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Sleazy Bars — A Touch of Grace … Grace Marshall that is

(From the Archives)

I have a soft spot in my heart for bars, and western bars in particular. No doubt it’s out of that soft spot and the exec-box-setfantasies it spawned that The Boiling Point, the bar in the Executive Decisions Trilogy, grew (Available in a Box Set Now!). The coolest bar I’ve ever been in is Moose’s in Kalispell, Montana, with its swinging wooden doors and peanut shells and sawdust on the floor. The rough wooden booths are carved with the graffiti of who knows how many pocket knives, and there’s always Canadians, Cribbage, and red beer in abundance. For the uninitiated, red beer is beer and tomato juice.

In my childhood, bars always intrigued me because they were forbidden. The bars of my youth, which I was only ever allowed to peek into before my mother would grab me by the arm and drag me away, had wooden dance floors, high stools at the bar and lamps that were adverts for the local beers. There was always a pool table and often several monuments to bad taxidermy. In their early years of marriage my brother and his wife rented an apartment that was attached to a derelict bar in the middle of nowhere on the Colorado and Wyoming boarder. I loved going there because my sister-in-law would let me into the bar to have a spin round and round on the bar stools and do cartwheels and slide in my stocking feet across the hard wood floor. Oh, in case you’re wondering, there’s a fourteen year age difference between my brother and me. I was just a little girl then. Though it still sounds like something I’d enjoy. Looking back, that might actually be the most fun I ever really had in a bar. I suppose Harris Walker is my alter-ego in that.

In Kirksville Missouri, where I went to university there was the Zodiac, which was not much more than a glorified warehouse with concrete floors and a raised concrete platform for dancing. The music was loud, and the crowd mixed, with a good few under-ager sneak-ins with fake IDs.

The Blue Moon, on the other side of the tracks, had pool tables, an abundance of ripped naugahide booths and the best hamburgers in town.

Ask any of the good Christian folks in Mooringsport, Louisiana, where my husband grew up, and they’ll tell you that the Highway 1 Bar is the brimstone belching den of Satan. When my husband was a child, his family drove by it several times a week on their way to and from church, looking upon it with disdain. After we were married, in an act of breath-taking rebellion, Raymond took me there for a drink. We weren’t taken to the back room and sacrificed to Satan, nor were we corrupted into a life of debauched drunkenness and godless filth. (though we might have already been a bit debauched) We were, however, served cold beer at a quiet table in the corner while country music whined on the jukebox.

As you can probably tell from my sordid and sleazy account … em … my experiences never quite lived up to the ones in my imagination. Maybe that’s why The Boiling Point appears larger than life in all three of Grace Marshall’s Executive
Decisions novels. The Exhibition is no exception. The Boiling Point is an amalgamation of the bars I’ve been in and the experiences I’ve fantasised in those bars. I reckon Harris Walker’s experiences of bars is rather similar to mine. They never quite live up to his expectations, and yet he wants them to.

After a less than satisfying experience in An Executive Decision, the first novel of the trilogy, the Boiling Point is not on Harris Walker’s list of favourite hang-outs. The Boiling Point is a squat cinderblock den of iniquity that has been through multiple incarnations since it was a speak-easy during prohibition. It’s the hang-out for all sorts – bikers, goths, red necks and even slumming banker boys. It has a reputation for watered down drinks, surly waitresses, loud music and being periodically raided – which is exactly what happens the night Stacie Emerson convinces Harris to meet her there in an effort to get him to exhibit his photography in her gallery.

The Exhibition Blurb:

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancée to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

As successful gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, finds herself in the clutches of a powerful enemy from her dark past, her growing feelings for her latest exhibitor, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, could get them both killed. Sharing her secret could destroy their relationship, but keeping it could be fatal.

The Exhibition Excerpt:

The fact that cops were pouring through the door only half registered in Harris’s Stacie-addled brain. Then some te-new-coverwoman screamed raid, and people were running and shoving in all directions. Someone was shouting something in an authoritative voice into a blow horn. It all felt like a scene right out of a gangster movie.

Stacie grabbed him by the hand and dragged him back toward their table. She shoved her iPad in her bag, and shouted at Waters, who had rushed back to the booth with his dance partner hanging on for dear life and was now shooting pictures like crazy.

Every time the man had a camera in his hand, he looked like he was about to get well laid. Did his work really do that for him? The adrenaline rush that came from fear of losing life and limb was the best Harris ever managed.

‘You alright,’ Stacie yelled to Waters.

He nodded breathlessly and handed Stacie something that Harris couldn’t see. ‘Need you to do me a favour.’ His words were clipped, excited. ‘Can you take care of this for me?’ He nodded toward the ladies room.

‘Seriously? You brought that here?’ For a second, Harris thought Stacie was going to belt the man.

But Waters only shrugged, gave her a sheepish grin, and kept shooting. ‘I didn’t think.’

She said something that Harris couldn’t hear over the chaos, something he figured wasn’t very nice.

She grabbed Harris by the hand and headed toward the bathrooms, dragging him right on into the women’s room. ‘What the –’

She shoved her way into the first stall, dropped a tiny plastic bag with what looked like a couple of roll-your-owns into the commode and flushed with her booted foot.

‘Jesus! Are you kidding me?’ Harris felt the tension ratchet up a notch in his shoulders as she watched the swirl of water in the toilet to make sure her efforts were effective. ‘He brought pot here? Idiot.’

She placed a finger to her lips, then slammed the cubicle door shut once she was satisfied with the results. ‘I’m sure that’s not what they’re looking for, but it’s enough to land him at the police station.’

Outside someone shouted, ‘Hastings, check the crappers.’

