Showing posts with label erotica. Show all posts
Showing posts with label erotica. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Free Read McCutcheon


Do you like free erotic stories? I figured as much. Try this one out exclusively at

1EROTICAEBOOKS.COM

See what happens when mom and dad ship off their youngest to freshman year of college. See what mom does to dad once the house is theirs. See if he can still perform for her like the bound super-stud he was back when they first married.

If you've read any of my Jasper books before, or listened to any of the Jasper audios, you probably know the answer. As for the details, they're free for the taking in several electronic formats, told in about 3100 words.

Yours truly,
Jack (for Jasper) McCutcheon

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Vote in the annual LRC Awards

Voting for the LRC's "Best of 2009" Awards begins on FEBRUARY 15th and ends on FEBRUARY 22nd.

I’m up for three

EdgeofDesperation Best Sci Fi/Futuristic Book:

The Edge of Desperation (Jason Edding and James Buchanan-MLR)

 

fadedbike Best GBLT author 2009

James Buchanan

 

Personal Demons Best Mystery/Suspense 2009

Personal Demons (James Buchanan-MLR)


To vote:
Email  dawn_roberto AT yahoo DOT com with "LRC's "BEST OF 2009" Awards" in subject. If this is not in the subject it will not be counted. You are to vote from the nominee list on your pick. The list will be up in our loop files under "LRC Best of award nominees 2009".

All entries are to be in by 2/23/2010. Any entries received after that will NOT be counted and automatically deleted.

Here’s a NWS Excerpt from Beyond Duty in Edge of Desperation

Excerpt:

Qc4, Pc7, P1, D2

04:28hr

Alad woke smelling guy. Actually one guy, right up in his face. A deep breath drew in scents of the previous night's horizontal calisthenics. He yawned and felt a soft prick slide against his cheek. That rated opening his eyes. Oh yeah, right there, Hirah's cock lay soft against Hirah's furry thigh. Of course, pisk, how did he end up crammed down at the bottom of the bunk? These racks weren't made with his bulk in mind. At least his bulk plus a lean lieutenant.

With a quick glance, Alad checked the chrono panel. He had about twenty clicks before he and Ninda sprang their little surprise on the troops. Just enough time for a real reveille. Alad blew across Hirah's prick. Hirah mumbled something and shifted.

Alad moved in closer, sucked that soft, warm skin into his mouth. He heard Hirah grunt and felt his leg go tense. Alad kept sucking. Nothing equaled feeling Hirah's prick swelling between his lips. Hirah's hands ran over his skull, pushing him down. Alad took him deep, licking and sucking the meat in his mouth, until Hirah's cock was at attention.

"Seppe!" Hips bucking into the kiss, Hirah groaned out, "Swing that aft end over here. That's an order."

No way would he ignore a direct order—especially not one that promised what Hirah's did. Still swallowing Hirah's prick, Alad got up on his hands and knees. Hirah tugged on his legs as Alad shuffled over. Then it was Alad's turn to moan as Hirah sucked Alad's aching prick into his mouth. They worked each other hard, almost like it was a race to see who could make who blow first. The back of Alad's thighs frosted over with chills.

Hirah broke off a moment. Alad groaned again when a spit slick thumb pressed against his hole. He shuddered under the dual sensation of getting finger fucked while Hirah nuzzled his balls.

Alad sucked harder. He reveled in the feel of Hirah's prick sliding over his tongue. The musky taste rated higher than any wakeup juice on the market. Heat built in his gut as Hirah pumped his ass and started sucking on his cock again. The whole thing melded together into one massive ball of pleasure sparking through him. It didn't take long, not that early in the morning. Alad shook. He pulled off Hirah's prick and groaned. Hirah swallowed him as Alad's balls let loose.

A few quick breaths and Alad recovered his wits. He sucked Hirah down with determination. Bracing himself of his elbows, with one hand Alad massaged Hirah's sac. The other matched the pace of his mouth along Hirah's thick cock. Arching his back, Hirah jerked off the mattress. He hissed out, "Fuck!" as cum boiled out of his cock. Alad gagged for a second and then caught his breath. He swallowed all that thick, bitter spunk.

Panting, Alad dropped onto his side and then rolled onto his back. Give him that kind of wakeup juice every morning and Alad'd die happy. ‘Course, he couldn't stay there and revel. Alad looked over at the chrono again. Three clicks before Ninda came looking for his ass. Alad grunted and sat up. Yawning, he ran one hand over the fuzz carpeting his scalp. That he followed with a spine popping stretch.

As he swung out of the bunk, Hirah slapped his ass and asked, "What's the roster for the morning look like?"

Alad scrounged for his gray short-sleeved tee and light-weight fatigues. He'd stashed a set in Hirah's quarters the night before. "Ninda and I—" He found the fatigues first, stepped into them and yanked the pants up over his ass before continuing. "Scheduled a physical training endurance-formation run."

"Sounds like a walk in the park." Hirah swung his legs over the bunk and rolled his neck. "Time to rattle and wake 'em?"

As he jerked the shirt over his head, Alad asked, "You're coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Hirah slapped Alad's thigh and then hit the button popping his rack back up into the ceiling recess. "Need to keep fit."

