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.

 

Happy Holidays Part II

masturbation-monday-badge-small18 + Readers Only! I am offering PART TWO of my new Holiday Erotica Book, Flesh, Wine & Pine logs. This is a very special HOLIDAY  OFFERING for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla LordsThe 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.  

Flesh, Wine & Pine logs – A Holiday Menage has lots of sex in it, mostly straight, but kinda bi, and it ends with a rollicking Midwinter foursome. It will warm your cockles on a icy night and make you feel merry, indeed! Consider it Tracey DeSanto’s Holiday present to you all!

You can skip back and read part one here first, if you like…

Without further ado… Yuletide Smut!


The moon had crawled across the night sky and was nestling in the tree-line. Where before it had shone brightly, its light was now filtered. The snow crunched beneath their feet. It was a lonely sound, accompanied by their breathing. Wensa’s was easy and measured,  like her strides, but Honzo puffed and grunted as he followed her, occasionally muttering a mild oath.

They had left quietly with only the wheelwrights and carpenters to observe them. Wensa had gifted the men with silver, beer and pies, requiring their silence. They were only too happy to offer it. They helped the Queen and her page into rough boots and cloaks for their journey. Honzo had insisted that he could bear the sacks of wine, food and firewood. It was no wonder he was finding it slow going.

When they began hiking, all had been raucous and merry in the shops and households of Bohemia. Honzo was  wistful as they made their way farther from the revelry and deeper into the empty edges of Wensa’s domain. They had reached the end of the farthest road at the outermost village. Wensa paused to think and let Honzo catch up.

“My gracious Queen… <huff> I am delighted that we have <huff> finally achieved your aim of freezing the balls off this particular brass monkey.” Honzo’s teeth chattered while he said it. He shook his legs as if expecting to see his testicles roll out of the cuffs of his breeches. “Might I suggest that we avail ourselves of some of these supplies?” He peered at her from under the brim of his cloak, hopeful.

She laughed and clapped her hands together. It had been a while since she had ventured out to her childhood realms, and it felt good.

“Those provisions are barter for beets and must not be touched. I wonder at your fuss. Next time I will enlist the help of one of the scullery maids. They are made of sterner stuff than you and are more willing to take chances.”

His retort was mischievous. “I know this, my Queen, for I have bedded every one of them already… and at least we were in a nice… warm… BED!”

His nose was running and his breath came in puffs. Honzo stumbled as the sacks shifted on his shoulders. This caused him to slip and fall on his ass with a painful whump. He lay on his back and gazed up into the night sky.

“Take me now, Lord,” he said. “I am ready.” He closed his eyes and crossed his hands over his chest. “If Good Queen Wensa demands I end my life dragging firewood to the Devil, I am only too happy to do so.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Her voice was like an embrace: comforting and encouraging. He opened one eye to peer up at her.

“Goodbye cruel world?” he asked.

“Not tonight, my little scallion.” She offered him a firm hand, pulling him to his feet. Once it looked as if he wouldn’t fall again, she squatted and took the heavier of the sacks.

“Mark my footsteps, my good page,” she said, and began to blaze a trail through the snow. Honzo followed as best he could, with an energy he could hardly muster. He found the frost was less cruel if he followed in her tracks.

They fell silent and made their way. Wensa knew it was still a long march before they reached Filip’s shack. She didn’t care. She felt magnificent. At Midwinter the Sun begins its slow return. It was in Wensa’s blood to shepherd her people towards the renewal of light at this time. She shared her warmth with everyone and brought them cheer. Wensa at Midwinter meant hope and comfort against the bitter dark.

She was also as horny as a wench at closing time. She felt certain she could do her beet boy an injury, given the chance. Her appetite was fierce. Along those lines, she wondered if this might be the night she let that slender page into her winter garden. He was so devoted… it wouldn’t be fair to leave him out in the cold. That’s when she realized she no longer heard him stumbling in her wake. It made her stomach lurch.

Looking back across the icy plain, she could see him, a lump of darkness against the white. He had fallen some distance behind her and was not moving. She dropped her sack and ran, cursing herself for enjoying this night. When she came to him he was silent and shivering, curled up in the trench she had left. His normally bright eyes were lidded, barely open.

