Tag Archives: sex

Allotted Views and Veggie Wet Dreams

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I already have a reputation for writing garden porn, so when Sweetmeats Press’s fearless leader KoJo Black asked me if I’d write a dirty voyeurism story for the Immoral Views anthology, I knew it had to be garden porn. And here’s why.

Space for veg gardening is at a premium in the urban areas of the UK, and though we live in a bedroom community near London, we still don’t have a lot of space, and we’ve planted up every bit of our garden we can with veg. Every year the lawn gets smaller and the veg patch gets bigger, and we have gardener’s wet dreams of being able to plant all the sweet corn we can eat, or being able to have enough peas to freeze.

Because of where we live, there’s a very long wait for allotments. (For my American readers, allotments are the UK version of Victory Gardens.) We put in for an allotment three years ago. We live in hope. And in the meantime, the lawn still gets smaller.

There are some gorgeous allotments on one of our favourite walking paths set on the edge of the lovely village of Sheer along the Tillingbourne River. Every time we walk that route, we linger and gaze longingly over the fence at the brassicas and strawberries and runner beans and every other veg and fruit imaginable. We do that at every allotment, actually, we give it our best voyeuristic look-see, our pulse rates accelerate, and we talk dirty to each other – you know, compost-type dirty, phallic veg, type dirty, luscious, probing the earth type dirty. Oh yes, how we fantasise!

That was the actual inspiration for my story of Rose, who lives in a big house overlooking the Bluebell Street Allotments, and Jonathan, who is assigned the plot right below her bedroom window. His nasty, unorthodox gardening techniques get Rose’s full attention, and give her hours of filthy, blissful entertainment. But just how secret is her voyeuristic pleasure? Does Jonathan know more than he’s letting on?

Blurb:

When the mysterious JONATHAN takes on the thin strip of bramble-infested ground in the Blue Bell Street Allotments, veg gardener extraordinaire, ROSE, whose bedroom window overlooks his ‘small holding,’ wonders what idiot would take on such a project. When she ‘accidentally’ sees him chanting a bit of woo-woo and having a midnight wank under a full moon in his newly rotovated plot, she suspects his methods aren’t found in any RHS manual.

As watching his late night garden antics becomes more for voyeuristic pleasure than for sussing out sound horticultural practices, and as Jonathan’s garden grows more exquisite with every wank, Rose begins to wonder if there just might be something to a little sex woo-woo in the garden. But can she learn Jonathan’s secret without him learning hers, or will she be forced to come clean?

Excerpt:

Before my eyes, he stepped out of a pair of ratty Birkenstocks and slid baggy cargo trousers off over his straight hips and the pillowed swell of his bottom. He kicked them carelessly to one side. Apparently the occasion had called for commando, and I didn’t have to endure more disrobing before I was treated to the full-on. He was heavy, but not yet erect, hanging as though the weight of his cock was too much to comfortably bear so precariously stretched between his thighs. It sprawled over the rounded outward press of his balls in their cushion of springy curls that looked nearly transparent in the pale light.

The moon was a burnished disk, peeking through the branches of the lime trees on the far edge of the allotments. He stood with his back to it and his expanding personal geography facing my window. Then he raised his head, and my heart did a guilty flip-flop, certain he’d caught me watching. But he couldn’t possibly see me, I reassured myself as he stood there eyes lifted, chest rising and falling beneath the twin peaks of those exquisite nipples, rising and falling almost as though he were about to lift his voice in song and serenade me. But serenading wasn’t what he had in mind.

I held my breath. My pulse was a frantic flutter against my throat. My eyes stung from not blinking, not wanting to miss anything. Then his right hand took control of his penis with a firm grip, a gardener’s grip, a gardener who knew the proper use of his tools. At the moment of contact a shudder ran up his straight spine, and a tight grunt followed by a throaty sigh escaped his parted full lips.

It wasn’t until then that I believed the man was actually going to do it. He was actually going to have a wank right there on his well-rotovated allotment. And at that same moment, my own plan of action became equally evident. I was not going to go back to bed and give the man his privacy, privacy he didn’t even know he no longer had, so would obviously not miss. I was going to stay right where I was and watch. I was going to watch until the fat lady sang, and I was going to have a little diddle of my own. If he could be so brazen to cause such a disturbance just below my window on a work night, then I could be brazen too.