Monday, December 21, 2009

The Lot

A little holiday treat for you all

© 2008 James Buchanan

If Kyle heard one more go round of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” he would step out into traffic. Sorry, no, Southern California…it didn’t look anything at all like Christmas. No snow except for the blown on fake shit in the flocking tent. With midday highs hitting eighty degrees, the only gloves in evidence were Kyle’s cheap canvas and leather work gloves. A hazy brown evening sky hovered around the tops of bone dry mountains. It made the Christmas trees and twinkling lights seem like a cheap hooker’s overwrought make-up…no matter how you looked at it, how well it was done, you just knew it covered something pretty trashy.

Kyle gritted his teeth and went after the bottom branches on the Noble Fir with a vengeance. Nothing like a four foot long set of loppers to get the I’m-not-in-the-holiday-spirit aggression out.

“Wait!” His customer’s cartoon feminine voice cut down his spine. It had only been, maximum, twenty minutes that he’d been subjected to the helium wonder of her words and Kyle already ached to use the loppers on her vocal cords.

Kyle plastered on the cheery customer service smile he’d perfected waiting tables before he turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

She pouted with an aging Valley Girl hip cock and a finger pressed to her bottom lip. “Do you have to take so much off the bottom?”

Fighting to keep the smile from slipping, Kyle stared over her shoulder and sang a refrain of “Hey Santa” in his head. The only song ever to combine Santa and cunt in the same sentence usually managed to keep Kyle from slipping into a postal wig-out.

Beyond Miss Annoying Voice, among the rows of Pines, Spruces, and Cedars roamed a man. Given that the guy wandered among the five-footers and still stood close to a head taller, he probably neared six foot. He stepped into a space between the trees. Kyle sucked in an appreciative hiss. Damn, shaved skull and a t-shirt so tight it could have been painted on, complemented a tight ass tucked into deep indigo jeans.

Absently, Kyle answered her question, “You, ah, won’t be able to fit it in the base you bought if we don’t.” What he wouldn’t have given to be those jeans.

“Ah, excuse me,” the cartoon voice jerked Kyle’s attention away from his mental drooling, “are you going to finish my tree?”

Kyle took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, just a second.” Then he called out toward the other customer. “Be with you in a bit, sir!” Be on my knees in front of you in a second if I had my wish. “Just finishing up here.”

A deep, throaty, “No problem,” answered him and Kyle had to turn before the chick caught him sprouting more wood than the artificial forest surrounding them.

As quick as he could manage, Kyle stripped the bottom two branches then manhandled the tree to her steroid-ridden SUV. He had to re-do the tie downs twice because she fretted that Kyle hadn’t strapped it down tight enough. Each second Kyle wasted with her was one lost investigating him.

Finally she roared out of the parking lot and Kyle jogged back into the rows of trees. Kyle found him nosing around the mini-me trees that didn’t hit higher than the guy’s knees. Leg’s splayed out, arms folded across his chest, the man drummed thick fingers against a bulging bicep. Kyle’s boots crunched over the packed dirt lot, announcing his presence. The customer looked over at Kyle. The deepest brown eyes Kyle had ever seen made a slow up and down tour of Kyle’s body.

“Hi,” Kyle tried not to sound desperate…for either a sale or a blow-job. Although he’d much rather have the blow-job, Kyle’d settle for having the guy walk out with a tree. “My name’s Kyle. See anything you like, Mr.—“

Another head to toe crawl ended in an amused smirk. “Mike.” The smirk widened into a grin. “I just might have.”

“Well,” Kyle swallowed, “What kind of tree are you looking for. You like the small ones?”

“As long as it’s good and thick.”

Kyle couldn’t resist the tease. “I got one more in the mid sized range and pretty thick.”

“Didn’t see any of those out here on the lot. Is it hidden back there?” Mike jerked his head toward the big red and white tent. Through the open flap, stacks of still bundled trees created a maze. “I’d appreciate you showing me one like that.”

Kyle reminded himself that he needed this job. A quickie in the storage tent could get him canned five days before Christmas. Mike, as though he sensed the hesitation, smiled and stepped close. God, Mike smelled like he’d been working in the sun, all musky and male. Kyle decided to hell with working the tree lot, half the stores in town sported help wanted signs. “I could show you one in the back.”

“Great,” Mike sauntered off toward the tent, “show me what you got.” Pausing at the entrance, Mike looked back over his shoulder. “You expecting any help anytime soon?”

Kyle stopped next to Mike and wracked his brain for time. Marco and Jeff left about half an hour ago and they had three deliveries and a drive-thru run to make. “The other guys’ll be back in maybe fifteen minutes.”

Mike stepped into the tent, snagged Kyle’s belt loop and used it as a leash to pull him inside. “I’ll be quick then.” Still steering Kyle by the grip on his jeans, Mike led them back between the rows of trees. When they were out of plain view, he shoved Kyle against a pile of firs. Mike dropped to his knees. Before Kyle could do much of anything, Mike had the button popped and the zipper down. Kyle groaned as Mike fished his aching prick out of its denim prison. “You weren’t lying,” Mike grinned up at him, “nice size, just how I like it.”