“Hail, good page,” she encouraged, “Have you abandoned your duties?” Her cheerfulness veiled concern. There was no reply.

“Honzo. Answer your Queen.”

His blue lips twitched. In a muted, distant voice he whispered, “I will follow my Queen to the end of the Earth, I love her so… but first I must sleep…”. He trailed off, closed his eyes, and became still. The shivering ended.

The Midwinter Queen, daughter of the forest, could tell when death came sniffing. She would not let the Reaper take her page without a fight. Wensa had seen this cold sickness before. She knew what to do. Sleep would kill Honzo. With no time to seek fire or shelter she needed to save him with her body.

Wensa took off her cloak and put it aside, then knelt by Honzo. She pulled his legs straight and yanked his breeches to his ankles. His manhood was hibernating, and this was not surprising. Even in a frozen state, he showed potential. The Queen unbuttoned his tunic and exposed his bare chest to the freezing black sky. She lingered only a moment to appreciate his long lines and lithe muscles, dusted with only the faintest of blond hair. She regretted there was no time for more than a glance.

She stripped her clothes off with little thought. The wind blew across her ample curves, but bothered her not. Her nipples rose to greet the frosty air, and her ass was so hot that even the coldest breeze knew better than to try to cool it. She was Wensa, Queen of Midwinter. Knowing warmth was her strength, she lay on top on Honzo and pulled her thick cloak over them both, wrapping them as closely as she could. She rubbed her nude and elemental body against him, skin to skin, and whispered in his ear.

“Do you feel that, Honzo? You Queen has come for you.”

She clutched him to her bosom. His chest was frigid and unyielding. Honzo was unresponsive. Her tits blazed warm against him; her nibs were like quills on parchment, writing a fascinating tale, if only someone could read it. She cupped his chin and kissed him tenderly with soft, wet lips. His were icy, but they twitched in response.

“Good… Take from me, my fine man. I will share my heat with you.” Wensa crawled up and wrapped her legs around his stomach. Cradling his head against her breast, she offered her nipple to suck. It began gradually. Honzo, eyes shut, rigid as a brick, began to suckle at the teat of his Queen.

For her part, it was blazing pleasure. She felt milk come down, unbidden, like primal magic. Honzo licked and sucked, swallowing her earthy heat. His eyes fluttered. Wensa’s twat was hot and eager against the young man’s belly. Her sweet wetness anointed him. She felt him, gradually, nearly imperceptibly, warm to her. She offered her other breast, now supernaturally heavy with milk. Honzo moaned as he slaked his need.

Partly because of curiosity, and mostly due to her screaming arousal, Wensa reached down to inspect Honzo’s cock. It would be a good bellwether to his recovery. She gripped his cool, flaccid flesh. It became warm in her hand, stiffening in sympathy to his heartbeat. Soon she held it full-blown. Honzo opened his eyes.

“Uhn. My Queen… Am I dead and in heaven? However did I end up here, considering my many sins?” His eyes opened wider. “Is that your hand on my truncheon?”

Wensa kissed him to stop the nattering while she slid along his body. In one smooth moment she guided his cock into her inviting chamber. If she had been warming him up before, the fiery kiln of her cunt almost burned. They kissed and copulated under the quilt, a knot of hot fuckery, concealed from the cruel frost around them.

Honzo brought his significant skills to the service of his queen, feeling much… much better under the current circumstances. He reached a hand between them, seeking her clit in the slick inferno. Her bud was there, waiting and eager, bumping his fingertips. He played her jewel like the strings of a lute as she pushed on and off of him. Honzo used his other hand to grasp the generous flesh of her bottom and guide her onto his now-desperate cock.

Wensa hummed an old song as she rode him. She felt him continue to grow inside her. He was no longer cold at all. With each thrust upwards he shared his own warmth. She nibbled on his jaw and instructed him.

“Yes boy, just like that. Serve me well.” He rubbed her clit and gripped her ass. His thrusts made her bounce almost off him before she slid down and took him. Wensa moaned, so he did it again. This time he tweaked her twice before she bounced.