Before Harris knew what hit him, she pulled him into the cubicle at the other end of the row and locked the door behind him talking in a fast whisper. ‘Sorry about this. Not very professional, I know, but I promised to do my best to keep us out of jail, and I’m thinking groping in the ladies’ room’s not what this raid’s all about.’ The words were barely out of her mouth before she launched herself at him lips first. Damn it; he wanted to be mad at her. They were about to go to jail, for fuck sake! But instead of giving her a piece of his mind, he kissed her right back, hard, and felt her yield and open, and his tongue was in heaven sparing with hers, tasting, testing, thrusting. He found himself hoping that the inevitable arrest would wait until after he got his fill of Stacie Emerson, and that could take a while. She felt way better than she had even in his fantasies, and when his badly-behaving hands moved down to cup her magnificent bottom and pull her closer, she returned the favour and gave his ass a good grope. As though that gave him permission to explore, he slid anxious fingers inside her trousers wriggling down past a miniscule thong to cup an impossibly soft, impossibly firm buttock that gave a muscular clench in his hand, forcing her hips forward until she couldn’t possibly miss the press of his appreciative hard-on straining his jeans to get closer to her.

In the hall the noise got louder and the door burst open.

She had just managed a good firm stroke to the front of his trousers that had his full attention and then some, when a heavy-handed knock on the door caused her to yelp, and he nearly fell back onto the commode.

‘All right, you two, tuck it in, and come on out.’

 

Writing Badly? Permission Granted!

img_0082Being deep in the throes of NaNoWriMo right now, it’s not unusual that I’ve been thinking a lot about the process of writing and what makes it work. Why is it that sometimes the words flow and other times they just don’t? The first time I realised I might be able to exert some control over that flow, that I might be able to do more than sit in front of a keyboard and hope the Muse would take pity on me, was when I read Natalie Goldberg’s classic book, Writing Down the Bones. There I discovered the timed writing. It’s simple really. You write non-stop for a given amount of time. You write against the clock, and you don’t stop writing until time runs out. No matter what! You write whatever comes without fretting over whether it’ll be good. And when you’re done, some of the end result – even a good bit of the end result – might be crap. But mixed in with that crap might just be the seeds of something wonderful.

writing-down-the-bones-images

At the time I felt like I’d been asked to write with my left hand. Even writing for five minutes seemed like a daunting
task when I made my first attempts. But Natalie Goldberg knew what she was talking about. I was amazed at what came out of the abyss between my ears! It was only after I read Writing Down the Bones that I began to write real stories, and I think about that process of writing, just writing, no matter what comes out so often when I do NaNoWriMo because writing a novel in a month is never going to be pretty. But out of it, something truly wonderful can come. I know this because I’ve had two published novels from NaNoWriMo, and I’ve tackled both of those month-long races to the end as though they were a series of thirty gigantic, drawn out, timed writings.

 

So why did one book make such a difference? I finally had something I lacked in the past, something very important. I had permission to write badly. Every writer needs permission to write badly. Later Julia Cameron, in her book, The Artist Way, called those off-the-cuff, devil-may-care writings morning pages, and she prescribed three morning pages every day – written without forethought, written in haste. From a fiction writer’s perspective, she didn’t give them the weight that Natalie Goldberg did. They were only a part of a plan to open the reader to the artist within. To her, they were more about venting, sort of a daily house-cleaning for the brain. In addition to morning pages, Cameron insisted that every creative person should give themselves what she called an artist date once a week. An artist date was a date with oneself away from writing.

 

the-artist-wayI can’t count the number of times I stood myself up for my artist dates. I would have broken up with me long ago if I were actually dating me. But then I realised that an artist date didn’t have to be dinner and dancing or shopping or even visiting a museum. An artist date was a change of pace. It could even be ironing or weeding the garden. In fact the whole point of the artist date was to create space in which I could disengage the internal editor, engage the wild, creative part of my brain, the part full of ‘what ifs,’ and then, to give myself permission to write badly.

 

So many of us are under the impression that every word we write must be precious and worth its weight in gold. What I’ve learned since I discovered the pleasure of writing badly is that on the first draft, every word is most definitely not precious. On the first draft, every word is a crazy frivolous experiment. Every word is a chance to test the waters, to play in the mud, to let my hair loose and run dancing and screaming through the literary streets. Every word is a game and an adventure. Every word is eating ice cream with sprinkles for the main course. By the same token, every word is shit, every word is compost, and every word is the ground out of which the next draft will grow. I never know what’ll work crest-05e1a637392425b4d5225780797e5a76until I try it. I never know what my unconscious will come up with while I’m writing like a wild crazy person, grabbing words and cramming them in and rushing on to the next ones – just after I’ve done a basket full of ironing. Without that bold and daring first draft, without opening the floodgates and letting the words spill onto the page, there’s nothing to work with when the next draft comes. And when the next draft comes, the words do get precious. Every single one becomes weighty and irritable and reluctant to fit anywhere but the place it belongs, the place where I feel it just below my sternum like the point of an accusing finger.

 

But by the time I get to the second draft, by the time I get to that place where every word has to be perfect, I’m up for it. I’m ready to slow down and feel what every word means. I’m ready to find all the nuance and all the cracks and crevices of meaning in between the words. I’m ready for it because I’ve only just been playing up until now, and I’ve been allowing the words to play. And now … recess is over.

 

The longer I write, the more I realise what else, besides Natalie Goldberg’s timed writings and Julia Cameron’s reluctant artist dates, gets me there. And what gets me there is often totally being somewhere else, somewhere other than writing. Sometimes it’s playing the piano badly, or sweating at the gym, or weeding the veg patch. Sometimes it’s walking through the woodland not thinking about anything. Sometimes it’s reading something frivolous. Sometimes it’s writing-pen-and-birds-1_xl_20156020reading something profound. All the space that taking time not to write opens up inside me makes room for that wild
ride of the first draft. And when that first draft is finished, I have what I need to pick and choose, to sort through and sift, to change and rearrange until I find the best way to tell my tale. But up until then, it’s child’s play. It’s dancing naked. It’s shameless abandon and multiple verbal orgasms.