Slowly, Mike ran his tongue along the underside of Kyle’s half-hard cock. He traced the flare of the head and then blew across the wet trail. Kyle stifled a moan. Mike snorted, twisting Kyle’s prick to full glory in his fist. “Yeah, really thick.” Mike muttered. Still jacking the cock in his hand, Mike wrapped his lips over the head. Mike’s free hand wormed into the gap of Kyle’s jeans. Using the back of his wrist, Mike forced Kyle’s jeans lower.

Holy shit! Kyle shuddered as Mike’s searching fingers moved behind his balls and tickled his hole. His hips bucked into the delicious combination of fist and mouth. Mike released his cock and moved to squeeze Kyle’s sac. This time, Kyle didn’t suppress his groan. He could almost feel Mike’s smile around his cock. As Mike sucked Kyle down to the root, he shoved a finger up Kyle’s ass. Kyle squirmed at the rawness of it, forcing his prick deeper into Mike’s throat.

Mike took it, barely gagging. The suction he managed, combined with the finger probing his hole and Mike’s massaging his balls, lit up Kyle’s nerves like a string of flashing Christmas lights. He slid his hand over Mike’s sweat slicked skull. He was so off balance. The trees behind him didn’t offer any support and he couldn’t get a grip on Mike. Pine needles stuck Kyle’s bare ass adding a hint of pain. Kyle thrashed. Mike kept sucking and fucking until Kyle lost it. One moment he was just flailing and the next he was pumping his load into Mike’s hot mouth. Swallow after swallow, Mike took it all.

When Kyle was dry, Mike pulled his hands out of Kyle’s jeans. Mike licked his lips and grinned. “I’d say you got a few minutes to spare.” He stood and held out his hand to help Kyle stand. It took a moment for Kyle to get his knees back under him. It’d been a while since he’d gotten off like that.

“Oh, wow,” Kyle caught his breath, “thanks.” He hadn’t been this mellow since before Thanksgiving. Kyle yanked up his pants and tucked himself away. Christmas didn’t seem so bad after all.

“My pleasure.” Mike fished in his back pocket, pulled out a money clip and began pulling off twenties. “Sixty bucks, right?”

Suddenly, Kyle’s mood shifted from happy and sated to supremely pissed off. He may have been easy and horny, but he wasn’t that desperate. Jeans still unzipped and gaping, Kyle tried to back away. His retreat was blocked by the infernal pile of trees. “Hey look, that’s not what this was…” He sputtered.

“Kyle.” Mike grabbed his jaw and forced Kyle to look him in the eyes. “The sign outside says, ‘we deliver any tree over sixty dollars free’.” With a wicked grin, Mike used his other hand to shove three bills down the front of Kyle’s open jeans, right next to Kyle’s prick. Before drawing back Mike gave it a squeeze. “Sixty bucks, pick any fucking tree, and bring it by my house as soon as the other guys get back.” He chuckled. “I think I have the perfect present to open under it.”

~Happy Holidays~

Friday, July 3, 2009

Maltese Pulp Part 5


STARSHIP INTERCOURSE

Part Five

by William Maltese

"…inform you it is imperative you change course immediately, rendezvousing with Starship 12B as quickly as possible. Your time for rendezvous has been approximated at three years and eight months. Your coordinates for such rendezvousing are: 002-4.3 21464-5 WSWTV2. You will reactivate freezing units to allow the trip’s completion without defrost of any member of the crew. You will defrost only Captain Peterson at the present, informing him of the situation, leaving the remaining members of the crew in freeze. You will hand Captain Peterson this directive with orders that he comply immediately. While he may attempt radioing us for verification, he is to change the ship’s course whether verification is received from this headquarters or not. I repeat: Captain Peterson is to proceed to rendezvous with Starship 12B whether or not verification for him to proceed is received from us. Starship 12B has been given proper coordinates for rendezvousing with you in Galaxy 4-5-21, Interstellar Chart 4. You will meet and join, utilizing Code Name Polar. In no instance shall this code name be made known to anyone else besides you, as radio operator, and Captain Peterson. You are warned — REPEAT: WARNED — that you may have on board one or more of the species of aliens mentioned in the first portion of this critique. The situation, as it has played out thus far leads us to believe they might well have had agents aboard all interstellar experiment ships leaving our ports after year 1978. Reports of destroyed and/or lost ships tend to verify this suspicion. Your rendezvous with Starship 12B has been programmed and analyzed as the only possible locking up of experimental ships in your segment of the galaxy. Three other spaceships have been scheduled for mid-space docking elsewhere, their coordinates to follow for your future reference. It is with the greatest possible regret that we here at Control inform you of such catastrophic interference by other beings, and we only hope that you will be able to carry on and survive where we have failed.

"Rendezvous scheduling of:

V-AcH-200 and P-DTU-4…"


The communicator module went silent. Lieutenant Margaret Masters adjusted her headpiece, switched dials, and attempted to clear the headphones of the galactic static that was suddenly rumbling in her ears. She eyed the decoded ciphers on the radio tape with a degree of horror and disbelief.