Buy links:

Amazon UK (paperback)
Smashwords

Eroticon Rocks Bristol

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Apoligies from the photo staff: for the lack of pictures of the event. Without my trusty hubby there to egg on and facilitate picture taking, I sometimes get caught up in the event and forget. Sadly, or happily, depending on how you look at it, this was one of those times. So you get mostly WORD pictures. Those I’m better at.

I love writing conferences! I’ve never been to one in which I’ve not had a wonderful time and walked away enriched by the experience. The very first ever, long awaited Eroticon, which took place Saturday in Bristol, was no exception. It was the first, but I’m sure all of us who attended are hoping it won’t be the last.

I met Ruby Kiddell in Las Vegas at the EAA Conference last September. Little did I know what that event would set in motion, for the lovely, creative Ruby. Six months later, the woman had somehow, almost as if by magic, put together an amazing event in an amazing city, with amazing guest speakers attended by amazing folks who like to write sexy amazing stuff – online or in story.

For me, the event really started on Friday when I hopped the train to Bristol, my head still spinning with the final details of Riding the Ether. I arrived in Bristol early afternoon and took a taxi to the hotel room. The day was sunny and bright and the air was filled with the promise of spring, which was enough to drive me into the streets, as soon as I was settled in the hotel room, to take in the city. I suppose it’s the walking genes, but I’m a firm believer that in order to really know the soul of a place, it has to be explored with soles – one foot at a time.

I walked in the sunshine along the waterfront. A busker played an accordion and gulls called overhead. My first priority was to find Armada House, where Eroticon was to take place the next day. It was an easy ten minute walk, even playing the shutter-snapping tourist. Once I was sure of the route to the venue, I explored College Green with its fountains and Cathedral, and then walked down past Queens Square, where the first blackbird I’d heard for the season seriously sang from a nearby tree. Back at the waterfront, I settled in for a pint and a salad for dinner while I worked on the read-thru for Ether.

The next day, I arrived early in typical KD fashion, never wanting to miss anything. I’d barely gotten in the door before I met the lovely Jilly Boyd, whom I only knew online. Just then Janine Ashbless arrived. What a delight to see her two weekends in a row. She was followed shortly by Kay Jaybee, Lucy Felthouse and Victoria Blisse. When Rebecca Bond showed up, it felt a bit like a reunion from last week. And there was a whole room full of new people to meet and old friends to get reacquainted with.

After Danish and coffee and a chance to network, the day began with panels, classes, and discussions enough to spoil us for choice (link to courses) The only real problem was that it was impossible to be in two places at once.

The first panel was Identity Ethics and Sex Blogging, which was full of thought provoking insights. Though my blog is not a sex blog, most of what was said and discussed on the panel resonated with anyone who writes sex, whether it’s self-help, personal experience, poetry or fiction.

One of the most eye-opening statements came from Zoe Margolis, AKA Girl with a One Track Mind, who said. ‘It’s a sad state of affairs that we can’t be open about sex. Outside this room, people would think what we’re doing is saucy, perverted.’

I was stunned. I write erotica and surround myself with others who also write erotica and people who are comfortable with their own sexuality and allowing others the space to explore theirs. But Zoe’s statement was a powerful reminder of what we’re up against, as bloggers and authors, and what needs to change before sexuality can be embraced and celebrated for the important part of the human experience that it is.

Armada House, home of Eroticon 2012

Scarlett French, who later led a course of her own called, ‘Taking your writing beyond the page,’ asked the thought-provoking question: Do we perpetuate the segmenting and separating of sex from the rest of life by blogging under a pseudonym?

The answer was a resounding yes, but sadly there didn’t seem to be a real solution for the problem.

Zoe then commented about a blogger’s tea party in New York, which was by roughly an equal number of men and women. When asked. The women blogged under a pseudonym because they feared being judged. The men, however, blogged under a pseudonym only because they wanted to keep their private life separate.

I don’t have the time nor space to talk about all the panels and workshops, however, I felt that the first panel set the tone for the rest of the day and was so full of food for thought that it alone would have made the day worth it. Please check the link for more details on the events and for some wonderful posts from the participants. And there were so many fabulous people there. I could name-drop all day.

