Excerpt: Can't Get Enough

On to the third excerpt in my mini erotica-fest. This Cleis Press anthology is veteran erotica author Tenille Brown's first outing as an editor, and it's one hell of a theme to begin with. Tenille appealed for stories to fulfil this brief:

Have you ever been so hot for your lover that you decided not to go to the dinner you were invited to? Or maybe you got so turned on watching her work the room at a party you had to duck into a coat closet during cocktails. Remember the time you called in sick to work because you simply couldn't put down your vibrator?

Can't Get Enough will contain just these types of stories. An anthology filled with tales of insatiable desire, authors will bring forth stories brimming with sex, kinks and fetishes that you simply can't get enough of, sex you want so much that you can't make it home without having to swing by a shady motel or pull off into a vacant lot.

I realised this could be interpreted in many different ways. As a keen but very amateur runner, I had come across events such as the Tough Mudder obstacle races. And so I started to think about a couple of sporty guys training for such an event. And how that would be with a BDSM slant. And what might happen to distract them during the race. Here's the start of the story:

Dean was ahead already. I admired his ass as his soaked shorts clung to its contours. He was always faster than me, although in a race like this anything could happen. We’d trained for months for the ultimate endurance test, The Toughest Ten, bored of marathons and ironman triathlons. It was Dean who first turned me into a fitness freak. After spotting him lifting weights at the gym I found myself going more and more often in the hope of bumping into him and being able to watch him putting his magnificent body through its paces. It was the body of an underwear model. Or perhaps a sculpted Greek god.

One day, after we’d graduated to swapping names and a terse hello, he said to me, “Hey Joe, how about doing a marathon with me?”

“Sure,” I said, before engaging brain. The most I ran was half an hour on the treadmill, never outdoors. I was just blessed with a naturally toned physique that looked like it saw the inside of a gym far more than my actual couple of hours a week. He soon realized this. But he was patient, quietly sharing training tips, chivvying me along when my spirits flagged and coaxing me to push myself. Without ever sounding patronizing.

I guess it was the chemistry between us. He wouldn’t have put up with me otherwise. Sometimes he slipped into sergeant major style, even name calling – “Come on you worthless faggot, get your butt moving before I order the lads to give you a beasting.” It was all play acting. He’d been in the army for a while. He told me he left because he enjoyed the rough treatment too much. He feared for his wellbeing. And that was the funny thing about our relationship. He was stronger, faster and could endure far more than me. But it was me who got to wrestle him to the floor, grab handfuls of his hair, slap him and call him my bitch. He responded in an immediate physical way, going weak at the knees, eager to drop and suck my cock or let me pound into his ass mercilessly.

“Fuck, Joe,” he’d say, “you do things to me. Things I haven’t been able to experience with any other man.”

He knew I’d be watching him as he pulled ahead in the Toughest Ten. It wasn’t just a run. It was a ten-mile course with ten obstacle stages – mud, ice, fire, water, walls and more to crawl through, swim, wade or climb. Designed by the military’s elite, it put those crazy enough to attempt it through hell and provided the best endorphin buzz available without mind-altering substances.

Our training had covered most of the types of challenge we faced. More thoroughly than necessary, to be honest. I’d confidently bet none of our competitors had submitted to having their balls zapped in order to prepare for the electric fence field.

You can buy the book at Amazon US and Amazon UK and check out the Can't Get Enough blog for reviews, interviews, excerpts and more. 

New release... Can't Get Enough

It's release day for Tenille Brown's first foray into anthology editing with this Cleis Press collection, Can't Get Enough. It contains my sweet little story Mud and Pain. And by sweet, I mean two guys getting up to all kinds of masochistic shenanigans in preparation for a Tough Mudder-style obstacle race. I'll bring you a little excerpt soon.

Here's the blurb: 

Veteran erotica author and first-time editor Tenille Brown has collected stories for Can’t Get Enough that highlight the essence of insatiable desire. With contributions from authors like Rachel Kramer Bussel, Jacqueline Applebee, Giselle Renarde, and featuring a brand-new Becoming Hers (formerly Dominatrix Fantasy) story from New York Times bestseller Shoshanna Evers, this is a book full of diverse and dynamic characters who are bold and daring even when being sexily subtle. The authors here knock the Can’t Get Enough theme right out of the park with stories that will leave readers as breathless as the characters they’re reading about, dying for more.

Find out more about the book, including the full line-up of authors, reviews and links to all stops on the launch blog tour over at the Can't Get Enough blog.

You can buy the book at Amazon US. Coming soon for buyers elsewhere!

Smut by the Sea Swim Team

Who's with me? I can't go to Scarborough and not have a little dip in the sea, preferably around high tide. The lifeguards seemed a little bemused last year when Tabitha Rayne and I wrestled ourselves into our cossies under towels and launched ourselves into the waves. That's Tabitha pictured... oh no, sorry, that's the Birth of Venus by Botticelli. Tabitha isn't joining us this year, sadly, but Anna Sky has already kindly offered to hold my towel.