The ship seemed suddenly tomb-still.

She kept focused on the instrument panels. Everything seemed in working order. She re-inspected the series of messages which had been received by Charles Wilcox: Lieutenant Wilcox had been the radio communications man who had been defrosted to accept the last recorded message on file. All had been in order during his shift. He’d scribbled out a handwritten message to Margaret on the margins of that last decoded cipher sheet:

"Remember me in another three years, Margaret, baby. By then, this boy is going to be ready for a hot and sweaty fuck."


She had smiled when she’d remembered their last night on Earth together. Foolishly, he had screwed her without protection. Foolishly, she had let him. They’d both known what the results of that could have been, but the very danger of an unacceptable outcome had somehow added to the pleasure of the moment. She only thanked God that she hadn’t become pregnant. God knows what would’ve happened had she come out of deep-freeze and found an unborn baby in her suspended-animation cell. She discarded the horror of that particular scenario and, then, went back to dealing with the horror at hand.

She had defrosted right on schedule. At the time, the ship’s dials, coded forms, computerized data had given all indications that the experiment ship was progressing on course according to schedule. She’d made all the necessary routine checks before putting on the earphones. She’d checked the time, the date, and the other instruments which would assure that the message beamed from Earth would be picked up as scheduled. Her routine check of the ship’s operative components had taken her longer than she’d expected, and she’d taken her seat at the communications panel one minute prior to the moment of proposed interception of broadcast. She’d sunk back into the comfortable foam of the chair, wondering at how two years in deep-freeze had left so little tiredness within her bones. She’d engaged all necessary radio equipment and had waited. When the vacuum waves had still hummed nothing but static a minute later, Margaret had hastily re-checked her equipment. Everything had been operative. Everything had been in working order. Still there had been nothing incoming. She had again checked the time dials, running info through the computer to find any clue as to some undetected time lapse — a precaution she’d already taken earlier. Again the lights had blinked green, yellow, red; again the machine vomited out its tape.

Date: 23

Month: March

Year: 2003

Time: 2:15 p.m.

Date checked, re-checked,

Information accurate—

REPEAT: ACCURATE. Replay

Panel 5C2.


Margaret had pressed panel 5C2, and again the same information had rolled forth. The day had been right. The month had been right. The year had been right. The time had been right. All equipment had been operative. Yet, there had been no message received.

Automatically she had turned to the recorder. She should’ve checked it before, but priority on awakening had stressed that she first assure that the ship was in operative condition. By the time she’d finished with that, it’d been time for the message to come in.

She had pushed the rewind button, noticing that there had been, in fact, a fairly long length of used tape. Nervously, she had waited for it to rewind. It had finished with a click; a red light had gone on to indicate readiness of replay. She had hesitated nervously, had checked one more time to assure that there was no message in over the other equipment, and had pressed the replay switch. The dire message had begun:

"When you hear this, we shall be dead, destroyed, murdered. It will be up to you to carry on the human race. There will be no more Earth, no more of its men, no more of its women, and no more of its children.

We therefore must…"






In discussion of the "freezing" process induced by pulseometer


A state of consciousness will return by degrees, as the subject is merely awakening from a deep sleep, or from the deeper realm sometimes induced by hypnosis. In fact, the subject has been under a sleep of sorts, one induced electronically, through utilization of the pulseometer, and the conduits of electroregulators as applied to both the duodenilenta segments of the brain cell pilota. And as electronically as the sleep was induced, likewise, electronically the sleep will be removed. During periods of "sleep" the subject’s body functions will be slowed down as in archaic "freezing" techniques utilized in the operating theatres of the twentieth century. Slowed to the proper level, the subject will still exist but at a level wherein what would ordinarily take place in seconds can be programmed to take place in years… —SECURITY: CRYTO-TOP SECRET.

Charles Wilcox returned to consciousness by degrees. It was, indeed, rather like awakening from a deep sleep but not a lengthy one.

One always had a tendency to regret such awakenings, thinking momentarily that one hadn’t really been given the rest actually needed. This phenomenon, labeled scientifically Brotumulla by the medical staff at Experiment Headquarters, was sure to appear whether the subject had been asleep minutes (as in initial experimentation), hours (as in intermediate experimentation), months (as during final experimentation), or years (as in actual flights into deep space).

The darkness in Charles’ brain lifted, giving way to a light gray, which faded into white, which turned opaque as he opened his eyes to let the reality roll over him.

The body was never cold, because, though the archaic terminology "freezing" and "defrosting" held over from the early beginnings of experimentation in suspended animation, freezing was never actually what occurred. There was no lowering of the body temperature whatsoever.

If anything, Charles was a bit warm, a resultant effect of his blood’s suddenly increased circulation throughout this body.

He lay there in his tube quietly, trying desperately to gather his senses (a process termed Bilotmea by the staff, and Muddle by the crew), and felt that something was desperately wrong.

He’d felt this very same way the time he’d had to fight his way back through the black, the gray, the white, the opaque, to actual consciousness to learn there’d been a machinery malfunction and he’d almost died. Two other subjects had died.