Another fabulous encounter, for me, happened when my lovely, publisher, Hazel Cushion, from Xcite Books, who was there for the panel of publishers, quietly directed me to the Lovehoney Sex Toys booth to meet the wonderful, Alice Little in her sassy cherry-print frock. Lovehoney sells and promotes my novels, and Alice is a fan of The Initiation of Ms Holly. Lovehoney have been fabulous supporters and seriously good sales rep for my work. It was a pleasure to meet the people behind the lovely toys and equally lovely book sales. Joined by my dear friend and fab author, Kay Jaybee, we talked writing and books and sex toys. Lovehoney were one of the sponsors of the event, and Alice was very happy to talk us through the range that Lovehoney had brought to display. I’ll be placing an order …

We spent a happy few minutes thumbing through the amazing prints of fabulous photographer, John Tisbury, chatting with Jade Whisk about stories the prints sparked for us and the pitfalls of getting published. After that, I split the next session between the Northern Birds, Lucy Felthouse and Victoria Blisse, who were running a workshop on promoting, marketing and blog tours, which was, in typical Felthouse /Blisse fashion, informative, sassy and fun. Then I rushed downstairs to catch the second half of the panel on blogging and the press.

The evening was topped off by a stunning demonstration of spanking by London Faerie and Lori Smith of Bitch Buzz, and a gorgeous burlesque performance. Sadly, for all of us authors, who came prepared to read, there was not enough time for the readings. Too many wonderful events, not enough time.

The day ended with dinner with Maxim Jakubowski, Jacqui Brocker, Josephine Myles, Lily Harlem, Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse. After

Hazel Cushion presents the 2012 Xcite Award to Alice Litte representing Lovehoney, who won the Best Sex Toys Shop award.

burgers and chips and much conversation about – you guessed it – writing and sex, we all headed to our respective hotels. As it turned out Lily Harlem, Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse were staying in the same hotel as I was, and Josephine Miles had an hour to kill before catching her taxi to the train station. AND our hotel had a quiet bar.

Five smutters, a good supply of drinks, alcoholic and otherwise, and as you can imagine, it was filth time! By the end of the evening we had schemed future anthologies, nasty stories, and had filthy discussions of the ones that got away and how glad we were they did. Oh, and did I mention, we talked writing? As fabulous as the event was, what these events do that’s the very best part for me, is give writers, who are by nature, solitary creatures, who seldom come out of their caves unless they HAVE to, a chance to celebrate their craft with other writers. I know, I know, it’s called networking, but that word is so business-like and cold. I’m kind of toying with the word smutworking. When sex writers get together, it’s not so much about what we can do for each other. It’s more about a common experience shared and made somehow deeper and more celebratory for the being shared by a bunch of introverts.

The view across the square to our hotel, where much creative smuttery happened

I had quality time with fabulous people – some who were my heroes before I spent time with them, and many who certainly were AFTER. Gathering for a weekend with other sex writers, whether it’s fiction, non-fiction, or blogging, makes me realize just how important what we do is. Sex writers are at the forefront of the boundary pushing that needs to happen for sexuality to stop being the nasty that’s hush-hush and separate from the rest of the human experience and become the vibrant, integrated celebration and perpetuator of life that it truly is. We’ve got our work cut out for us, but wow, are we in good company!

Rebecca Bond Shares the Story Behind Painted Pussycat

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For the past couple of weeks I’ve been featuring a different one of the fabulous writers from the stunning Sweetmeats Press anthology, Immoral Views, and this week’s very talented author is the yummy Rebecca Bond, whose sexy story, Painted Pussycat has a lot more than just ink on the page. Welcome, Rebecca!

Mr Black of Sweetmeats fame is a fascinating chap, full of mystery and intrigue, and when I was first introduced to him by a fellow author I didn’t know what to think as he politely introduced himself before asking me to contribute to a new anthology he was producing. I’m still very new to this game so obviously I blushed from ear to ear and accepted his offer (if I remember rightly, I purchasing a rather nifty little Sh! bullet at that very moment – probably the main cause of my blushes).

