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.

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.

Pecking Order for Masturbation Monday

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18 + Readers Only! This is my very special Birthday  Offering for 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. 

One year ago this week I uploaded my very first erotic book, Pecking Order, to Amazon. It is also my only book (so far) that has hot man on man sex in it. It seems appropriate to share this short excerpt here, given the special date, and the inspirational image over at Kayla’s site.

If you like my free excerpt today, you should really investigate all my books, over at Amazon. Also, don’t forget to join my mailing list.

Okay… without further ado… Gay man on younger bisexual man action in  an old western setting:


Jeremiah Brown closed the barn door behind him and slid the bolt. The man radiated ownership and authority as he strode towards the boy.

“Ah. I am glad that I caught you here,” he said as he clapped a friendly hand on Henry’s shoulder. The Master of the estate and leader of the Elder’s Council smiled. He cut a fine figure in his tailored black suit with brass buttons. His tall and broad body was resisting the signs of his age. Jeremiah remained vigorous and vital, though it had been since he participated in the physical labour of the farm. His attentions now centred on management, administration and the Lord’s Work. While his shoulder-length hair remained chestnut brown, his sideburns were grey, framing a close-shaved face with inquisitive eyes and a hawkish nose.

Henry’s face felt hot. Fine sweat released fragrance of cunt under his nose. He prayed that he was the only one who smelled Josephine on his shameful face. Henry tried to compose himself and not gawk at his employer. Truth be told, Master Jeremiah Brown was much more than Henry’s employer. He was a monarch of a man. There were few in the community who approached his wealth and influence. Henry’s mother and father had rejoiced that Master Brown had chosen their strong son as the newest hired hand. It was well known that poor boys of little consequence found their way to a better position after a few years of service under Jeremiah. He had a reputation of being a “Maker of Men”.

Henry tried to evade the older man’s eyes. “Good morning, Master. I’m getting the mares ready for the trip into town. I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect you to need them so soon.” His cheeks blazed and released a fresh wave of female perfume.

“Don’t worry, foolish boy.” The man chuckled. He pulled out a gold watch on an elaborate chain and fob. “I have time before I must leave for my sacred duties to the Community,” he said. “First, I need to have a quick word with you regarding your prospects. Come along now.” Master Brown crooked a finger at Henry and turned to walk briskly towards the tack room.

Henry entered that room for the second time that morning, full of shame and frustration. He knew the depravity that had occurred there only moments before. Master Brown stood near a shelf of horse remedies, rubbing something into his clean hands. “You know Henry, when I was a boy like yourself I laboured hard at the farm. I found that chores worked the Devil on my hands and made them chapped and sore. I also found that rubbing this fine saddle oil into the hurt helped a great deal. Come here and I’ll show you.” Henry advanced reluctantly.

“Don’t be shy, son,” Master Brown said, as he gripped Henry’s wrist and began smearing the liniment into his hand’s chapped creases. Henry was startled at the pleasant sensation as the older man massaged his palms and lubricated them with the greasy, medicinal stuff. “There. Feels fine, doesn’t it, boy?” Jeremiah Brown concentrated on his task. The nimble stroking of the older man’s immaculate hands intimidated Henry. He couldn’t recall ever being touched in such an intimate way. Henry stared at the floor in shame as his cock began to stiffen.

Master Brown cupped Henry’s chin and turned his face so as to look at him. Henry caught his gaze, surprised at the attractiveness of his Master.

“There… better,” the Master said. “Now we begin.”

He held Henry by one hand while he reached into his pocket. The young man heard the jingle of coins. “You remember Elijah Martin, don’t you?” he asked. “Eli was a boy much like yourself when I hired him those ten years ago. Look how well he’s done for himself.” Henry knew that Eli Martin had a small farm of his own, two wives and six children. He had seen them file into temple, a happy, comfortable group. Master Brown’s eyes became reflective.

“Yes, Elijah was sweet, but dirt poor like you. I did all I could to set him up. It helps to have a man of means on your side.”

Jeremiah held up a heavy silver dollar, holding it directly before Henry’s eyes. The shiny disc represented more money than Henry had ever touched at one time. “I pay you… what is it? One dollar per month for your farm duties? Well, a young man who hopes to wed will never manage on that. Luckily there are other things a boy can do with a man who befriends him, especially if he is in need of a nest egg.”