He sat up in his animation tube, glancing about the cabin. Everything seemed in working order. The right lights seemed to be blinking; the right noises seemed to be coming from the computers. But something still felt wrong.

He had defrosted: that was what was wrong! Either he’d defrosted prematurely or the others hadn’t defrosted per schedule. He’d been scheduled for revival only once during the course of the mission, and that time was over and done. When it had occurred, he’d received standard information on the communiqué beamed from Earth right on schedule. He’d activated one minor change in the ship’s course, according to received instructions, and had then gone back to his tube. His next revival was to be upon their arrival at Omego D, along with the whole crew. Presently, he sensed no re-awakenings in any of the pods grouped around him. In the tube immediately next to him, Corporal Kelly still slept on in his dream world; the dials of his pod set for revival mode in nine months.

"What in the hell is going on?" Charles asked aloud.

Suddenly, he heard muted sobbing.

He surveyed the room, more carefully this time, and noted each and every pod, its instrumentation, and its occupant, until he finally found one empty.

"Margaret?"

"Charles?" Her voice was weak and came from somewhere in the adjoining compartment. "Oh, God, Charles, help me."

She sounded so damned pathetic, so shook up, that he felt compelled to get to her as quickly as possible.

His legs were weak but operable.

"There will be a certain degree of physical weakness," the instructors had told them, "but that’s to be expected. Initial care should be taken that unused muscles are not strained, despite artificial stimulus, via biolatent froxexins, administered periodically during freeze state.

"Margaret?"

He found her huddled in a corner. Her eyes watered, and her face was screwed up in a grimace indicative of pain, fear, or a combination of the two.

End of Part Five -- taken from one of William's Greenleaf Classic pulps, long out of print, available only from collectors who demand big $$$, but serialized here as a free read by courtesy of the author.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Jardonn's Interview with Boris Keressos


by Jardonn Smith


A quarter of the way into writing Danube Divide, my tale of Romans and Germanics and conflicts of civilizations, one of the characters who was to be a secondary player forced his way to the forefront. His name is Boris Keressos, or, if need be, Father Timothy, depending upon the company he keeps at any given time. Not only did he become the love interest for Gregoric, one of the lead Gothic characters, Boris made himself the axis of the entire story, taking the plot in directions I never could have imagined.

In this chronicled lifetime he's been an adorable street urchin thieving to survive, a young soldier of the Roman legions in the eastern provinces of the mid-300's AD, and a mature-man Christian priest ministering to Roman soldiers in the field or their garrisons. Boris is an alpha-male in every sense of the term, and since I suspect he put this interview idea into my head, I'll find out.

Jardonn: I assume, Boris, you asked me for this interview. Why?

Boris: To promote myself.

Jardonn: Like you did in my book?

Boris: Exactly. Aren't you glad I did?

J: Don't know yet. Book's only been out a few weeks.

B: Don't lie to me. If I hadn't jumped in, you'd still be sitting there poking along with your story. I had to do it. Watching you beat yourself up trying to write such boring drivel made me want to strangle you.

J: Could you strangle me?

B: Of course not. Spirits don't have hands.

J: So you cajoled me intead?

B: Spoke loud and clear.

J: Why?

B: I already told you. Your problem was you were writing about men you didn't know. All that mush. Talking about how they so loved one another. How the look in their lover's eyes make them giddy. What horseshit! Men don't talk about it. They just do it. When they speak, their words are of important subjects, not romance. When they romance, they express it with actions, not words.

J: I know, Boris. I was trying to write for an audience I don't understand.

B: Which is why you were getting nowhere. There's only one audience of importance, and that's you. Those who get it, those who want to read about manly men and not mealy-mouthed wussies will find you and follow.

J: When?

B: When they're supposed to. Don't worry about it. If you don't like what you're doing, find some other way to express yourself.

J: No. I enjoy it, as long as I have guys like you to keep my head in the right place.

B: Ok, I'm here. So why don't you cut to the chase and ask me about Gregoric?

J: You've taken over the interview, Boris. Ask yourself.

B: Right. After I got you to shit-can the chapter where I'm trying to woo Gregoric with words, I knew I'd have to take us back in time, off the Hadrianopolis battlefield in order to tell my story proper.

J: Your capture by Tervingi Goths north of the Danube?

B: Yes, and rather than sweet-talking Gregoric, something I would never do, I recognized his attraction to me during my torture.

J: How so?

B: Gregoric's thrashing upon my naked flesh was half-hearted at best. He was forced by his chieftain to participate, but his blows were nothing like those of his fellow tribesmen.

J: Had you singled him out before this event?

B: No. My mind was focused on preparing for the punishment I knew would come. Once I withstood the torture and made my escape up the tree, I knew Gregoric could be made my ally.

J: But they kept you as their prisoner.

B: True, more like a slave, really, which allowed me to win Gregoric by stimulating his youthful brain. Teaching him all things Roman -- the arts, engineering, philosophies and religions.

J: How did religion play a role in your seduction of Gregoric?

B: The cave. It's where I taught him about that illegal religion. The one banned by the Christians. It was our secret place where we made love, and believe me, the seduction was mutual. Gregoric and I loved one anothers's brains long before we ever found a safe way to express our admirations physically.