So, the theme was set. Voyeurism. Oooooo, tough one for this little miss. I had an idea that had been rattling around my brain for a while, a story based solely on one woman’s love for tattoos, and so this theme finally allowed the idea to jump from my head and out onto the page. I was also thinking of the challenge for the artist who had been drafted in to illustrate Immoral Views; how on earth would he interpret my tattoo-laced words into imagery? *cue sadistic laugh*

The art of inking is something I’ve long been fascinated with. I had my first tattoo when I was only eighteen. Yes, I was a bit tipsy (Dutch courage for the pain, but also not recommended for going under the needle as it increases the bleed!) and if I remember rightly I was skiving off college for the occasion, but from the very moment I was pushed into the artist’s chair, I felt a strange sense of peace. As the needle began to pierce the skin of my back I felt the tension and stress seep from my body and that for me was enough.

What better feeling than one ultimate stress reliever coupled with another – inking and sex! I’m a fan of both so it’s an utter no-brainer – mash them up and what do you get? Well, my friends, you get Painted Pussycat; the story of one young woman’s journey through inking, from the very first prick of the needle, to the full bodied back piece applied whilst suspended on high upon a St Andrews cross on the stage in the concealed theatre in the back of Ink Majestic. May I introduce you to the young Poppy, the innocent Rexxie Belle…?

Excerpt:

“I’ve seen the way you look at them, Poppy,” she said, her voice husky. “I’ve seen the way you look at me too.”

I looked up at her, dazed and confused, not understanding what she meant. She took my hand and led me through the salon and to a curtained doorway at the rear of the shop. I followed warily, but eager to please. We walked down a long corridor to another room. Her office.

Glancing around, I absorbed the decor – the plush furniture, soft and velvet, the bright coloured cushions that dappled the chairs, the art on the walls, abstract designs and intriguing photography hung in ornate frames. Her desk was in the centre. Dark mahogany. Smooth. Shiny.

“Why do you come here?”

I met her gaze.

“I don’t know.”

She smirked at me and came closer, circling my body like a panther stalking its prey.

“Yes you do. Admit it, Poppy, you come here because it makes you feel good.”

I nodded, what else could I do? She was right after all, I did go there because it made me feel good. It made me feel so fuckin’ good, so fuckin’ alive, so fuckin’. . .horny. She went to her desk, opening a drawer and taking out a tattoo gun. I watched, mouth agape, as she lined up the equipment. She plugged in the gun and looked up at me, a smirk on her face and a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Sit,” she said again, tapping the top of the desk with her left hand.

Gripped by fear, I shook my head. No way was I going to let Carrie loose on my skin with that needle. I didn’t even want a tattoo. Or did I? I eyed her cautiously, but soon gave in and jumped onto the desk. She pushed me gently onto my back, her fingers toying with the hem of my plain white tee before pulling it up to expose my torso.

“It’s okay, Poppy. It’s just a little tattoo, nothing to worry about.” She was delighting in this, in the power the ink had over me.

My skin prickled as she brushed her fingertips over me, goose-bumps dappling my flesh.

“Just relax.”

I closed my eyes as the sound of the gun filled the room, the buzz hitting my senses with startling intensity. My loins sizzled in anticipation of the first prick of the needle. Nervous excitement coursed through my veins and as Carrie prepped my exposed flesh I felt myself falling under her spell.

“You ready?” She asked as I stared up at her through hooded lids.

“Yes.”

God, it was amazing! As soon as the needle of the gun pierced my flesh I was under, hypnotised by the way it scratched my skin. I didn’t know what she was drawing onto me and I didn’t care. All I cared about in that moment was the throbbing between my thighs. It felt so good and as Carrie lifted the gun from my skin and announced that she was finished, I was begging for more.

“Oh no, pussycat, not yet,” she purred against my ear.

Putting the gun down, she pulled off her gloves and reached for the button of my jeans. She popped it open and tugged the black denim over my hips and down my legs. I looked at her, a smile on my face. I felt lazy and languid, letting her petite hand cup my mound and her warmth seep through the fabric of my panties. Another revelation. I clearly wasn’t averse to same sex relations.

It felt so right, the way she stroked my pussy through my panties, teasing me with gentle slaps to my cunt. I was mewing for her, bucking my hips up towards her hand, begging for more of her tantalising touch.