 

To all my lovely writing friends valiantly struggling through NaNoWriMo this year – in fact to anyone who has a story to write, let me just say this.

 

Writing badly? Permission most definitely granted!

 

Love & Lust in Space, a Sci-Fi Lover’s Dream Antho!

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I’m so excited to be promoting Love & Lust in Space on A hopeful Romantic today! I have a very special place in my heart for this anthology, edited by the fabulous Jennifer Denys. As it turns out I had every intention of writing a story for this fabulous anthology, being a huge fan of Sci Fi myself. It was only when I got about six thousand words in that I realised ‘oops!’ This has to be a novel. As it turns out, it ended up as my NaNoWriMo project this year. BUT it was most definitely inspired by the lovely Jennifer Denys and Anna Skye last year at Smut by the Sea.

All that is a long way of saying what an absolute pleasure it is to finally see the finished anthology. I know a fair few of the authors, I’m proud to say, so you can expect fabulous stories with lots of sexy, out of this world, twists and turns. With that in mind, Jennifer has put together a wonderful Round-Table sort of interview with some of those authors and all I can say is that you’re all in for a treat!

 

 

 

 

 

Love & Lust in Space

 

They say your screams can’t be heard in space… Unless you have a partner or two! Eleven authors take you on a trip where any pairings are acceptable, locations vary from spaceships to strange and futuristic worlds, and interesting and exciting objects can be used in sex play.

 

If randy astronauts, virtual reality lovers, sex in near-death situations, a commitment-phobe human and her alien lover, and reproduction in space experiments don’t do anything for you, you are clearly not human!

 

So try the stories in the alien worlds half of the anthology, instead. Here you’ll find alien Doms, a mysterious gladiator saving a stricken princess, an exotic dancer, a paid assassin on the run, an illegal sonic dilda’tor, and a pleasure booth. Space has never been so exciting!

 

 

  1. How many sci-fi stories have you written?

 

Beverly – I have written sci-fi since a young teenager. My interest grew with the advent of sci-fi and fantasy word-based adventure games in the early eighties for computers such as the Spectrum 48 and Commodore 64. Somehow, writing scenarios for these adventures transformed into writing scenes in stories. Stories to date are too many to count, but this is my first erotic short.

 

Ashe – Just a couple so far, but I’ve got the bug now and I do have a few kinky out-of-this-world ideas fermenting so there will be more to come.

 

 

  1. If you were to star in a sci-fi show would you be the captain who always gets the girl/guy, the nerd who invents a sex android, or the hands-on sex therapist?

 

Rose – I would probably be more like the sexually frustrated sidekick who’s always overlooked. But, out of these specifically, I hope I’d be the captain!

 

Dylan – I like to imagine that I’d be the captain who gets the guy but I think in reality (is there such a thing?) I’d end up being the nerd creating the sexdroid.

 

Jordan – If I were in a sci-fi show, I’d most likely by the hands-on sex therapist.

 

 

  1. If you could go to another planet what method of transport would you choose: spaceship/transporter/wormhole?

 

Ella – I would choose spaceship because a transporter might go wrong and a wormhole? Well, you might never get back.

H K – Transporter. Beam me up!

Beverley – Wormhole. I’ve never believed that travelling is part of the holiday.

 

 

  1. What type of sex appeals to you – antigravity sex/virtual reality sex/sex in public in front of aliens/secret sex/sexual experiment/illegal sex?

 

Ashe – My story in the anthology features sex in public with a crowd of aliens looking on, but I reckon antigravity sex sounds pretty awesome too. And experimental sex. Oh, and illegal sex sounds a bit tasty. Mmm, perhaps just any sort, really.

 

Ian – I like the idea of sneaky sex with a crewmate, maybe in a locker or a quiet part of the vehicle, and weightless sex is a fascinating idea

 

H K – Secret, illegal public sex in front of aliens, in zero-gravity.

 

  1. Which would you prefer to be – a pioneer colonist on an alien planet/astronaut undertaking experiments in orbit around Earth/an ambassador to an alien world/explorer of the galaxy in a spaceship/futuristic computer hacker inventing strange new worlds, new life and new civilizations…. (that line sounds familiar…)?

 

Dylan – Mmm… tough choice. Whichever one results in my ending up in an alien dungeon with a sexy alien Dom, and some wonderful and weird sex technology!

 

Jennifer – explorer, I reckon, having first contact. Or colonist trying out new planets. I’m far too forthright to be an ambassador, would get claustrophobic as an astronaut and no good at computers to be a hacker!

 

Morgan – In my dream life I might be a pioneer colonist, but I don’t think the reality would be as exciting as the idea.

 

 

  1. Would you prefer to be abducted by a hunky/sexy alien to be their mate or be the hunky/sexy alien abducting the Earthling?

 

Dee – I suspect I would very much enjoy being abducted by a sexy alien to be their mate—but [he] doesn’t have to be hunky. A sexy, intelligent, witty blob of gel? Cloud of plasma? Sure, let’s see what we can do together.

 

Ian – Abduct me baby, I won’t play hard-to-get

 

 

  1. Choose a sex toy – sonic dilda’tor/pleasure booth/orgasma orb

 

Dee – Tell me more about their features. Actually, why I don’t I try them all before I make my decision? Is there a sample table?

 

Jennifer – Have to have the sonic dilda’tor since it is the title and subject of my story! (But I want to try the others out afterwards!)