J: Once you did, nothing could keep you apart.

B: Mentally, no. If only that were true physically, but then there wouldn't be much drama in our tale. Would there?

J: Again, you are asking the questions when I am supposed to...

B: Let me ask you one more while I'm at it.

J: Can I stop you?

B: No. You tried to write something out of your element because you'd seen comments posted saying your books are not romantic. Here's a good comeback question for such nonsense. Gregoric allowed himself to be taken prisoner because he knew it was his only chance for rescuing me. Gregoric put his own life at risk for me. What could possibly be more romantic than that?

J: Nothing. Which is why I hope next time I try to write what others call romance, either you or one of your buddies will come along to save me from myself.

B: We always have and will.

J: Good. Now, Boris, I'm done with you. Go find Gregoric or somebody else who'll suck your dick. I would if I could.

B: You did me one better, Jardonn. You put me in your book.

Boris has left me for now, gone back to wherever he hangs out these days. One of his lives on earth is chronicled in my Danube Divide, and here's the link to my web site where you can read more about it.

http://www.jardonnserotictales.com/

Sunday, April 19, 2009

William Maltese - Starship Intercourse 3

William's whipping out part three of...

STARSHIP INTERCOURSE

They’d fucked on the way back to the test area after a briefing in Section C. They later told everyone their car had broke down. But everyone — including Susan, who couldn’t wait to hear all about it — knew what kept the two from checking in on schedule.

Buzz had parked the car, leaning over for a kiss, and Patricia’s hand had strayed to his thigh. What she felt there, running down almost to his knee, made all her inhibitions vanish. It was big. It was thick. It was ten inches. Her cunt was already leaking for it, and Buzz understood her hand’s continual caress of his cock to be an affirmative answer to his unasked question (which, in truth, it was).

“I’ve a blanket in the trunk,” he said. “The car is too damned cramped even for necking.”

The way he said “even for necking” let Patricia know he, as well as she, had a lot more in mind than a few kisses. She also noticed how he reached into the glove compartment for a tube of lubricant before they got out. That she pretended not to notice assured him he was going to get his desired piece of ass.

It hadn’t taken either of them long to get undressed, Patricia audibly gasping at the sight of the tool upraised between Buzz’s legs. She doubted he’d ever get something so big inside her if he didn’t slop the damned thing with gallons of lubricant. She’d begun wishing he’d brought a much larger tube (of the latter).

Buzz noticed her apprehension at seeing his monstrous dork unsheathed and wasted little time in crawling between her legs. He gripped his cock and slipped its bulbous wet head smoothly along the mouth of her slit, stopping only long enough to smear his prick with cream from the tube.

He gathered one of her tits in his mouth, sucking and nibbling at its flesh. Patricia felt her nipple turn hard as he attempted swallowing it. Her pussy was leaking with the feel of his cock against its outer rim. He hadn’t even attempted to shove home yet. He wanted to make sure her hole was wet enough to take each and ever stiff inch of his pecker. The wetter she became, the more likely that full submersion was likely to occur.

Finally, he was ready, and he prayed she was, too. His cockhead pressed just inside the warmth of her dripping cunt hole. He paused, but only momentarily, before pushing his blood-engorged dick into her slot. Pussy walls yielded beneath the onslaught, folding back to let his battering ram push home along slick corridors: penis head and shaft violated her inner sanctum.

Patricia felt the fire his hard and bulky dick ignited up her cunt and how her pussy walls concaved to accept the phallic intruder. Her cunt trembled uncontrollably. She groaned.

“Buzz?” she asked weakly, not knowing what else to say. The heat in her cunt flamed higher as inch after inch of his prick buried inside her until it was submerged to Buzz’s big hairy balls. His hirsute scrotum pooled atop her upturned ass.

She felt weak, as if her breath had been taken away, as if his prick had been a pin, so long that it stuck her to her lungs, puncturing them.

“Easy, baby, easy,” he whispered in her ear. “You have it all … every inch.”

“All?” Patricia asked. She had difficulty realizing the reality of her feat. All? My God, how could I have actually taken it all?

She experienced the pleasure and the pain of his largess, digging her fingernails into his back, pleased that he muttered pain at her scratching.

His cock ballooned bigger within her, teased to new greatness by the increased friction caused by the rubbing of his penis against her juicy cuntal membranes. His hands reached underneath her, cradling her ass, pushing the moue of her pussy slit up closer about the base of his monstrous prick.

“It’ll be good, baby,” he promised; his inches slowly pulled out, his inches slowly slipped back in. “It’ll be really … really …really good.”

Patricia could tell it would be good, too. She’d been fucked enough times to know the beginnings of a good screw from a bad one. This one was one good poke. She had no doubts whatsoever that it was going to get even better.

Although, as he progressed to fuck even more in earnest, there were times she thought she was being torn apart with each violent plunge; the pleasure, though, always, far overshadowed any of her pain.