“You’re so wet, pussycat,” she said. “This is from the ink. The tattoo is a powerful thing and should never, ever be taken lightly.”

I looked at her and nodded, “it’s beautiful. I want more.”

Her hand was gone in an instant. As were my panties. She pushed my ankles until my feet were flat on the desk and my legs were parted wide. God! It felt so good the first time she touched me like that, her tongue snaking out from between parted lips and licking the length of my slit.

I cried out in unexpected pleasure as she lapped at my cunt, like the cat that had finally got the cream. Her cute, red lips latched onto my clit and lavished the swollen bead with attention. It was better than anything I had experienced. Whether it was due to the adrenaline racing through my veins from the tattoo or because I was finally being touched by another I do not know, but the orgasm that raged through my body was far superior to anything I had ever experienced at the hands of myself.

I glanced down and met her eyes, watching as she continued to feast on my sex, writhing as she nipped and nibbled her way along one plump pussy lip and then the other. She slid a finger inside my warmth and I came again, climaxing as I had never done before.

Carrie stood, smiling as she gazed down at me.

“Here,” she said, “take my hand.”

I grabbed her hand and let her pull me from the desk. I followed her over to the full length mirror that stood in the corner of her office. She touched my skin where the tattoo now existed and whispered in my ear, “beautiful, pussycat.”

“Pussycat?” I asked as she said what appeared to be my new nickname again.

Her nails grazed across my hip and my pulse raced.

“Yes, a perfect nickname for the new pet of Ink Majestic, don’t you think?”

“I. . .er. . .I don’t understand.”

“Poppy, darling, I saw the potential in you as soon as you walked through our door. The way you watched your friend get her tattoo, I recognised it instantly.”

I still didn’t understand. “Recognised what?”

Carrie giggled and kissed my neck lightly, “that you are the one we’ve been waiting for. You, darling Poppy, are The Art Project.”

I gulped. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the name alone terrified me. Her hand smoothed its way down my torso and back to my pussy, cupping me before slipping a finger through my folds.

“You’re so wet. Yes, I think you will fit in at The House just fine.”

 

Buy Links:

Painted Pussycat for Kindle

Immoral Views for Kindle or Print

About Rebecca Bond
Bewitched by the vibrancy of city life, Rebecca Bond currently resides in London with her fiancé, The Boy. Originally from the sleepy English fenlands, she uses a combination of urban and rural inspiration to carve stories steeped in fantasy. Often found spinning her biro of an eve, Rebecca transforms the day’s grind into scribblings of mystique.
Only a year into ‘public’ writing, Rebecca’s debut publications appear in the anthologies, Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth (ed. Lucy Felthouse) and Immoral Views (Sweetmeats Press). She also has short stories in a variety of erotic sub-genres published by Ravenous Romance, Noble Romance, Oysters and Chocolate, The Erotic Woman, Erotica for All and Every Night Erotica.
Further information about Rebecca’s latest releases can be found at www.missrebeccabond.co.uk
Find Rebecca at:
http://www.missrebeccabond.co.uk/
https://twitter.com/Rebecca_Bond
http://www.facebook.com/MissRebeccaBond

Body Temperature and Rising is Here! It’s Party Time!

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I finally got that much-anticipated white box from the postman, the one contining my author’s copies of Body Temperature and Rising. With the More Bang Reading Slam and the Launch party for Body Temperature and Rising coming up next weekend, I’m elated. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Kindle, but there’s just nothing like reading out-loud from a real-live, glossy-covered, paper-smelling book! I’m anticipating the total reading experience.

Body Temperature and Rising is the first novel of my paranormal eritoc Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy, and I’ve had as much fun doing the research as I have had writing Marie and Tim and Anderson and the story of Tara and the Elemental Coven. In honour of the release of the gorgeous print version, and sort of as an apetiser, I’m giving you a yummy teaser today, along with a few of the fabulous photos I’ve taken while I dreamed and schemed this triolgy in the Lake District. Enjoy!

Excerpt:

‘Tim,’ Marie reached over and took his hand. For a second, she thought he would pull away, but instead, he wrapped his fingers around hers.

Raven Crag near Thirlemere. The sights of sinister magic in BTR

‘Tim, what happened with Serina Ravenmoor on Raven Crag?’