Master Brown leaned in and kissed him. A fresh wave of womanly funk rose from the pores on the boy’s downy face. Jeremiah Brown sniffed and eyed him quizzically. Then he gripped and released the buttons on Henry’s overalls, which fell quietly to the floor around his ankles. “Well, now… Let’s get a look at you.”

Master Brown took a step back. “Kindly remove the rest of your clothing, Henry” he dictated, in a tone similar to what he used used when instructing the blacksmith. Henry had long since come to the conclusion that he would be spending eternity in Hell. Besides, what choice did he have?

The lithe lines of the muscles in his arm danced and flexed as he pulled off his shirt and undergarments. Henry’s body glowed in the half-light of the tack room. Long and clean of limb, with fine definition of muscle and only scant hair at the chest and armpits, he offered a conflicting image of boy and man. Henry’s beard did not grow in thickly yet, but a fine crop of downy, black fur surrounded his cock. Master Brown’s eyes mapped him up and down, cataloguing all the details.

“Thank you, Lord. He’ll do just fine.”

Jeremiah Brown smiled wolfishly at Henry and began to disrobe. He held Henry’s gaze while systematically removing each item of clothing. Under the jacket and shirt his Master revealed a well-muscled torso with a dense thatch of hair trailing downwards. His shoulders were broad; his arms were thick and capable. He dropped his breeches unceremoniously to his ankles, standing as nude as Henry. The boy was fascinated by the man’s penis, which stood erect and solid. “All right, boy. Let’s see what I can teach you.” Master Brown stepped out of his trousers and crossed the room with the agile speed of an athlete. He reached Henry and pulled him close with one hand while taking his cock in the other. The Master kissed him again while holding him, walking him irresistibly towards the wall. Henry found himself returning the kisses in a furtive and hungry way.

The silver coin was placed next to the open jar of ointment on the wall shelf. Jeremiah instructed Henry to turn his back and grip the shelf on either side. “Keep your eye on the prize, my fine colt,” he said. Henry found himself spread-eagled and facing the wall. In one fluid movement Master Brown dipped the two forefingers of his left hand into the jar of oil. He reached between Henry’s slender buttocks and worked his fingers in.

Henry gasped. Before he could cry out in protest Master Brown took a shock of his ebony hair and pulled his head back. He whispered, “Oh no, you must be silent. Here, bite down on this.” Henry sighed relief as the Master released his hair, only to sputter as he bit down on the riding crop that Master Brown was easing into his mouth. The pain faded as his Master’s lubricated fingers teased his ass for what felt like a long time, probing. There was a place within that flamed arousal under Master Brown’s attentions. Henry let forth a moan as he bit down on the leather crop and pushed against his Master’s hand. “Ah, yes… you see, boy?” growled Jeremiah. “I think we can proceed.”

Just as Henry’s cock was beginning to rise, Master Brown disengaged. “Eye’s front, my young stallion.” Henry braced himself, gripping the edge of the shelf. His Master held him by the hips and begin to enter him. Henry yelped and chewed hard on the crop as his anus widened gradually and inexorably to accommodate his Master’s resolute prick. His legs buckled and he became light-headed as the fucking commenced, slow and shallow at first, but building in speed and depth until he bounced up off the ground with each of the man’s thrusts. Master Brown’s grunts of pleasure came at regular intervals as he screwed Henry in long, steady strokes. The ointment and silver dollar rattled and jumped in time on the shelf. Master Brown’s breathing changed. It became deep and hoarse as his cock grew harder inside Henry. He pushed himself in as deep as he could and held Henry on him, muttering a quiet prayer.

Henry was pinioned like a bird on a spit, unable to move. He squirmed. His ass hurt, but every nerve in his body also jangled with new and exotic pleasures. Henry, not for the last time, despaired for his eternal soul.

A sensation of emptiness and falling washed over him as Master Brown released him. Dropping dizzily to his knees, Henry craned his neck to see Master Jeremiah Brown towering above him. He stood righteous; his turgid cock pointed skyward  like the mast of a ship. Jeremiah gripped Henry by the ear with one hand and began to pump his cock with the other.

“You are now mine until I release you.” He stated, jerking. “You will offer service and I shall reward you.” His eyes were smouldering and his face bloomed livid with ecstasy and Heavenly Spirit. “I Choose you, Take you, and Own you,” the stroking became frenzied, “In the name of the Lord, and his Ways, and his Servants!” As he chanted, his penis erupted in thick gobs of semen. He touched the head of his cock to Henry’s forehead and distributed a seemingly endless anointing of creamy jism across the boy’s face.

