Good Reviews Make Me Happy

Check out this praise for my story "And the Award Goes To...," now available in the Erotika: Bedtime Stories anthology:

When attending a nationally televised awards show, famous attendees must be aware of the ever present public eye, the flashing photo ops, and possibility of scandal.

For some stars, this might be an opportunity for an arousing game of sexual chance - the excitement heightened by the fact that a miscue could result in front page material, plastered across the checkout lines of the world. How far will they go?

That's a question that author Gwen Masters puts forth in her enticing wordplay for Erotika: Bedtime Stories, a new collection of sensual stories just released by Sensorotika Press. The action Gwen depicts on the floor of the Country Music Awards is so real that one wonders if she hasn't been seated at the CMAs herself at some point. It's a backstage look at just what happens in the limos that speed away from such events that never backs down and never disappoints.

Makes one wonder, indeed. *wink*

To read an excerpt from the story and get the book, go here.

"And the Award Goes To..."

"And the Award Goes To..." is yet another story out of the new Erotika: Bedtime Stories, now available at Amazon.

Enjoy the tease...

I have a love/hate relationship with awards shows.

I hate these things. I hate the glitz and glamour and wearing a dress that costs more than my car is worth. I hate walking a red carpet and smiling my best smile, wearing jewelry that needs its own security guard, showing off teeth whitened especially for this event, as if having my photograph taken by a bazillion photographers is going to determine the celestial course of my life.

I love these things. I love the excitement and charge of joy that sluices through the crowd. I love the way my heels sink into that carpet and the way my dress swishes expensively around my thighs. I love being blinded by flashbulbs and deafened by the roar of fans. I love this little pit stop in the celestial course of my life.

These award shows are so common nowadays. There are awards for everything, from best commercial to best album to best funny home video. For the price of fame, you can line your mantle with a golden bowl of popcorn, a record plaque or two, a statue of a little naked man encased in gold. The only thing surprising about the awards shows is that bright and shining moment of political incorrectness. The moment the trophy goes to someone who bucks tradition and the usual thank-you-to-management line.

I took pride in my political incorrectness underneath the business-like façade.

I stepped out of the limousine and took Bryon’s waiting arm. We were both dressed in black. The flashbulbs danced off the diamond at my throat. My high heels sank into the carpet. His good looks drew quite a bit of female attention from the onlookers. Strong of body and with a shy smile, Bryon looked the part of the classic heartthrob.

“Who is your date?” A photographer yelled while flashbulbs made little white spots in front of my eyes.

“He’s just a friend,” I said with an air of finality that ended the questions.

That’s when I felt it. I sucked in a sharp, startled breath. My knees went weak. I clenched his arm hard enough to leave marks with my nails. “Not here, not out on the carpet,” I whimpered.

Bryon leaned close to my ear, whispering low enough that even the most sensitive microphones couldn’t pick it up. “Just a friend, huh?”

My eyes trailed down his body...down the sleek suit, the perfectly knotted tie, the finely pressed shirt...down to his hand. Buried in his pocket. Holding the remote control to the shiny silver bullet that was buried deep between my legs. I felt another jolt and my eyes flew to his. He looked back at me with a patient smile.

“I want to meet Little Jimmy Dickens,” he said, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary was happening here. I tried hard to compose myself.

“What would you say to him?” I asked.

Bryon pondered this. I stared at the pocket of his suit. He pulled his hand out into view and I breathed a sigh of relief. We stood together and smiled warmly, posing for the photographers.

“We would place bets on how many orgasms you might have before they announce Entertainer of the Year,” he said with a grin. His hand slipped into his pocket. My wary glance brought a chuckle. “Relax, kiddo,” he whispered. “Keep up all that tension, you might have a big wet spot on that dress.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” I said dryly. Bryon was my friend, but he had a wickedly evil streak running right through the gentle center. Why I had ever made that bet with him way back when, I had no idea. I didn’t even remember what the bet was. But it was damn sure I had lost, and now I was walking a red carpet with a Dior dress and a vibrating bullet.

Some things just defied all reason.

"Passing the Time"

Amber's boyfriend isn't showing as much interest these days, and she's trying to figure out why. In the meantime, if he's not around, maybe her toys will keep her occupied...

"Passing the Time" is one of my four stories (yes, four!) in the new release, Erotika: Bedtime Stories. Here's a brief tease:

“Does he want me? Does he want me not,” Amber chimed as she pumped the top of the lotion bottle. The white lotion curled into her hand and again she thought about sex with her boyfriend.

The sex was pretty damn good. Some of the best she had ever had, truth be told, and she knew it was mostly because their communication was so open. She had no problem telling him what she wanted, and he was more than happy to oblige. She loved doing what he wanted and needed, but he rarely allowed her to focus on that. He might be one of the few men on earth who meant it when he said that her orgasm was just as satisfying to him as it was to her. It had taken time for her to believe that, but believe it she did.

It had taken time for her to get used to his constant teasing, too. All the man thought about was sex—wait. That wasn’t exactly true. Not sex. Intimacy. He loved the closeness of the act, all parts of it, before, during and after. He was the only man she had ever met who could outpace her in sexual imagination, and that was saying something very significant indeed.

She had all sorts of ideas now, and no one to share them with. She wondered again where he was, and why he hadn’t called like he said he would.

Leaning over with a sigh, Amber put the lotion on the windowsill above her bed. As she did, her gaze landed on the space beside her nightstand.

On the little red box peeking out from under the bed.

In that box resided a variety of adult toys, from vibrators to dildos to pearls to clamps. She looked at the box for a very long time. In all her concern that her boyfriend didn’t feel the way he once had, her sexual desire had taken a vacation. She had played with herself the day before and found that the resulting orgasm wasn’t worth the time. It was nothing but a thin, joyless spasm of physical release that left her feeling even worse than she had before she started.

But as Amber looked at the box, she started thinking.

First she got sad.

Then she got angry.

Then she got busy.

She yanked the box out from under the bed. Something in there rattled—batteries, probably. She opened the top and looked at the first toy there, the dildo that looked quite a bit like her boyfriend’s cock. She picked it up, testing the weight of it in her hand. She looked at the phone. It sat there silently, mocking her hopes that she would hear his voice while she contemplated exactly what she was going to do with that toy.

Because she was going to do something with it, by God.

Something kinky.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The plastic had warmed in her palm. It still didn’t have the heat her boyfriend’s body did—what could? —but it would do in a pinch. And if this wasn’t a pinch, she didn’t know what was.

Her hand drifted down her chest. She ran her hand along where he had been, traced the bruise his tongue and teeth had left there a week ago. She shifted in the bed, lay down on her back and let her fingers walk all over her skin. It was slick from the lotion, warm from the shower. Goosebumps rose everywhere when she thought of the kisses he had bestowed on the back of her neck, of the way he had kissed her ear and made her sigh. She touched all those places and then some, and hardly realized her other hand was moving up and down on the toy in long, fluid strokes.

Her legs shifted. Her knees opened. She slid one hand down between them, careful not to touch the most sensitive places. She loved the way her legs felt. The smoothness of them was delightful, and she lingered there. Soon she was moving a little, pushing her body up to meet her hand. She spread her fingers and slid them between her legs.

She was wet. A tiny moan escaped her.

Like I said, it's a tease...so that's all you get!

To read more naughtiness than you can stand, click here: Erotika: Bedtime Stories