 

Morgan – Can I choose something different like a Virtual Reality Sex Simulator – or maybe that’s the same as a pleasure booth?

 

 

  1. If you could be an alien which would you rather be: a strong warrior/ a beautiful princess/an interplanetary assassin/a hunky alien Dom/a member of the ambassador’s security detail/an exotic dancer?

 

Rose – Being a Disney girl at heart, I’ve gotta go with being a beautiful princess. But I wouldn’t mind being a beautiful princess who meets some of those guys!

 

Jordan – Being an interplanetary assassin sounds fun!

 

Ella – A twist between the interplanetary assassin and the ambassador’s security detail, maybe the security detail who moonlights as an assassin? Oh the plot bunnies are endless.

 

Published by: Sexy Little Pages

 

Edited by: Jennifer Denys

 

Buy Love & Lust in Space Here:

(takes you through to the correct Amazon for your country): https://mybk.li/llis

 

 

 

Small Town Taste: A Complete Story! Vintage K D Grace

politics

I can’t count the number of times someone has asked me my opinion on American politics, and while I keep my opinion off my social media pages because they are my business pages, I assure you I did send in my absentee ballot, and that not long after I had watched The Suffragette, feeling once again a sense of awe at the right my sisters before me have fought so hard for all over the world, and still are in some countries. So yes, I voted, and I hope, if you’re an American citizen, you’ll do the same.

 

That being said, how can any erotica writer miss the opportunity for a story that politicians and their strange bedfellows inspire. Small Town Tastes is a complete story, uncut, vintage K D Grace.

 

BE WARNED! This story is FOR ADULTS ONLY.

 

Enjoy!

 

SMALL TOWN TASTE

 

The Keystone town picnic was the perfect chance to shake hands, talk politics, and be seen socializing with the local folks. Hopefully the visit would help Congressman Charles Dodd improve his sagging ratings in the polls. It was all because of the downturn in the economy, Mrs. Dodd kept telling him. Not his fault. But as Harry Truman said, “the buck stops here.”

The congressman considered himself to be in touch with the needs of the common man, and he was at his best when he was chewing the fat with the good ole boys. Nothing made him shine with the media quite like a visit with his grass roots supporters. He was excellent at playing the part of the caring representative, while admiring a farmer’s field of corn or enjoying a local matron’s raspberry preserves at a county fair.

Today, however, it wasn’t cornfields or raspberry preserves that held his interest. Though Keystone’s mayor had introduced him around, eaten fried chicken and potato salad with him, and made sure he chatted with all of Keystone’s movers and shakers, it wasn’t any of the movers and shakers he was interested in either. After all, Keystone was a small town, in which not that much moved or shook.

Today he wasn’t even interested in rubbing shoulders with the common folk. It was the mayor’s daughter, Salina Hayes, who Congressmen Dodd wanted to rub against, and it wasn’t her shoulders he had in mind. He couldn’t believe his cock had been so completely stiffened by an unsophisticated farm girl. A farm girl with the most amazing tits he’d ever seen, he reminded himself.

Salina Hayes sat across the table from him and Mrs. Dodd, leaning forward, her chin resting on her hand, her blue eyes locked on him as though she were taking in his every word, while making sure he got a good view of what was way more than a handful. He hoped his wife wouldn’t notice, but thankfully she seemed more interested in stories of the local women’s quilting circle. The swelling ache in his trousers was exquisite as he watched the gentle rising and falling of ripe young cleavage against the scoop neck of a pale yellow sundress.

She was a second year political science major studying at the State University, the mayor had told him. She had chosen her major because Congressman Dodd was her hero, and she wanted to follow in his footsteps. Right now her hero was having fantasies of her crawling under the table to discretely undo his fly to suck his cock while he listened to the mindless chatter of pork prices and fertilizer shortages. He could imagine shooting his growing wad between her mauve painted lips, while her lovely pink tongue lapped up every drop of his juices. And no one would be the wiser.

As if an answer to prayer, the mayor’s wife invited Mrs. Dodd to go to with her to the community center to view first
hand some of the quilting the local women had been doing. The mayor was busy talking to one of the councilmen, and Congressman Dodd, by the grace of heaven, found himself following Salina Hayes to the punch bowl, watching the way the clingy fabric of the sundress hugged the perfect mounds of her bottom, discretely showcasing, when the breeze blew just right, the outline of her very tiny panties.

“So tell me,” he said moving close to her, “after being away in the big wide world for two years, do you find small town life difficult?”

“I don’t mind. I like small towns,” she replied in a sultry contralto voice with just the tiniest hint of southern drawl. “There’s always something going on if you know where to look for it.”

“And I suppose you would know better than most, being Mayor Hayes’s daughter and all.” He moved closer to her, feeling the warmth radiating from her young body as he took the punch she offered him in a paper cup, his fingers sliding over hers as he did so.

For a second, she looked confused, and he realized she might not appreciate having her parental connections brought up if she were trying to impress an older man, and he was pretty sure she was trying to impress him. Before he could apologize, she offered him an edible smile. “You see that path over there?” She nodded to a grassy trail disappearing into the trees.

“Yes.”

“There’s a pond down there, not far. It’s on Daddy’s property, so no one else goes there.” She looked up at him and held his gaze. “The wild life is fantastic.” Her long dark lashes fluttered. “In fact, I was heading over there just now to have a little peek. It’s so quiet and secluded. You never know what you might find there.” She nibbled daintily on her full lower lip, then turned on her sandaled heals and headed down the path, hips swaying invitingly with each step.

His eyes still glued to Salina’s voluptuous butt, he motioned to one of his security men. “Make my excuses, and see that Mrs. Dodd stays occupied with those quilts. I need an hour.”

