of their own pleasure. There is consent. Alpha males, if they exist at all, are there for the pleasure of the women. Straight, gay, and bi characters all have a good time. Kinks are appreciatively explored. A DeSanto story is meant to be a great place for everyone to get off.

The stories have fully realized characters. They have a beginning, a middle and an end. They have punctuation, grammar, and sentence structure. I will not disrespect my fellow-smut writers here, but I regret to admit that our genre shows a lack of literacy at times. A lack of literacy is not the road to #BetterSmut. It creates pot-holes in the road and derails the delight. More outlining, proofing, and editing would help us all. (I include myself in that statement.)

We all deserve to be reading #BetterSmut. As writers, we should be trying to write #BetterSmut, and also sharing it when we see it. Maybe try using it as a tag when you tweet about something that turns your crank. You know… like, “I just read Mintie Price’s new Collection! I came twice. It is definitely #BetterSmut” or “If you are looking for free #BetterSmut you should check out Kayla Lord’s Masturbation Mondays.” or “Mischa Eliot is a great supporter and creator of #BetterSmut.” or “Amber Skye’s lesbian erotica is wet and slippery #BetterSmut.”

See? Easy. Working together, we can all find our way to #BetterSmut. 😉

So… if you have read this far, congratulations and thanks! Here’s my birthday present to YOU! On the weekend of my birthday, from Nov. 18-20th, my Sexy Science Fiction Romp “Space Girls! ~ Part One: When Worlds Collide!” will be absolutely FREE! Put it in your calendar and go get it with my thanks and blessing! You honour me by reading my stuff.

space_girls_order
Free Nov. 18-20!

That’s it. Happy Birthday to me. Thanks for everything. If you have any suggestions or just wanna chew the fat, send me an email, find me on twitter, or comment in space below. It also wouldn’t hurt to join my mailing list: #TeamDeSanto.

ps… Winter is coming. You might want to keep your eyes peeled for a special Christmas book that I haven’t written yet. Whew! Guess I better get busy! Is it too early for eggnog?