Buzz’s fingertips worked into the crease of her ass, finding the pucker of her asshole within the valley of her ass-cheeks. He spread the entrance, inserting a finger into her funky rear hole. She lifted her hips in a reflexive attempt to dislodge his finger, burying, as she did so, all ten inches of his dick up her ravaged snatch. Falling back downward, her ass sucked up his finger to its second knuckle.

“Oh, God!” she mumbled at the double violation of her body. “Oh, Jesus God.”

Buzz’s cock pulled out to its slippery head, then instantly plugged back full-depth. Like a locomotive and its cars, the train of his prick pushed up her front tunnel. He fucked her. God, how it fucked her. His balls frantically banged her butt before finally bunching up against the base of his cock in preparation for shooting his spermal discharge.

His finger up her ass felt his cock on the other side of a thin, separating membrane. The sensation of feeling his own pumping prong inside her pushed him even closer to the brink of orgasm.

His drilled her all of the way possible — hard. His cock throbbed. His body tensed. His nuts let go his creamy load and sent it far … far … far … up her acceptingly vacuuming hole.

She screamed her pleasure, ramming and grinding her hips into his lower belly, raking his back with her fingernails, biting his neck until she tasted his blood on her tongue.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

William Maltese - Starship Intercourse Part Two

And now, return to the days of Greenleaf Classics with your host and author, William Maltese, as he presents...


STARSHIP INTERCOURSE

by William Maltese

Chapter 2

And so, Lt. Buzz Shaw, communications’ expert, and Lt. Patricia Riley, ecologist, fucked aboard Starship 12B en route to a tiny galaxy in outer space termed on the charts as nothing more than Beta 10.

They both sank down into the padded flooring of the briefing area, not too far from the radio which would soon be broadcasting their latest instructions from the planet Earth. Patricia acted coy at first, trying to put off Buzz’s insistence, but her resolve (Had she actually had any?) was soon dissolved amid his kissing and caressing. After all, as he said, who would know four years from then, when they were scheduled to reach Beta 10, that Buzz and Patricia had fucked in outer space? Besides, it wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before. In those hectic days before blast-off, the two of them had gone at it until both were bordering on exhaustion. The doctor at the final examinations had eyed Patricia carefully. It’d been Dr. Kenault.

“Poor Doctor Kenault,” Patricia said.

Buzz was already naked and out of his flight uniform. His twenty-five years in outer space certainly hadn’t shrunk his cock any.

“What about Doctor Kenault?” he asked, handing her one of the preventatives, which she swallowed.

“‘Cut out the fucking,’” he said to me. “‘Or else you’ll be too damned weak to make the trip.’”

“Doctor Kenault said that?” Buzz laughed. “That meddling old buzzard.”

Poor Kanault, Patricia thought. He was old then. God, how old is he now that twenty-five years have passed, and he hasn’t been in suspended animation to preserve his looks? Patricia shuddered unconsciously. Buzz mistook it for a sign of passion.

“I’ll set these dials,” Buzz said, “so that when the message arrives, we’ll be able to hear it. I mean, there’s no sense in interrupting playtime until it’s absolutely necessary.”

Patricia again noticed his cock. It was ten inches of hard meat if it was an inch. Its fistlike head glistened in the low-light flashings of the machines.

Patricia stretched out on her back spreading her legs. After twenty-five years in bed, her muscles were more than just a little stiff. Buzz turned back from the radio, coming toward her, finally kneeling down. He lowered his body on top of hers, his prick mashing between their bellies. Patricia opened her legs farther, letting his lower body slip between them.

He kissed her, rubbing the wetness of his prick along her lower belly. After twenty-five years in deep-freeze, the fire in their bodies hadn’t been extinguished. If anything, defrost had allowed the flames to burn even higher. Already Patricia’s hole was leaking its juices, streaming them from her cuntwalls to dribble out the mouth of her hair-lined slit. She could feel the stream leaking out of her twat’s mouth, slipping stickily down the crease of her ass.

“God, baby, God!” Buzz muttered. He’d pushed his cock’s head to the doorway. He was previously planning on a lot of foreplay. But after a few minutes of actual body contact, he and Patricia both agreed — without actual voicing it — that nothing more was needed to prepare either one of them for direct action.

The prick’s thick tip pressed its way into her wet tightness, followed by inches of hard cockshaft as it sank deeper and deeper into the offered slit.

Their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly. He’d noticed it before when they’d humped. They seemed to belong together like two peas in a pod, like the right nut for the right screw. It was heaven. It was just as he remembered it.

“This is Lieutenant Shaw,” Dr. Kenault had said. “He’s to replace Williams on the Beta 10 expedition.”

Lieutenant Williams had been found to have a heart murmur. Nobody really knew how it had managed to escape notice until that late in the game. The Beta 10 expedition was scheduled for departure in less than two months.

“You’re replacing a good man,” Patricia had said. She’d meant, of course, as a member of the project. She’d little imagined that Buzz’s cock would soon be replacing Williams’ cock, also.
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Patricia and Williams had been fucking around since the expedition’s members had been selected. Everybody knew they’d been doing the sex scene. In a way, it was expected. In one way or the other, the whole Beta 10 contingent had paired off in groups. It wasn’t always an equal dividing line, however. It was a well-know fact that Lt. Martin and Lt. Perkins were Lesbians. But then, Lt. Susan Pilon had done her share for the well-being of the operation by taking on three men at the same time: an arrangement which everyone, Susan and her three men included, had no objections to at all.