“Oh, my Queen… please take your pleasure on my humble cock,” he whispered (but now without delirium). “I am here to serve you, but I fear I will too soon expire inside your sweet furnace.” She could sense his penis flex and quiver. They were so close…

Wensa sat up abruptly and threw off the cloak. She straddled him tall in the bleak landscape, impaling herself on his stalwart dick. Her cunt slapped against his lean hips. She gyrated while he rubbed her with this tricky fingers. They chased delight together, like a swirl of snowflakes in a gust of wind, until they came together against the Midwinter snow.

Honzo arched his back and pushed up, laughing and ecstatic. He gasped as his balls drained into his Queen and was filled with joy as he filled her. Wensa shouted a proclamation for the universe to pay heed and see how a Monarch climaxes. She ground against her servant, clutching her own ripe breasts and tweaking her nipples, then threw her head back and opened her throat to the sky. In cataclysmic fashion Wensa roared at the old gods while her cunt grasped Honzo, taking every drop from him.

They melted the surrounding snow. Honzo was no longer chilled in the least.

The moon had journeyed deep below the horizon; the night was darker. Wind blew dry snowflakes across the plain, making a gentle hiss. It was a nearly silent night. The Queen and her page held hands and regarded each other, smiling in this frozen otherworldly place. They said nothing, gathered themselves, and resumed their journey.


To read the rest of Flesh, Wine & Pine logs, click here.

Happy Holidays for #MM (Part I)

masturbation-monday-badge-small18 + Readers Only! This is my very special HOLIDAY  OFFERING for the Masturbation Monday Challenge from Kayla Lords! I am offering the first section of my new book, Flesh, Wine & Pine logs. 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.  

Flesh, Wine & Pine logs – A Holiday Menage has lots of sex in it, mostly straight, but kinda bi, and the last part is a rollicking Midwinter foursome. It will warm your cockles on a icy night and make you feel merry, indeed! Consider it Tracey DeSanto’s Holiday present to you all!

Without further ado… Yuletide Smut!


She walked the length of her bed-chamber, overheated. The dark stone walls reflected orange from the crackling fire in the hearth. Midwinter was nigh, and the Queen of Bohemia was cozy. Wensa wore only her woolen cloak, trimmed with ermine. She luxuriated in the sensation of it against her naked skin. Her drinking horn brimmed with hot wine, which she drank contentedly. The days were short now and feasting for St. Stephen’s Day was upon the Kingdom. All kept the season as best they could, and Bohemians were well able to make merry. Still…  some of her subjects, she knew, got along with less…

Wensa walked to the casement and swung the shutter open.  An icy breeze kissed her cheeks, but the festive flames warmed her bottom from behind, even through the robe. She exhaled a boozy plume of vapour into the winter air and surveyed her domain.  

A fat moon shone brightly. Lack of clouds made the night deadly cold, but the countryside glowed a magical blue from the moonlight on the snow. Past the castle walls, out beyond the village and across the farmlands, smoke rose from the chimneys of the revellers. Candlelight flickered in windows. In the distance she heard bagpipes, fiddles and laughter. Wensa smiled. There would be many cocks in cunts tonight. 

Her rickety old husband, King Wenceslas I, was off in the Holy Lands on a pilgrimage. That was fine by Wensa. There had been no steel in his sword for years. She shifted her hips and noticed the lonely sensation between her legs. 

The Queen cast her gaze farther, to the very edge of the cleared lands. Her eyes were sharp; she made out a lone man near the forest. He was gathering deadfall from the trees, which meant that firewood was in short supply. She knew him on sight. That  could only be Filip, the beet boy, who was no longer a boy. They had once been childhood friends (and so much more.) 

Wensa shivered, not from the weather, but from the warm memory of their times together at the edge of Bohemia. They had shared a common love of field, forest, and fucking, pleasing one another as was absolutely appropriate for those in their youth. Filip was not over-tall, but wide of shoulder and strong as an ox. Wensa was superb: pale and quick, curvaceous and kind. Her grandfather had been Druid to the Green Man, so she was royalty, of a sort, to the rustics. At the age of nineteen she was summoned  to become a young Queen for the old King in the castle, and one does not refuse that summons. She left her country life, and her beet boy, and became Royal.