The blush that rose from the open collar of his shirt up over his cheeks was dark crimson. The muscles of his jaw twitched, and his shoulders got even stiffer. ‘Nothing happened, Marie.’

‘Look Tim I really am sorry that I wasn’t awake to be there for you and that I was so rude to Serina but really …’ Then she got it. ‘Oh. Nothing?’

He shook his head and glared into his coffee cup. ‘I mean she was doing sex magic, for fuck sake, and I’m not shy, but I couldn’t … I tried.’ His hand twitched beneath hers. ‘That’s when she started trying to sell me all her stupid crystals and potions to help my fucking libido. Marie, I swear, nothing like that has ever happened to me before.’

‘Tim, look at me.’ When his eyes met hers, she continued. ‘You’ve felt sex magic before just like I have, and how hard was it to get turned on?’

A view from the top of Raven Crag, not from the sheer rock face.

He huffed out a breath, and raked a hand through his hair. ‘It wasn’t getting turned on that was the problem, it was trying to keep from ripping off my jeans and fucking everything in sight. That was the problem.’ His hand suddenly went low to his belly. Marie couldn’t help noticing that even the thought of what the ghosts made him feel, what the Elementals made him feel caused an instant bulge against his fly. She forced her attention back to his face, but not before she remembered the silky hard feel of his cock in her hand there in the manger, and her pussy was most definitely sympathetic.

He continued. ‘And that burn, you know what I mean. At first it hurts like hell until you

Inspiration for Lacewing Farm

get used to it. Then is twists and turns and rearranges itself until, I swear, Marie, it feels so damn good, and …’ His voice drifted off. ‘I didn’t feel that. I didn’t feel that at all.’ For a second the two sat in silence as Tim contemplated his observation, then he spoke softly. ‘Okay, so there was no magic. You did warn me that Serina Ravenmoor was a quack, but still, the woman wasn’t exactly unattractive, was she? If I’d met her at a pub and we’d spent an evening together over a few drinks …’

Holding her breath, Marie leaned forward and laid her hand on the bulge at his crotch, and he sucked air. ‘Tim, if there is magic that makes us horny, don’t you think maybe there could also be magic that makes us, you know, not able to. Maybe magic that’s there for our own protection?’

He placed his hand on hers, and rocked his hips forward into her touch, and his eyelids fluttered. ‘I think it’s a theory worth investigating, and we do have unfinished business, don’t we?’

More Bang Reading Slam Fund Raiser

To help celebrate the launch of her new novel, Body Temperature and Rising, K D Grace, with her fabulous co-sponsors, the Fannies Rule Groups headed up by amazing Sarah Berry present theMore Bang Reading Slam (That’s short for more bang for your buck).

This evening of hot reading is very special because all proceeds will go to the Sexual Advice Association. There’ll be a charge of £5 for guests and participants, all for a good cause!

There’ll be fizz and cupcakes. But mostly there’ll be lots of fun and lots of sexy readings from lots of sexy readers strutting their stuff and making the audience squirm deliciously in their seats.

When: Friday 24th February at 6:30

Where:Sh! Portobello

Cost: £5

BODY TEMPERATURE AND RISING LAUNCH PARTY

Come celebrate with the witches and the ghosts and all the very naughtiest people from far and wide. While the author promises no one will be turned into a newt, it is recommended that all guests come prepared for love spells and squirming in the seats, both of which, Sh! is well equipped to handle.

There’ll be fizz and cupcakes all served up in the fabulously sexy surrounds of Sh! Hoxton! Don’t miss the magic!

Where: Sh! Hoxton

When: Saturday 25th February 6:30 pm

No charge

 

Kris Andersson Talks Techno-Passion

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I think we should always thank Hollywood legend Hedy Lamarr, not only for being one of the great beauties of the 20th century but also for being the unlikely genius who came up with the idea that led to the invention of the mobile phone.

For without that communications breakthrough, Acts of Passion, one of my personal favourite stories, could never have developed.

It’s only thanks to the idea of texting – and sexting – that the steamy saga of a young actor’s pursuit of a middle aged man took hold and grew.

In an age of letter writing and even the traditional telephone, the single act that launches the story could never have taken place and the subsequent steamy saga of lust and deception would have been lost.