The security man nodded, and turned back to the picnicking crowd as though he were on a mission. The congressman downed the punch, checked to make sure no one was looking, then headed toward the path with a second body guard a few steps behind him.

It truly wasn’t far to the pond, and Salina was right. It was very secluded. He could see her lying back in the grass, the straps of her sundress pulled down over her shoulders for maximum sun. He felt his cock tighten in his trousers.

“What’s he doing here,” she nodded to the bodyguard as the congressman sat down next to her.

He reached out and twisted a lock of her blond hair around his finger and offered her one of his election winning smiles. “I’m a congressman, Salina. My life’s not my own anymore, you know. But don’t worry about him,” he held her gaze. “He only sees what I want him to see.”

“And what about your wife?” She offered him a little pout.

He traced the strap of the dress along to the scoop neck line, wriggling his finger just beneath the fabric enough to make her catch her breath. “It pains me to say, she sees a little bit more than I want her to, that’s why we have to be discrete.”

He moved in closer to kiss her, but she pulled away, folding her arms under her breasts. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He cursed to himself. His fucking cock was about to burst through his trousers and this chick was playing coy. But he tried to look guilt stricken. “Of course you’re right. I’m sorry. I just find you so enchanting. You’re all I’ve been able to think about since I first saw you.” He caught his breath. “It’s wrong of me to want you so. And it’s even wore of me to try to act upon my desires, to take advantage of you kindness, your respect. Please, Salina, don’t think badly of me for this one slip up. You’ve got to believe me, this has never happened to me before, and I couldn’t bear it if you thought less of me.” He offered her his best repentant look, and lowered his eyes. “I’ll just go now.”

He started to stand, but she grabbed his hand. “No don’t go, congressman. I couldn’t stand it if you left now. I could never think less of you for wanting me. I’ve admired you for so long, and now that I’ve met you in person, well, I just want to be with you, and I’m so honored that you want to be with me too.”

He curled his finger beneath her chin and lifted her mouth to his, kissing her gently, feeling her tremble at his touch. It was just as he expected, she was still a small town girl, no city veneer on this one, just raw, countrified need. Years from now she’d tell the other farmer’s wives how she had a congressmen wrapped around her little finger. And she would remind them all she didn’t have to be a farmer’s wife. She could have been whoever she wanted. And none of them will believe her, of course.

She pressed herself against him, her awkward kisses becoming more insistent in her obvious efforts to please, a trait he found incredibly arousing. After all, it was that straight off the farm innocence that had stiffened his cock in the first place. He eased her back onto the grass and moved his hand up over her flat belly to rest just beneath her breasts, feeling her gasp and squirm against his touch.

“Have you ever brought other men here?” he asked. He lifted the hand from her belly to stroke her cheek. “It’s alright, no need to be embarrassed. A beautiful young woman like you is way too desirable not to have men sniffing after her all the time.”

She offered him an almost shy smile. “I lost my virginity here when I was seventeen.” She giggled softly, and lay an open hand modestly against her cleavage. “One of Daddy’s farm hands.” Her smile faded. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a slut though. At the time I thought I was in love. I was so young then.”

He kissed her again, gently, careful not to give her the chance to pull him close. “Of course you’re not a slut. How could anybody think that of you?” He glanced over at the security guard. Time was wasting, and his balls felt like they were full of molten lead. He sat back on his haunches and sighed. “Salina, dear, I’m a married man and I have a reputation to maintain.”

She raised a hand demurely to her slightly parted lips. “Of course, congressman. I’d never do anything to ruin your reputation.” For a second he though she was going to cry.

“I know you wouldn’t, honey. Still, it’s hard for me. My wife’s not as fond of sex as she used to be when we were first married. And I,” he chuckled softly, “well, I’ve always had a very high sex drive. And what with all the travel and the speeches and the politicking, well a man gets all tense and he just needs some relief now and again.”

“I understand, congressman. What is it you want me to do?”

He kissed her forehead and pulled away. “I want you to let me watch.”

She sat up with a start. “Excuse me?”

He motioned to the guard. “I want you to let me watch while you do it with Jensen here.”

“But I thought. I thought…” For a second he was sure she would to be angry, then she looked a little frightened, as her eyes shifted to the body guard standing like a statue. The congressman could see the wheels turning. Nothing exciting ever happened in this girl’s little town, and this just might be the highlight of her bucolic life. Besides, most women, and more than a few men found Jensen quite attractive.

He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh and brought it to rest just before it reached the soft triangle of her panties. “Please. It would mean so much to me. I do want you, so badly. He laid her small, well manicured hand against the raging bulge in his trousers, and she gasped. “I haven’t had sex in awhile now, what with Mrs. Dodd not interested. I’m desperate for some relief. Before I met you, I thought I’d just go back to the hotel room, have a shower, and… well, take care of it, the way we men have to do sometimes. God knows that’s what I should do. I am a faithful man, Salina. And if you’re uncomfortable with this,” his hand stroked the back of hers where it lay against his erection, “I’ll understand if you go back to the party. I’ll just stay here a couple more minutes and take care of it.” He sighed. “Then I’ll be fit for company again.”

Her hand, against which he desperately wanted to thrust, moved carefully along the length of his cock. “Oh congressman, a man like you shouldn’t have to…” She blushed hard even at the thought. “Of course I’ll help you.”kissing-lips

“You’re an angel, Salina.” He gave her thigh a stroke very close to her panties.

She squirmed against his hand and offered him a warm smile. “Anything for you, congressman.”

Dodd had picked Jensen specifically because his body shape was so similar to his own, and because he was willing. The body guard shed his jacket and tie and sat down in the grass on the other side of Salina, who forced a shy smile.

“She has lovely breasts, don’t you think, Jensen?”

“Lovely, sir.”