But because of Williams’ heart murmur, he was taken off the team. Taken off the team and taken off Patricia. Where they’d transferred him — five-hundred miles away as an instructor at Camp Piptolincan — his cock, no matter how long (and they’d measured it once as nine and a quarter erect inches), had been unable to manage the stretch now required to reach Patricia’s distant cunt.. After a few letters, Lieutenant Williams had settled down with a redheaded civilian nurse, and Patricia had decided that Buzz Shaw was better than nothing: anyway, his ten inches of hard cock sure as hell beat the Coke bottle she’d been doing herself with since Williams had left the scene.

She had, at first, been rather reluctant about Shaw. For one thing, he wasn’t exactly her ideal of a he-man. He was rather nice-looking (she thought a bit too nice-looking, if that were possible), and he exuded that air of self-assurance that is normally only found in the very rich. And Buzz Shaw, or rather Buzz Shaw’s family (which boasted governmental heads back to pre-World War II), did have money. In short, Patricia found him spoiled, conceited, and too cock-sure of himself to actually replace Williams in more ways than one. She might’ve managed not to succumb to his sexual charms (which at first she thought were nonexistent — she’d yet to find out about the ten-inch cock) — if it hadn’t been for Susan.

“Have you two been doing it?” Susan had asked. Though she already had three men humping her, she was always scouting around for more.

“I hardly think that’s any of your goddamned business,” Patricia had replied.

Susan tended to get just a bit personal at times. She figured since she didn’t mind discussing her sex life that everyone else would be just as candid about theirs. Patricia’s blunt reply had admittedly stung.

“I’m sorry,” Susan said, and she said it in such a hurt, downcast way, that Patricia was immediately sorry she’d been so rude. She’d told herself time and time again she had to be more understanding around Susan. Susan, despite her good looks, wasn’t really out to hurt anyone. Despite the fact that her IQ was near-genius, if not genius, she reminded everyone of the “dumb blonde”, and she seemed to prefer that role herself.

“I used to be a bookworm,” she’d once told Patricia in one of their infrequent girl-to-girl chats. “But I found out that a girl doesn’t get anywhere acting superior to the guys — or to the girls, either, for that matter,” she offered as an afterthought.

Patricia never bothered to delve into the meaning of that last bit of unsolicited information.
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“It’s my middle-class upbringing,” Patricia had said, finally, feeling tinges of regret at her blunt reply to Susan’s innocent questioning. “I sometimes still get very upset over this sex thing.”

“Oh,” Susan said, immediately brightening up. She was always easy to forgive someone. She’d had years, before flowering into maturity, when she’d been really quite unattractive. Bad looks and a superior brain had made her very undesirable company. She still remembered those days, and even though the ugly caterpillar had metamorphosed into a beautiful butterfly, Susan never forgot her days of social ostracism. She always thought the day might come when the butterfly would somehow revert to the cocoon, coming out finally the ugly caterpillar again. She had nightmares about it that she never told even her doctor.

“I didn’t mean to pry, after all,” Susan said. “I mean, he’s just so damned cute, and Walter said he was hung like a goddamned horse. But then Lieutenant Williams was hung like one, too, wasn’t he?” Susan hurried on. “But Walter said this one is much bigger.”

Walter was Captain Reynolds, head of the Beta 10 mission as well as one of Susan’s paramours.

Patricia wondered just why Reynolds had been so goddamned observant as to the size of Shaw’s cock. It had been rumored, more than once, that Reynolds was kind of fruity, but as long as he kept his extracurricular activities private, and satisfied Susan sufficiently so that she would boldly broadcast his masculine virtues, no one had nearly enough reason to complain.

“That’s the only reason I asked,” Susan said, biting into a roll which was oozing yellow butter. “I’ve never really had a big, big one. I mean, Walter has a good-sized one, but he said Shaw’s must be at least ten inches.”

Patricia had choked on her milk.

“Are you all right, honey?” Susan had squealed, running around the table and giving Patricia a slap on the back that was loud enough to draw the attention of those who hadn’t already noted Patricia’s gagging.

“I’m fine,” Patricia tried to say, but couldn’t get it out. She gagged again, and Buzz Shaw had left his tray to see if he might be of any assistance.

When Buzz arrived, Susan had slapped Patricia’s back once more, and Patricia was almost completely recovered from her ordeal. She was, all the time, despite her gagging, attempting to conjure in her mind’s-eye the actual dimensions of a ten-inch cock. She’d remembered just how large Williams’ had looked, and how they’d measured it with a tape measure.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Buzz had asked.

“Fine,” Patricia had said, finding her face not two inches from Buzz’s crotch. Her imagination singled out the lengthy crease in his pants, which she was sure must be concealing his flaccid prick. It was right then and there that she decided she was going to one day soon be able to tell Susan just what it was like to be jabbed with a ten-inch spike of hard male meat.

(to be continued)