Here’s just a taste of what makes 21st century mobile technology so important to Acts of Passion:

…It was around a fortnight later when I was at dinner with friends, that the phone vibrated and that strange message came up on screen: “You look good with a pint and your eyes say a lot.”

If I’d ignored it, I might have saved myself the trouble of what was to come but instead I texted back: “Thanks for that. It was a pleasure meeting you too.”

That really should have been the end of it. I had made no particular response to the implied come on; there was no suggestion that I was being anything more than polite with a relative stranger.

But a fortnight later I was awoken at around 1am by the sound of the phone vibrating – another text: “I have a hard-on and don’t know what to do.”

I was sleepy and at first confused but then I decided he was joking and sent back what I thought was a similarly lighthearted message: “Why don’t you have a wank?”

“I don’t know how. Will you tell me what to do?”

“You just grab your cock and rub.”

The phone was silent for a few minutes before it vibrated again and the next message came through: “There’s a bit of liquid dribbling out of my bell end. Is this normal?”

I should have stopped right there but I was excited enough by the game to reply: “It’s called pre-cum. Keep rubbing up and down.”

Then came the final text of the night: “OH FUCKING HELL!!!!!!!!!…

*****

If that’s the sort of fun you can have with a simple text message – and trust me, you really can enjoy yourself that much – just imagine the erotic potential of the world of Skype!

There’s no sexting in While the Wife’s Away, my debut trio of short stories, but there is sex in a scenic lift and voyeurism via CCTV…

It was around ten that evening that the intercom sounded and Sir Gordon said he needed to see me.

It may have been late but this was the time he did most of his paperwork so I went to see what important business matter couldn’t wait till tomorrow.

As I entered, he was sitting on the sofa, dressed in his customary silk pyjamas and dressing gown, watching television.

But it was what he was watching, or just finishing watching, that stopped me in my tracks, for I could see myself on the screen, slumped naked on the arm of the tatty sofa in Terry’s shed as the gardener pulled up his trousers and turned so he was looking into the lens of a secret camera, pausing to smile and wink just as I had seen him do at the end of his session with the eager Irene that afternoon.

“He’s quite a guy our Terry isn’t he?” said Sir Gordon, taking a sip from a glass of whisky and then replacing the glass on the table beside the couch where he was sitting, completely undisturbed by the fact that I now knew my employer was a voyeur.

“He’s not my type really – we only ever did it the once just to establish who gives the orders – but he’s good for putting on a show for an old man like me and, as I can see you know, he always delivers…

The technology adds a nice 21st century twists to the stories but ultimately it’s the sex that counts and the variety and range of erotic the situations the characters find themselves in.

*****

My readers will know that what I like most is big hairy men who like to fuck and be fucked – anywhere and any time!

Even in the 21st century, the technology is just an aid to the storytelling – and who needs a mobile phone once you have two men sweating, shafting and sharing their spunk?

Blurb:

While the Wife’s Away is a collection of three gay short stories from well-known erotic author Kris Andersson.

While the Wife’s Away: When the boss suggests an evening meeting at his home and makes it quite clear that his wife is away for the night, you can guarantee that there will be more than statistics and spread sheets on the agenda – and by the end of the night a new sort of business partnership has been created.

Masters and Servants: It’s hard losing your job – and even harder looking for something new. But just how far will one man go to impress the boss? From steamy encounters in the office to passion in a scenic lift and shower room to lust in the potting shed, this is one job search that proves especially stimulating!

The Sin of Father Anthony: When a new priest arrives in town, one lapsed Catholic decides it’s time to start attending Mass again – but he has more than absolution on his mind as he uses his girlfriend to get closer to the true object of his desire and give him a night he’ll never forget. From lusty housekeepers and choir mistresses to a hairy trucker with a taste for stockings and suspenders, this is a story packed with sexual thrills for a young man on a personal mission to satisfy his gay passion.

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Bio:
Kris Andersson is an award-winning writer – and occasional actor – who specialises in gay erotica. His work has been described as both pacy and steamy. His current titles include While The Wife’s Away – a collection of three stories, Acts of Passion, and A Special Gift.  A fourth title is expected to be published very soon and will take Kris in a very different direction, a gay love story set against the horrors of the First World War and its aftermath.