He could see that the mayor’s daughter was trembling a little bit. He suspected it was as much with anticipation as fear. “Fondle them for me, Jensen. Caress them. Let me see how they yield to your touch.”

In response, the girl straightened her shoulders until her full young breasts were practically in the body guard’s large
hands. And when he cupped them, bringing skilled thumbs to circle her nipples, her eyelids fluttered and she whimpered softly.

“How do they feel?”

“Wonderful, sir, they feel wonderful. Firm and heavy, and such large nipples for such a young woman.”

The press of Salina’s burgeoning nipples against Jensen’s thumbs made the congressman’s cock surge in his trousers. It was uncomfortable, just exactly the way he needed it to be. “And she’s not wearing a bra,” he grunted.

“No sir. No bra. Surprised her father would let her meet a congressman with no bra on.”

“It’s a sundress,” she protested. “It’s not supposed to have a bra under it.”

“But you wanted the congressman to admire your tits, didn’t you,” the guard asked.

“And I certainly have done just that,” Congressman Dodd said, shifting to make his engorging cock rub against the seam of his trousers. “Unbutton her dress for me, Jensen, and let’s get a good look at what I’ve been fantasizing about all afternoon.”

He watched holding his breath as Jensen eased the buttons open slowly, one by one until her fullness was near to bursting from the front of the dress. With a grunt of satisfaction, Jensen eased the straps off her shoulders, then lifted her breasts free from the soft clingy fabric.

“Sundress or not,” the congressman said, “breasts that gorgeous should never be restrained by a bra. Play with them, Jensen, caress them, suckle them, the way I would if I wasn’t a faithful husband.”

The girl quivered and moaned holding Jensen’s head to her tits as though she were nursing him. “My breasts are so sensitive,” she gasped, arching against the guard’s insinuating tongue.

“I like a woman with sensitive breasts,” the congressmen said, stroking his cock through his trousers. “How about you, Jensen? Does a woman with sensitive breasts make your cock stiff?”

“Yes sir, very stiff indeed.”

“Good, good. Salina, you must be anxious to see what those lovelies of yours are doing to that man’s penis, aren’t you? I’m sure he’d like you to undo his fly and free the beast. That’s a girl, that’s a girl. Careful now, Jensen’s got a big one there.”

As he watched the girl fumble awkwardly with the front of Jensen’s trousers, he undid his own fly and let out an involuntary groan as he lifted his aching cock from his briefs. God, his balls felt near to bursting, but this was too good to rush through. He wanted to make it last.

Once the girl had freed Jensen’s cock, she gave a little gasp of surprise. “It’s so huge. I’ve never seen one so big. She touched it almost as though she were afraid it would bite her, and Jensen moaned softly at her touch. So very naïve, Dodd thought.

“Don’t you worry about his cock just yet, Salina. Let him pleasure you. That’s what I would do if I were free.” Then he spoke to the body guard. “Take off her panties, Jensen. I’m sure you want to see her pussy. I know I do.”

“Please don’t,” the girl trembled, screwed up her face in distress and pushed Jensen’s hands away. “I don’t know if I can go through with this. Besides, Daddy’ll kill me if he finds out.” She was quite a little cock tease, Dodd thought. But Jensen knew exactly how to handle a cock tease, and that made his balls even tighter.

Jensen eased her back onto the grass, soothing her protests. “Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll make sure your daddy doesn’t find out, besides, you really want to please the congressmen don’t you? Come on, now. Relax, and let me help you out of those panties. I promise I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make your little cunny feel so good.”

“I do. I do want to please the congressman,” she whimpered, “but I’m so nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“It’s alright honey, nothing to be nervous about. It’s the most natural thing in the world. I promise I’ll help you and guide you, just like the congressman would. And I guarantee you’ll like what I’m going to do to you, what he would do to you if he could. You’ll make the congressman feel so good, and, well that’s serving your country, isn’t it, dear?”

God, Jensen was good. Dodd couldn’t count the number of times he’d watch Jensen fuck his women for him, and he loved the way the man talked to them, the way he always knew just what to say.

The girl leaned back on her elbows, watching as Jensen reached up under her skirt. She whimpered again softly and shuddered when he pulled her panties down over her hips and gave them a toss to the congressman, who caught them in mid air and began to rub them against his heavy balls as he stroked himself.

“Come on, Salina, dear,” the congressman coaxed. “Open your legs for me so I can see how beautiful you are down there and how much I would love to put my penis down there inside you if only I could.”

She offered him a quivering smile, gathered her skirt in her lap and spread her legs until he could see the pouting swollen folds of her cunny beneath her smoothly shaved mound, shining and moist in the glow of summer heat.

“Oh you are lovely, my dear,” the congressman groaned. “Such an exquisite pussy, all bare and smooth for me to see.

“She looks nice and slippery, Jensen, but she doesn’t look ready to accommodate your big cock yet.”

“Don’t worry, sir, she soon will be,” came the response, and the guard eased his middle finger up into the girl’s pout, positioning his hand so he could stroke her clit with his thumb. She gasped and ground her bare ass into the grass. “Oh god, oh god,” she moaned. She tried to watch what he was doing with his fingers, but in the end she fell back on the lawn writhing and groaning at his touch.

“You like that, don’t you, Salina?” Dodd asked. “You like having a man play with your pussy.”

She nodded and whimpered, spreading her legs still further.

“Is she tight?” the congressman asked.

“Tight and slick, and she smells hot. Can you smell her, congressman?”