Find out all about the Smut by the Sea event - happening this Saturday, June 14th, in Scarborough, UK - and pick up tickets at smutbythesea.co.uk. 

I'm also doing a reading and it's probably time I decided on a story. I think I'll pick an extract from the coming-very-soon More Smut for Chocoholics, which gives me a choice between some Aztec jungle femdom or two guys working in a brewery... I'll probably go for the brewery; you can't beat a pint of real ale. Here's the start of A Steamy Brew to give you a little taster....

“Here, new boy, try this,” Nigel says, holding out a handful of little brown nuggets and once again failing to remember my name even though I’ve been here three months now.

“What are they?”

“Taste one and see if you can guess.”

“Is this a trick? Is it actually edible?” Nigel’s always playing a joke on someone; he makes me nervous. Or maybe it’s the line of his jaw that makes me nervous. Or the thick hair on his forearms. Nigel usually disobeys his own brewery’s rules about covering up to avoid scalds or burns, instead shoving his sleeves up around his elbows. What is it about a bunched sleeve that I find so much hotter than fancy shirt cuffs?

“Of course it’s edible, would I tell you to eat something if it wasn’t edible?”

“Er, yeah, I think you would.”

“Ah, you got me there.” He reaches out his free hand and rubs his knuckles hard on my scalp, doing goodness knows what to my hair. At least I’ve learnt not to put gel on it when I’m bound to get a face full of hot vapours from the wort tun at some point during my working day. But his hand in my hair gives me that tight little feeling in my throat; it’s similar to trying to breathe through a mouthful of steam, to be honest. “I would, you’re right, but not in this case. This is edible. In fact it’s the food of the gods, it’s been venerated for centuries, millennia even, more precious than gold.”

“It doesn’t look like much. Looks like chopped up coffee beans or something. It’s not coffee, is it? I can’t stand the stuff.”

“It’s not coffee, but you’re not far off with the bean angle. Here, taste.”

He lifts a piece to my lips. And I start to wonder if being put on the rota to work the bank holiday was such a coincidence after all. Nigel just said it was my turn, that everyone has to work a couple a year. But it means it’s just me and him in the brewhouse today. And, as I wonder, I start to hope. Hope that perhaps he’s seen me looking at him with more than a passing glance. Hope that my gaydar is working and that he prefers blokes, and that he’s single, and that he’s open to opportunity and that he might prefer a little blond like me to all the chunks of manliness usually found swaggering around this place, chucking kegs about as if they were scatter cushions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no weakling, but some of them lay it on a bit thick.

I part my lips and let him push the nugget inside my mouth, feeling a tingle where his fingers brush my skin. Christ, it’s been too long since I had a shag, I’m getting a semi over the feel of one square millimetre of another man’s skin on me. Admittedly, it’s a man I’ve been fantasising over, imagining him coming up behind me while I’ve got my face over one of the hot brew vessels.

He lets the piece of whatever it is go and pulls his hand away and he has this look of amusement on his face and I don’t know if it’s because of what I’m about to taste, or because he knows what’s going on in my head. And my crotch.

I roll it around my tongue but get nothing beyond realising that it’s hard as a nut.

“Bite it. Go on.”

God, he’s fucking with me. And God, I’m enjoying it. I bite.

And then I splutter. “Fuck, that’s disgusting.” I spit out the pieces into my palm. “I thought hops were bitter, but that. Fuck, it’s like eating burnt, I dunno, walnut shells or something.” I do that fl-fl-fl-fl spitting thing where you try to get every last speck of something out of your mouth, but still I can feel the grit of it on my tongue.

Dungeon Crawl: The Women Who Love to Love Gay Romance

Welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl and to an excerpt from a story that was a whole lot of fun to write. I don't know what Ryan Field was imagining when he made this call: 

I decided to see what would happen if the women who love to love gay romance were allowed to forget about everything, with abandon, and just write what they want with absolute freedom. 

Cos, what with my romance gene being faulty and all, my first thought was what it would be like to walk onto the set of Bound Gods... (did I say that out loud?)

Anyway, open a window because you're going to need some fresh air in about five-hundred words' time. Vicky has just returned early from a lukewarm date to find that her flatmate and his boyfriend have been inspired by a site she accidentally left open on her computer...

I hear the TV straight away as I unlock the door. At least, I think it’s the TV when I first hear voices through speakers. “Hi guys, I’m home.” They’re still on the sofa, but all my fantasies have not adequately prepared me for what I see. Not when it’s right there, right in front of me on my antique burgundy leather couch. They’re both butt naked. But that’s a minor consideration. Will is lying across Jake’s lap face down, his ass raised on the top of Jake’s thighs.