Wensa chewed her lip. The lonely sensation twixt her thighs had fanned to hot flame as she recalled Filip’s sparking eyes and sinewy legs. She allowed the front of her robe to fall open. Winter breezes danced across her skin, lifting her broad nipples and fluttering her flaxen muff. She dragged her fingers through the fine hair at her cleft. She was as slippery as a trout in a spring stream. Finishing her wine in one long draught, she tossed the horn aside.

With a sensuous roll of her shoulders Wensa discarded her robe and let it fall.  She stood nude, illuminated by the Midwinter moon. Her alert eyes picked out Filip in the distance, gathering winter fuel. As she watched him, she explored her wetness, slipping her fingers along her slit, and then into herself. In her mind she was back in the forest, fifteen winters ago, laying with him. They had been clumsy and inexperienced, but eager and potent. 

She pulled on her nipples, remembering her rough and rutty treatment at the hands of her beet boy, years ago. Pleasure flashed from her breasts to her cunt, and back. Wensa’s skin bloomed from white to pink as she fingered herself with one hand and grabbed at her breasts with the other. She  had not been fucked properly in too long a  time. 

Fluffy snowflakes drifted into the room and landed on her, melting as they touched. She savoured their cool kiss on her body.  As she pleasured herself, her eyes never left the solitary figure in the distance. She reached wildly for her climax. Her blood rose. She said, “Oh Filip. Fuck me. Fuck the girl of the forest…” 

Her hand sought her bud. It was peeking up like a badger in a burrow, so she seized upon the opportunity to rub it hard. Her legs trembled and her flesh rippled in the moonlight. Closing her eyes, she envisioned Filip pounding into her. She remembered the musky smell of his sweat and, after a pleasant span of time spent masturbating, she came. Shaking her head and arching her back, she groaned her delight into the icy sky. Wind blew gusts of snow against her trembling nakedness but, for her own part, she felt only warmth emanating from her every fibre. 

Midwinter is magical, and a Queen needs tending. Searching out the window, she saw that the figure in the distance was gone. Wensa was decisive. A plan was hatched. She grabbed her cloak and summoned her servant.

“Honzo,” she called. Her page was always near, often loafing  on his pallet outside the bedchamber. She heard the heavy oaken door squeak on its hinges as it opened behind her.

“My Queen?” came a voice that was baritone and bright.

“Come in and close the door. We have provisions to gather.” She wrapped the lush garment around her loveliness and turned to face the young man. 

“Provisions?” Honzo smiled at her with wide lips. He was bemused, which was often the case. This one had more wit than muscle. He would be a courtier, she decided… not a knight. He was tall and slender, thoughtful and, at times, scandalously familiar with her. She adored him. Wensa noticed he was eyeing the top of a wayward, rose-tint nipple, which peeked above the rim of her cloak. 

She concealed her nip with a knowing smile and said, “Bring me flesh… and bring me wine.” She glanced out the casement into the frozen landscape. “Bring me pine logs.”

The younger man was taken aback. “Where shall I bring this, my Queen?”

“Hither,” she answered, then reconsidered. “No, Honzo. Not hither. Bring it to the East Gate and be secret about it.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever is all this for, my Queen?”

“We are going on a Midwinter adventure. I am craving beets.”


You can read Part II here.

To get all of Flesh, Wine & Pine logs, click here.

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?

 

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.

Halloween Masturbation Monday!

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18 + Readers Only! This is my very special Halloween 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. 

If you like my free story today, you should really investigate my new book, Odd Bits & Dark Corners.

Thanks..!  Now… on to the witch!


Abbigail and the Imp

by Tracy DeSanto

She grabbed some fruit roll-ups and tried to sneak downstairs, but  was detected.

“Supper’s in an hour, Honey.”

The creature in the rec-room missed nothing. How could she even hear Abbigail over the blaring of the TV?

“Eat without me, Mom. I’m pulling an all-nighter.” Abbigail mixed cheerfulness and fatigue into her call up the stairs.

“Alri -ight. I’ll leave you a plate in the fri-idge.” Mom gave the words extra syllables and a song-like quality.