“For this is my Right and my Way, as the Master is the Servant under his Lord,” he exhaled, smiling. Spent, he released Henry.

“Amen.”

Henry was told that he should clean himself up and hurry to prepare the team and buggy for the trip to town. He was informed that his new duties with the Master were to recur every week at the same time and place. It was made clear that any absence, or lack of discretion, would carry consequences. He cleaned himself and dressed as best he could, pocketed the silver dollar, and got back to work.

Copyright 2016, all rights reserved

You can download all of Pecking Order: The Master, the Mistress & the Maid here.

Newsy News Newsletter 1

 

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All Hail Team DeSanto!

Welcome to the fantastic new era of DeSanto Informational Services. This is my new way of letting you know what’s what. I am attempting to gather all my various social media monkeys to get them flying together. I have a re-worked website. I am playing with a blog and RSS feeds. Honestly? I am in way over my head.

It is late August, 2016: a heady time for smut-writers. We add heat to an already hot day, and it can be pretty damn scorching. Here’s what I have been up to lately, in case you didn’t know…

Last month I released my newest novella, Shifter Shelter, to an unsuspecting world. I heard all the cool writers were doing it and felt it was only fair to the shifter community that I offer a Very DeSanto Contribution. There is lotsa sex: some straight, some lesbian, some bi, some kinky, you know… fun stuff. You’ll find plenty of intrigue and adventure. There is even a chance that somebody will end up having sex with a werewolf. I mean… how can you resist? You can’t? Good. Click here. Also… I would be remiss if i didn’t tell you that it’ll be freakin’ FREE on Amazon over the Labour Day Long Weekend (Sept. 3-5). So, you know… wait until then and grabs yerself a copy. Tell them Tracey sent you. Tell your friends. Read it aloud at the weenie roast.

I am experimenting with shorts and what is in them. I want to share the contents of my shorts with you. I think you’ll find there’s some good stuff in my shorts. Haha. See what I did there? My first freebie is already up and waiting for you. It is called Nocturnal Emissions and it is part of Smutty Smidgeons… that’s my new series of 1000 to 1500-word treats that will always be FREE on my website. I mean, I vigorously encourage you to sign up for my mailing list when you help yourself to my shorts, but it’s optional… the signing up, I mean.  Did I mention that it’s FREE?

I have been getting some nice reviews. All of them five stars. Really, honestly, actually. Check out the books here on my author page. See all those stars? I love that! It means so much to me. It shows me that people are out there reading and enjoying my work. I have so much fun making these stories for you all, it makes me giddy to see a new review.

So… do you want to review a DeSanto book? I’ll make it easy for you. Send me a note here, and tell me which book you’d like to review (no compendiums, please). I will send you a reviewing copy for…. wait for it… FREE! That’s right. Just like reefers in the playground, the first one is free. Do an honest review of the book (on Amazon or Goodreads or BOTH!) when you are done. Then send me a link to the review, and guess what?! You can pick another book to review for free. If you keep sending me links to your reviews of DeSanto Smut, I will keep sending you books. I also love you for doing it. THANKS!

What’s coming up now, you might ask? Imagine an erection joke as my reply.  Wait… enjoy… and… on to business. I am currently working on a short story that will be part of a new series of 99-cent Quickies. Hopefully that’ll be out within the month. It might be science fiction. You’ll just have to wait and see.  Also. I am outlining my very first SEQUEL. See if you can guess which DeSanto book is ready for a follow-up. Also, if you have a favourite, there’s never been a better time to drop me a line and let me know. You might just influence future events like Marty McFly tried not to.

So, to recap: New Blog Newsletter with RSS Feed and Mailing List Support. New Shifter Shelter Novella. New Free Smut at the Website. New Pleas for More Reviews. New Projects Currently Underway. That’s enough for my first actual Newsy News Newsletter, isn’t it? I hope so. Let me ask one last thing.  Are you on the #TeamDeSanto Mailing List? I would LOVE it of you joined. It will make it really easy to keep you in the loop. G’wan! DO IT. You’d hate to miss anything.

See you later. This has been fun, but I have smut to write.

Hugs and Kisses,

Tracey