“I want to taste her,” Dodd said. He scooted closer to the writhing girl and Jensen pulled back his finger, holding her lips open. “Oh that’s a nice cunny, nice and sopping,” the congressman crooned. “Give me a taste, Salina. Dip you fingers in that lovely pussy of yours and let me taste”

The girl reached between her legs and slid two fingers into her swollen twat and the congressman nearly exploded at the sight of her cunt gripping her fingers so hungrily. He fought back the urge to shoot his load on the grass right then, but he knew the best was yet to come. He pulled the girl’s fingers free and licked the delicious taste of young pussy. “Mmmm, I do love southern food.” He groaned. “You better have some, Jensen. She’s too tasty to waste.”

Jensen didn’t argue. He buried his face in Salina’s cunt and began licking her from anus to distended clit, careful as always, to make sure Dodd got a good view of what he was doing. Meanwhile the girl bucked and moaned beneath him and Jensen’s cock looked like it was stretched to the breaking point. There was no denying. It was time.

“I think she’s ready,” the congressmen said.

“I’m ready. Please, I’m ready,” the girl begged.

“You heard her. Now fuck her hard for me, Jensen. I need to come real bad.”

Jensen pulled away from the girl’s pussy, his face glistening with her slickness. Then he positioned his swollen cock over her pout and with one hard pushed shoved home. The girl cried out, then wrapped her legs around him and began to press up against his body as he thrust into her.

Dodd could smell the grass and the hot scent of pussy and whatever perfume it was the girl was wearing. He could hear the slapping of Jensen’s full heavy balls against the girl’s ass and his own heavy breathing as he jerked his cock, still holding the lacy pink panties against his bulging balls. God he loved small town picnics. The food was always good and the dessert was even better.

He could feel the weight building at the back of his balls, and as Salina cried out that she was coming, Jensen’s heavy grunt told a similar story. But even in his discomfort, the congressmen held out, moving himself into position as Jensen pulled free, his chest still heaving, his cock still dripping cum. He positioned himself to the side of the girl, holding her skirt up away from her clean shaven pussy with one hand, while the other held her engorged lips wide apart.

Then the congressman was ready. He knelt on the grass between her spread legs and gave one last hard tug and a grunt as he spurted viscous splashes of semen onto Salina Hayes’s smooth pink mound and over her dilated pout. Squirt after arching squirt of cum erupted from his balls and up through his aching cock. And with each grunt of release, he bent closer to the girl until he was practically on top of her, his face nearly touching her heaving breasts, his cock only a hair’s breadth from her swollen cunt.

Finally when he could breathe again, he pulled away and wiped his cock on her lace panties. It had been as close as he could get to coming inside her cunt while riding her hard. Sex by proxy was not the ideal, but it wasn’t so bad either. And he was, after all, a faithful family man.

As he zipped himself back into his trousers and tucked his shirt, he watched while Jensen wiped the girl’s cunt on a neatly folded white handkerchief before he helped her to her feet, her face glowing , her smile ecstatic, as she turned to the congressmen.

“Salina, my dear, you’ve been such a great help to me, and to my campaign by making my life a little easier. You’re such a patriotic young woman. People like you are the future of this great country. I have no doubt that if you keep up your studies, someday you may be taking over my job.” He kissed her affectionately on the cheek, giving her lovely tits a quick parting caress as he did so. Then he turned to his aid. “Come on, Jensen, Mrs. Dodd will be looking for me, no doubt.”

Back at the picnic, dessert and coffee were being served up, which was good because after he came, the congressman was always ravenous. He found himself in the dessert line behind the mayor.

“Sorry to have to leave you to your own devices like that, Congressman Dodd,” the mayor said, taking a big slab of devils food cake onto his already full plate, “But you know how it is when you serve the people.”

“No need to apologize at all, Mayor Hayes. I completely understand.”

The two picked up Styrofoam cups of coffee and headed back to the table.

After they’d both had a minute to sample their respective caches of dessert, the mayor spoke around a mouthful of cake. “You seemed well occupied with that young reporter. I wasn’t too worried about leaving you with her. Knowing how you are with the press, I figured you could handle her.”

The cake stuck at the back of the congressman’s throat and he gulped coffee nearly scalding his tongue. “Reporter?”

“Salina Hayes. Surely she told you. Works with some lefty magazine. Don’t think much of her politics, but she seemed nice enough, polite. Good looking woman.”

“You mean she’s not your daughter?”

The mayor laughed. “Oh heavens no. The last name’s just a coincidence.”

“But you said she was studying political science at the university.”

“That’s right. Our daughter, Lisa. She’s taking summer courses though and won’t be home until next month. Powerfully disappointed she didn’t get to meet you though. You’re her hero, you know?”

Trying not to panic, Dodd looked around for some sign of Salina Hayes, but she was nowhere to be found. His appetite was suddenly gone, and he was about to excuse himself for a frantic look around when Jensen approached.

“Sir, this is for you.” He handed the congressman a neatly folded note ripped from a spiral notebook, the kind Dodd could imagine a reporter using. His stomach turned to ice. Was this it then? Was she writing him a note telling him to kiss his career good-bye? Feeling suddenly sick, he took the note, holding his breath as he opened it slowly. It read:

 

Thanks for the use of your body guard. He was very helpful. A woman just needs some relief now and again. Thought I was going to have to go back to the hotel, have a shower and just take care of it, the way we women often must.

S. H.

p.s.

In case you’re wondering, I minored in theatre in college.

 

political-parties-1-728

Congressman Dodd nearly fainted with relief. He folded the note carefully and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks Jensen. You’ve been a real help.”

Mrs. Dodd returned from the community center with two new quilts she’d bought. Christmas gifts, she said. The congressman enjoyed the rest of his cake and cheerfully joined the mayor and his neighbors in a rousing discussion on the falling prices of soy beans.

 

Shameless Selfie Peek at a Shameless Diary

Dreams imageIMG_0347

 

It’s Shameless Selfie time again, and with me being in the honeymoon stage of this year’s NaNoWriMo I find myself thinking a lot about what it means to be a scribe, to be a wordsmith. That being the case, I thought it would be a good time to take a little shameless peek at In The Flesh and Susan’s secret diary. Enjoy!