The young woman reached the bottom of the stairs and tore open the snack-wrapper. She paced past the laundry machines to her bedroom door and used her key. Once inside, she turned the deadbolt behind her. Abbigail installed it herself a year ago, being handy with tools and motivated by reclusiveness.

Ah. Privacy.

The space heater churned away cheerily. The near-oppressive warmth in her room was like a hug after a tedious day at College. Her English “diploma” studies were not challenging and her social life among D-bags and Tiffanies was non-existent. Due to the lack of proper stimuli, Abbigail’s hobby had taken a front seat in her life. The apple-cranberry leather found a way into her mouth and she chewed it.

Abbigail was a witch, and she felt peckish.

She kicked off her hiking boots and shed her winter clothes. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she undid the belt that dug into her belly and peeled off her jeans. This left her wearing a long, black sweater and not much else. A frizzy mane of brown knots framed her face. There were too many freckles to her liking.

Abbigail struck a pose in the cheap ikea mirror, blinked at herself through thick and sensible glasses, and made a duck face. Plump and average was how she saw herself, in spite of what the Goddess assured her.

Scratching her hip and chewing her snack, she hurried to her desk. To call it just a desk was unfair. Her work-space / research centre consisted  of two tables, arranged for magic and homework, in that order. A rolling office chair let Abbigail kick and scoot to wherever she needed. A bizarre hodgepodge covered the surface: bells, books, candles, computers, art supplies, bones, photos, potato chips, carving tools, an old tome by a dead mage, a new paperback by Stephen King, and a small jar of something that looked greasy and organic. This pile of chaos had been arranged fastidiously. At the centre of it all rested a plain oak box with a fitted lid.

“Let’s see how my boy is doing.”

Abbigail fumbled with the lid because she had no fingernails. She was a chewer. Sequestered in the hand-crafted case, resting on a satin cushion, was Dildo. To call him just a dildo was unfair. Months of of work, mundane and magical, had gone into him.

He began as a plain piece of oak that Abbigail had cut from a living tree. She brought him home and carved him carefully. Chants were chanted. Spells were cast. After much concentrated effort, Dildo  emerged as something of rare, if unusual, beauty. She crafted him as a small head with a long extended tongue. Little goat horns topped the head, for gripping. His face smiled wide, with merry eyes, which was appropriate considering what he was going to see. His six-inch tongue clearly meant business.

She had smoothed and sanded, then anointed him with a mixture of beeswax and her own blood. This produced a shiny, ruddy finish. Abbigail could masturbate with plenty of different items. One might say it was her second hobby. Today would be different. This would not be her usual after-school rub-out session with the handle of her hairbrush. Today she would finally fuck her new magic Dildo to life and summon her Imp.

Abbigail played some Enya on the computer loud (to cover any interesting noises). She removed her remaining clothes. This communion needed to happen purely, between only flesh and oak, with nothing interfering. She lit scented candles (rosemary and sandalwood) around the periphery of the room. They smelled nice and might keep the impending sex magic from spilling into the rest of the house.

Abbigail stood straight and began, holding Dildo before her.

“You will bring me pleasure and serve me as Imp and Familiar. You will be conjured by my strength, and you will suffer my devoted mastery.” She extended her own tongue to the tip of Dildo’s tongue, licking three times.

“You will enter me and be enslaved.”

Abbigail opened wide and eased Dildo into her mouth. She’d been practicing with bananas and cucumbers and discovered it was a breeze. Her lack of a gag reflex didn’t surprise her, but she was shocked at the deliciousness of it. How come penetrating her mouth made her so damp in the nethers? Her legs buckled.

She sucked hard and wanted to try her teeth on him, but resisted. Her fingers descended, landing in the groove they knew. Abbigail anointed herself with her own moisture. She did not touch her clit. That was for Dildo. As standing became increasingly difficult, she took him from her mouth and reclined on her bed, legs closed. She held Dildo by the horns and pointed him at her cunt.

“You will enter me and be enslaved.”

She shivered as she repeated the words, excited by the magic as much as the sex. One blurred into the other as it had since ancient times. She slid Dildo’s slick tongue between her damp thighs and tested. The angle and torque of her design delighted her as she explored her labia. She wanted to penetrate herself… but not yet. Teasing her way up, she searched for the her hidden prize.