They freeze as I come into the room, but they don’t jump up and start making excuses. Which is probably because Will is in no fit state to jump anywhere. Not with his wrists and ankles bound with two of my silk scarves. My laptop is open on the coffee table, the film I watched earlier playing quietly in the background. Not the TV. That’s blank, reflecting Jake and Will’s positions back to me even as I try to do the decent thing and look away. Will’s got a knotted tea towel tied in his mouth and a little voice at the back of my mind says, “He’d better not be drooling on my antique burgundy leather couch.”

“Fuck. Vicky. We weren’t expecting you home so early. What happened to Mike?”

“I was tired,” I stutter, telling them the same lie I told Mr Nice. “I’m sorry. I should have let you know I was coming back so soon.”

“Well, no. It’s your apartment.”

He’s not as embarrassed as he should be. I know we’re open about my vibrator and his wanking, but why is he not redder in the face, why is he not flustered and stammering like I am? Because he knows what I’ve been watching on my laptop. It’s right there playing back to me now, those two delightfully submissive guys.

“Oh sorry about that. I borrowed your laptop to look something up. But you hadn’t closed your browser. That’s kind of what set us off. We were planning a quiet night watching the football.”

I’m still standing in the doorway and I’m just thinking, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” over and over again. In fact, I realize I’m saying it out loud. “Oh my God. It’s. I don’t know. I just. Oh my God.”

“It’s okay Vickster. What’s not to like? Two hot men, tied up and at your disposal. I can totally see why you’d be looking at that when you should be working.” He winks.

I glance at Will’s face. And I laugh, albeit a little hysterically, at the thought that he has by far the easiest role in this little scenario. He’s looking quite calm, tied hands resting against the small of his back, ankles on the armrest so his feet dangle over the edge. His face looks barely flushed. Unlike his ass, which is bright red from where Jake has been hitting it with the wooden spoon he is still holding in his left hand.

“Do you want a go?” He holds the spoon towards me.

Buy the book at Amazon or Amazon UK.

And check out all these other delicious excerpts:

An InLinkz Link-up

Erotica meets thriller

Ok, ok, I'm here, don't panic. And yes, I'm going to tell you about my story The Guerilla's Plaything in the new collection, Snatched, from Storm Moon Press. 

Here's the blurb for the anthology, which is a collection of three m/m stories of an erotica-meets-thriller flavour (44,500 words total):

Any hunter will tell you part of the satisfaction is in the chase as well as the triumphant capture of their prey. In Snatched, the focus is on the eroticism of the power play between men and their male captors. Sometimes romance ensues, sometimes just a good amount of steamy sex, but in all cases, the effects of one character being in utter control of the man he has captured takes center stage. The appeal is in the erotic dominance and the way the captive would try to escape if he could, whether he truly wants to deep down or not.

And here's a little intro to my story:

Thomas is determined not to let the fights with his boyfriend, John, ruin his vacation in the tropical rain forests of Ecuador. But when he steps off the trail, he steps into danger as he is taken captive by guerrilla freedom fighters. Held against his will, he nonetheless finds himself developing an attraction to the man who both arouses and repels him. And as his captivity weighs on him, Thomas finds that being The Guerrilla's Plaything is not the worst fate he can envision...

Available now from Storm Moon Press, Amazon and Amazon UK.

Teaser time

Here's a little taste of my story in The Women Who Love to Love Gay Romance. Vicky has been out on a date, but all she can think about is her flatmate and his boyfriend, who are spending a rare quiet night in together at her place. She ends the date early and rushes home, hoping to catch them cuddling on the sofa... or maybe even listen in to them in the bedroom. But what she finds is much more than that and has been inspired by something the guys found lurking on her laptop after she failed to shut it down properly...

I hear the TV straight away as I unlock the door. At least, I think it’s the TV when I first hear voices through speakers. “Hi guys, I’m home.” They’re still on the sofa, but all my fantasies have not adequately prepared me for what I see. Not when it’s right there, right in front of me on my antique burgundy leather couch. They’re both buck naked. But that’s a minor consideration. Will is lying across Jake’s lap face down, his ass raised on the top of Jake’s thighs.

They freeze as I come into the room, but they don’t jump up and start making excuses, which is probably because Will is in no fit state to jump anywhere. Not with his wrists and ankles bound with two of my silk scarves. My laptop is open on the coffee table, the film I watched earlier playing quietly in the background. Not the TV. That’s blank, reflecting Jake and Will’s positions back to me even as I try to do the decent thing and look away. Will’s got a knotted tea towel tied in his mouth and a little voice at the back of my mind says, “He’d better not be drooling on my antique burgundy leather couch.”

“Fuck. Vicky. We weren’t expecting you home so early.”

You can buy from Amazon.com, Amazon UK, All Romance and Smashwords.