 

In The Flesh Blurb:

When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

kdgrace-itf-finalIn The Flesh Excerpt — Not Alone in the Dark:

I wasn’t alone in the dark. I knew that the first time I entered the crypt at Chapel House. I could feel a presence there, almost as though someone stood just behind me, about to reach out and touch me. The shiver over my skin was not so much from fear, though certainly there was an element of fear, as it was from longing, bone-deep longing. I could barely breathe for it, I could barely stand under the weight of it, and I couldn’t imagine how such an ache, such a hunger could exist inside my flesh and not tear me apart. I was astonished that Annie seemed completely unaware of anything out of the ordinary, and to be quite honest, I wasn’t anxious to share it with her.

She continued to chatter on about her plans to make Chapel House over with a state of the art kitchen—she who didn’t cook, and a master suite that would rival the finest hotels in London. Strange that I could listen with one part of my brain and comment on her ideas for an open plan living space, for a library in the choir loft, for a wet room in the sacristy, while with another part of my brain I felt like every cell of my body was responding to whatever it was, whoever it was that I was certain waited there in the darkness, just beyond the beam of Annie’s Maglite.

 

*****

 

The departmentalizing of Annie’s plans and the feel of the presence in the darkness became much more difficult when I felt the closeness of a warm, hard body against my back and the humid nip of a kiss on the nape of my neck. I explained away my little gasp of surprise to Annie by saying I’d almost lost my footing. I should have been frightened. I should have been terrified, and believe me, I was. But by the time I felt a large hand splayed low against my belly, by the time I was certain of the maleness pressed hard and low just above my butt, I was far more intrigued than I was frightened. Even if terror had won out, I don’t think I could have forced myself to move as the hand in the darkness migrated to cup my breasts and thumb my nipples, first one, then the other, and the slow grind and undulation from behind became more demanding.

“The roses, they smell lovely.” I managed a breathless response to Annie’s ramblings about plans for the overgrown mess of a garden. “You might want to consider a scent garden.”

She laughed. “I can’t smell anything, but then you were always the one with the sensitive nose. Of course I’ll make sure there are lots of roses.” She knew they were my favorite, but I couldn’t imagine her not smelling them; the scent was nearly overwhelming in the tight space of the crypt. To my surprise, as she rambled on about a patio with a Jacuzzi, the smell of roses was subsumed in my own scent and the humid, piquant scent of a man well aroused. The hand on my breast began a slow, torturous descent, and I wanted nothing more than for Annie to keep talking, keep planning, anything to keep her from dragging me away from this place, at least for a few more minutes.

I asked about the Jacuzzi, hoping that would give me another minute. By the time she got started about the sites she’d looked up online and the builders she’d talked to, I was rocking back against the hardness, craning my neck to yield as much bare skin as possible to teeth and tongue and lips all soft and warm and wet and sharp and hard and demanding. Oh,

I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, but looking back, I wonder how the hell Annie couldn’t see? How could she have missed it? But she rattled on and on about some builder just up the road near Keswick who was supposed to be really good, some guy named Michael. Like I gave a fuck.

The study suddenly felt stuffy and overheated, and Michael’s grip on my hand convulsed. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at me.

Magda paid little attention to either my discomfort or Michael’s. She just kept on reading.

He was cute, Annie said. That led to observations about this Michael’s broad shoulders and nice arse and speculation as to whether or not he would be any good in bed, and was it wise to seduce him before he put in her Jacuzzi or wait till after and seduce him in it. All the while I nodded and pretended to be interested.

I was thankful for the extra time, but Christ, how could she not notice me standing there, legs apart, rocking back and forth and shifting from foot to foot like I had ants in my knickers? In truth, what I wanted in my knickers surely couldn’t actually be there, and yet I felt it, fucking hell, how I felt it! I swear, I could feel muscle and sinew. Hell, I could feel the actual shape of an erection as though we were both naked, as though all he need do, this dark being who surely was just my imagination, was bend me over and open me, me struggling to keep my breathing quiet, me struggling to focus enough attention on my friend that she wouldn’t suspect I was about to come. Oh yes, I was terrified. I would graveyard-angel-1have, should have, run, if I hadn’t been so intrigued, so turned on. I just wanted one more second, and then another and another.

In desperation that shocks me even now as I write this in the dark silence of Annie’s flat, I grabbed onto a wrist that I swear was as solid and warm as my own and guided the caress, the tease, the fondling of fingers and palm down my belly toward where I really needed it to be.

Annie yammered on about this Michael, all the things she’d heard about him, all the things she wanted to do to him—at least I think she did. My God, my whole body felt alive, every cell, every molecule. I could damn near feel the coursing of my own blood through my veins. You have no idea what an exhilarating combination fear and arousal make. I lost track of what Annie was saying, and the air was filled with the scent of sex. I could smell him, actually smell this phantom man, who was as near release as I was, and I was sure, as my knees gave beneath me, I felt the warm wet of his orgasm against my lower back. And then for an instant everything around me was silk and darkness, so perfect, so ecstatic. But just beyond that warm tight space, I knew. I knew as well as I know my own breath, I was terrified, and what I felt was like no terror I’d ever known before and, holy God in heaven, I want to feel it again.

 

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“No one writes paranormal fiction like KD Grace. In penning her tales of myths and magic, she plumbs psychological and spiritual depths that most authors don’t even realize exist. Ms. Grace ignores tropes and conventions, following the trail of her stories down the rabbit hole of her own fertile imagination. The truths she unearths amaze, arouse, terrify and delight.” Lisabet Sarai

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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