Abbigail began to coo quietly in an unwritten language (known only to young witches). She channeled the Goddess and clenched her bum as the tip of Dildo’s tongue met her clit.

“Kapowie Kazam,” she grunted, and pressed harder.

Hot electric delight ran like quicksilver from her bud to her extremities. This was no hairbrush sex! Her fingers burned, her arms felt imaginary, and her hair was trying to fly away. Her cunt conspired with Dildo and caused her to splay her legs open as wide as the laws of magic and physics allowed. Dildo’s tongue tickled her clit with perfect precision. Abbigail’s skin became livid and splotchy in pink arousal. Her face was hot. She raised Dildo high, and muttered, barely coherent, for the third time…

“You will enter me and be enslaved.”

She did not probe or tease. She did not search for her opening. Magic guided her hands and she slid Dildo in, right on target. He slipped easily into the lubricated lake of her young witchy twat. When she took him as deep as Dildo’s tongue could reach, the tip of his carved nose tweaked her clit as a bonus. She rammed him in and ground him against her, then pulled out halfway and did it again. Abbigail rocked back on her hips, brought her knees up to her ears, and began to pound her pussy with him.

She no longer cooed; she yelped and hollered as Dildo fucked her deep and tapped her button. The Goddess imbued her with the power of Arcane Magical Fuckery, causing the room to shimmer in red and silver light. She fucked herself as never before. The young witch merged into a rhythmic one-ness with Dildo. Her insatiable hunger was bolstered by her magnificent strength.

Coloured lights danced before her eyes as she stumbled to the edge of her Very First Cosmic Orgasm. Where she was wet before, now she was drenched. Dildo sank deep, his tongue stroked her g-spot, his nose flicked her clit…

And there it was.

Abbigail screamed to all the powers that cared and climaxed in an ancient and astonishing way. She forced Dildo up to the hilt, and clamped him inside, spurting sweet fuck fluids over his grinning face. She covered her hands, her thighs, her bed, and maybe the corner of her desk. Her body convulsed as she came repeatedly. She probably continued to scream but didn’t notice.

After an eternity it subsided. She lay back, sated, delighted and maybe comatose. Then her eyes shot open and she snapped to attention. Dildo’s tongue moved inside her… She released his horns and sat up. Strong little hands held her by the hips. There was a miniature man between her legs. Well… technically he was a satyr (or more appropriately, a faun.) Beautiful and smooth, except for where he was hairy, he had cloven hoofs. His little horns remained. With a shrug and a twitch her Imp withdrew his tongue and rested his chin on her  miraculous muff. He looked up with devoted, smiling eyes.

“Thank you, Mistress. How may I be of service?” His voice piped high, like a Munchkin.

She got him to stand to get a look at him. For a three-foot-tall magic  Imp, he certainly owned a full-sized cock. She thought about chewing on him for a while, potentially even riding him like a broom, but that’s when her Mom knocked on the door.

“Ho-oney… I brought you your supper.” Mom yelled so as to be heard over the Enya playing through Abbigail’s small yet powerful computer speakers. She knocked a second time, much harder.

Abbigail sighed, realizing further research would have to wait. She tapped Dildo three times on his forehead and said, “Back to the box.” With a soft popping noise, the living, breathing Imp shifted and reverted to being an elaborate sex toy. She picked him up and placed him back into the case she’d made.

Abbigail pulled her sweater over her nakedness and went to gather the grilled cheese her Mom had made for her. She took it through the door with a smile, but did not let her in. The young witch ate at her desk, thinking hard,  with a smile on her face.

Later that night she brought Dildo out again. He took a chewing very nicely.

Copyright 2016, all rights reserved


Please check out my Amazon Author Page here. I have lots of fun books. For more awesome Free Erotica by Tracey DeSanto, click here. Also… please use the form on this page to join my mailing list. I love to let you know what’s coming! 😉

Newsy News 3: Erotic Horror for Halloween!

Happy October, Team DeSanto! I have been extra busy lately because I love Halloween and have been working hard to make something special for you.

odd-bits-dark-corners-kindleHappy October, Team DeSanto! I have been extra busy lately because I love Halloween and have been working hard to make something special for you. This quick and dirty new compilation offers THREE erotic horror tales in ONE Short-Read Book! It includes two Smutty Smidgeons that were beta-tested here on the blog, (now sharpened and re-edited.) PLUS, there is a BRAND NEW short story about my favourite heroine: Stacy Drake, Girl-Detective. Here’s the book blurb…


Welcome to Tracey DeSanto’s underworld… her dark corner of smutty smidgeons. This is where she lets her taboo fantasies run wild.

Never forget… these stories are  smut. They are intended for readers over 18 years of age. In Odd Bits & Dark Corners you will find three strange short stories…  each with lots of sex… in this case, ghost sex, tentacle sex and demon sex. Read on if you dare. You have been warned.

Excerpts:

No Particular Place: Follow Stacy Drake, Girl-Detective, as she gets downright personal with a mysterious boy in the old haunted garage.

“Stacy swept her light downwards. A glimpse of something dissolved into the darkness down the hall. It was silent. She crept out of her sleeping bag, put on her sneakers, and stood to investigate. Brrrr… She was only wearing her nightshirt, and the Martini house was freezing. Gooseflesh rose under her pyjamas. Her nipples became darts. The flannel rubbing against them was arousing in a dead-end kind of way. Her bum was not made less chilly by the granny-panties she wore.

Not a ghost, she thought. No such thing.”

Nocturnal Emissions: Learn about what happens to poor William when he can’t get a certain woman off his mind.

“During lunch that day he approached Angela with trepidation. She sold him a ham and swiss. When she gave it to him their hands met for a moment. She had warm fingers. A wide work apron concealed her large bosom. She glanced at him and winked. Was it a wink? It startled William with a stirring in his boxers, so he fled to the far corner of the lunch room. Eating in nibbles, he stole glances at this wide-hipped creature that had infiltrated his subconscious. Things calmed down in his undergarments, but it took some time.”

Pacific: Enjoy a dip in the Pacific with Vanessa, who is recently divorced, and needs a swimming companion. 

“A gentle swell rolled in. The tide swept up her torso, nudging her against the rocks. Salty water lapped up across her ribcage to splash on her breasts, teasing her nipples. Her bum bounced and rubbed against the smooth slate beneath her. Vanessa opened her legs and enjoyed the underwater currents fluttering across her. Her new muff danced in the ebb and flow like a mammalian anemone. Casually… distracted… almost as if she didn’t know what she was up to, she began to play with herself.”


The new book is up hot now in plenty of time for spooky, one-handed reading, but… because you are my favourites, I must also tell you that it will be FREE on Amazon over the Halloween weekend. I do it because I love you, and I think everyone should get a treat (maybe even a trick?) on All Hallows Eve.

Shifter_Shelter_Nipped_by_Cub_Order-2Also… you know I wrote a WEREWOLF BOOK, right? Shifter Shelter: Nipped by the Cub is just the perfect thing for a dark, spooky night of October reading when you pull the covers up around you. It has some nice, fat, five-star reviews. I’ll just bet you’d enjoy it. If you click on the picture the link will take you there.

So… That’s all for now. Enjoy my Smutty Smidgeons and Shifter tales. Halloween is the best time of year, except maybe for Christmas. Hmmm…. Christmas, huh? I wonder what I could be writing for that special yuletide time of year…

Stay Tuned, Team DeSanto! XOXO

Free Preview – Space Girls!

space_girls_order

Hi there, Scifi Smut Fans! I have posted the first few pages of Space Girls! Part One ~ When Worlds Collide for you. I want you to get a taste of the sweet, rollicking science fictiony fun it offers. If you like what you read, just click on the cover here, or in the sidebar, to get your own copy for one puny Earth Dollar. Remember, if you have Kindle Unlimited, it is pretty much FREE!


Lunette and Nebbie were Space Girls, and not just any Space Girls. They were co-commanders of the Martian Ladies Light-Speed Brigade. The fact that they were the only two members didn’t bother them much. They knew their flying saucer could not reach anything like light speed, but that didn’t matter. The saucer had been “borrowed” from the the Sapphic High Priestess (otherwise known as Nebbie’s Mom.) It zoomed plenty fast.

The Space Girls wore skin-tight crimson action suits (because Mars!). Their outfits had been fashioned from only the most modern space-velour and left precious little to the imagination. Space girls don’t wear underwear. They do wear sassy belts, slung low on the hip, with zap-guns. Ankle-high space boots with rounded toes and flat heels allow them to navigate even the trickiest terrain. Nebbie and Lunette also owned transparent bubble helmets (with antennae!) for “if the need should arise”.

Oh… they were Space Girls, all right, and they were headed for Earth, looking for action.

* * *

James and Brandon were speeding towards Vegas in a rag-top BMW. It had been “borrowed” from James’ Dad. They were too cool for school, which is why they decided to skip that day. Freddy Mercury blasted on the stereo. They chugged cold beers (borrowed from Brandon’s Dad) en route. They sang, “We Will Rock You!” very loudly. They were two good-lookin’, best buddies having a ball.

The boys felt somewhat indestructible. Their facial handsomeness and bulging groins rendered them so desirable you might even resent them for it. The top was down, but their carefully-gelled hairstyles remained crisply in place. Brandon’s cheekbones were dreamy and so was James’ chin-dimple. They laughed and joked photogenically as the beemer blazed a line through the desert towards Sin City.

Little did they know they would never arrive.

* * *

Lunette was tall and slinky. She had thin lips and languid brown eyes. Her black hair was braided tightly against each side of her head, bundled into little bumps that resembled the ears of a cute Martian sand-cat. A lot of the space girls wore it that way. She had a habit of resting her weight on one hip when she stood by her console. This slung her bottom nicely to one side.

Nebbie found that distracting. Over at the opposite side of the bridge she tried to pay attention to her NAV systems, but kept stealing glances. Nebbie tended towards horny, which is natural for a red-blooded gal from the Red Planet.

Lunette steered the saucer with one hand in an expert and lackadaisical way. She rested other hand carefully, casually, on her hip to accentuate the curve of her bum. She had been friends with Nebbie a long time, and knew how to play her. Looking back over her shoulder, she aimed her sleepy eyes at Nebbie. Then she twisted her torso around. The tall girl’s nipples had a habit of being pointedly present. Remember… a lack of underwear and clingy space velour leave nothing to the imagination.

Nebbie, on the other hand, was the compact model: shorter than average and big in the boobs. She had narrow hips and a small bum, which bothered her because she felt that the bottom part of her body should be in proportion with her more obvious assets. Her hair shone the colour of brash copper. If Mars had bees instead of zmibs, one might have said she had a bee-hive hairdo… but zmib-hive it was. Her active blue eyes missed nothing, especially the not-so-subtle sinuous poses her counterpart offered.

“Status report on our course to earth, Co-Commander Nebbie?” Lunette asked lazily.

“We are locked in and on course,” Nebbie chirped back. She stood straight. That was all it took to make her breasts push majestically against the shiny fabric of her action suit. Her puffy nipples bulged for anyone who cared to see.

“How are your flight systems, performing, Co-Commander Lunette?”

“Perfectly.” The taller girl broke a smug grin with thin lips. “I imagine that we have 1.37 time units remaining until our arrival. We should probably prepare.”

“Oh? What do we need to prepare?” asked Nebbie, knowing the answer all too well.

Lunette spoke in a low voice… conspiratorial. “According to research from earlier missions, the males of Earth tend to be lacking in the knowledge of how to render a Mars girl receptive.”

“Oh, really?” Nebbie acted mock-scandalized. “Unacceptable! Whatever shall we do?”

Lunette flipped the “auto-drive” toggle switch on her console. A lovely blue light flashed.

“Well… until we can teach them a thing or two, I imagine we will just have to help ourselves.” She reached forward and cupped the short girl’s breasts. “Can I see you in the laser turret?”

Nebbie traced a finger along Lunette’s thigh, making her way up to a prominent cleft. If they had camels on Mars instead of dinbies, one might have said she had a camel-toe… but dinbie-toe it was. Nebbie pursed her lips and smiled. Then she turned and bolted for the spiral stairway up to the top of the shiny ship.

“Race ya!”


To get this, or any of Tracey’s other fine books, just check out the store in the sidebar, or go to her Amazon Author Page.