Curvy Girls!

When I got my copies of Curvy Girls in the mail, I squealed with delight. Yes, squealed.

It's safe to say I am very excited about this anthology. I was thrilled from the moment I saw the subject matter (curvy girls!) and of course, the fact that it was edited by the awesome Rachel Kramer Bussel. I've been in many of her anthologies before, but this one? I really, really wanted to be in this one. Perhaps it's because I'm one of those ladies that shops at Hips and Curves. Perhaps it's because I believe the curvier, heavier -- and often, yes, downright sexier -- women don't get a fair shake when it comes to feeling desirable. Perhaps it's because as the years go by, I care less about what people think and much more about how I feel.

And let me tell you, these days, I'm feeling sexier than ever!

I'm going through this book, reading one story each night. It's tough to pace myself, because I want to read it all in one sitting, to devour it like I might go after every inch of a lover's skin with my tongue and teeth and lips. But I am holding back, giving myself a little treat every night, because I want to draw out the pleasure.

My story "Passing the Time" is part of the collection. It's about a woman named Amber, who is puzzled at the sudden lack of affection from the man who said he wanted her. More than that, it's about what she chooses to do about it, and how much she enjoys it. Here's a snippet:

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. Her nipples were hard and hurting already. 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.

She lifted her hand to her lips, licked first one finger, then another. She moaned again, a low and secret sound, something for herself alone. She tasted sweet, maybe even a little more than usual. She suddenly remembered the toy in her hand and was surprised that she was stroking it. She slid it across her thigh and let out a shuddering breath. She wanted to be filled, to be slammed hard, to be made love to. All at once.

She pushed the toy against her clit. Her moan was louder this time, and the sensation rolled through her with the force of a fast-moving wave. Good grief—had she really been that tense? The relaxation and the tension combined together, made her struggle to move slow.

“Slow,” she said out loud, taking a deep breath. The toy slipped against her clit, back and forth, warming even more as her wetness spread over it. She arched up and took the tip inside her lips. Her pussy was as smooth as her legs were. The wetness flowed unchecked across her lips and down the crack of her ass. She would have to change the sheets later. She didn’t care.

And she finds all sorts of other naughty things to do from that point on...want more? I'll stop teasing you and give you the link to go get one of your own.

Hey...Wanna Flash With Me?

Today over on Hitting the Hot Spot, I'm talking about flashers -- flash short stories, that is! What kind of flashing did you think I meant?

Head over there to read a few of my flash stories and be sure to add your comments. Enjoy!

Purple Panties and Clean Sheets

It has been a long time since one of my short stories appeared on Clean Sheets, but I am happy to say this week breaks the streak!

"Purple Panties" is the story of a couple who have a very special pair of panties...and what happens when they lose them. I won't say more...you have to go read the story to find out the rest. It's free to read right here on Clean Sheets.

Enjoy!

Are Your Sheets Clean?

Over at Clean Sheets, there is definitely something naughty going down...

Indiana Jones, with Camera

Of all the stories I have ever written (and that's a lot of stories!), this one is my favorite. I hope you enjoy it.

Let Me Seduce You...

Ah, yes. Seduction. That's what LoveHoney is all about this month, as they showcase the new Seduction anthology from Black Lace. They've chosen an excerpt from my short story to be feature this month, as well as an interview with yours truly!

You can read an introduction to the book here.

You can read the excerpt from "Rush" here.

And you can read my interview here!

Want to leave your own review of the book? You can do that here.

And...if you order Seduction, you get a free vibrator to help you act out a few of those naughty fantasies between the pages...what could be better?

With all this Seduction going on, it's getting a bit hot in here...

Are You Ready for Seduction?

A hot read that leaves you panting for more, Seduction is a deliciously naughty collection of stories that allow the reader to indulge in many forbidden passions. This collection has a story to meet everyone's fantasy.

That's what CataRomance had to say about the new Seduction anthology from Black Lace. My little naughty "Rush" is among the offerings in this fantastic book. Here's a preview:

An excerpt from "Rush" -

“You’ve dipped this cock into more pussy than you can count, haven’t you?” she asked, holding his cock in her hand like it was a throttle. Her thumb was on his head, swirling in circles. “I’ll bet you’ve had more ass than you can count, too. And more blowjobs.”

He looked at her and said nothing.

“You’ve had so many fucks, they all blend together into a blurred chain of pussy. Don’t they?”

This was it. She was going to crucify him for his sexual past. He knew it was coming. How could he have been so stupid?

“And I’ve hardly been with anybody. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”

He opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out. He felt almost two inches tall.

“I think I should have some pussy, too.”

David blinked in surprise. His cock surged harder in her hand. She giggled like a schoolgirl and sank her mouth down on his dick. Her tongue sucked and her lips drew back hard and when she pumped him into her throat, he went to redline. She stopped sucking right before he could get off.

“What do you think?”

Never, ever ask a man what he thinks right as he’s about to come. You just might get exactly what he’s thinking, and it might not be tempered with common sense.

“I would love to see you fuck other people,” David said.

Her eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” she said with an air of wonder.

She sucked him deep, one last time, finally giving him a bit of mercy. He came hard. He shot everything into her mouth. He saw stars. She licked and sucked until there was nothing left.

“Other people,” she murmured, and giggled.

David knew he was in big trouble.

*

Of course, he reneged on everything as soon as he was coherent enough to do so. Sure, he would love to see it, but he would never actually be able to do it, he told her. It was a good fantasy. Sometimes he thought about it. Not often, though. Not hardly ever, actually. And why would he want to share? He didn’t like to share. He wasn’t good at it. He didn’t want to share her. Would she want to share him?
She looked at him the whole time with knowing eyes and that wise little smile.

“Do you have anybody in mind?” she asked simply.

David sighed in exasperation. “Did you hear a single word I said?”

“Every bit.”

“Good. I think I made myself clear.”

“Sure. I’ve been thinking about a stranger. I don’t want to run the risk of ruining a friendship, so any of your friends are out. My friends, too. Friends are better kept as friends and not made into fuck buddies, don’t you think?”

He stared at her.

“Well?”

“You’re insane. You’re not fucking anybody else. That’s final.”

She winked at him and giggled again.

“Okay, big man. Whatever you say.”

*

There's quite a bit more where that came from - David and Katie have quite the adventure! To get this story and all the others in Seduction, get your copy here.

"Memphis" in Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories

Do you think hotels are sexy? Do you ever wonder what the couple in the next room are doing? Do you ever feel like a different person when you're tucked away in a hotel, hidden from the world in one of those rooms that have seen countless lovers, trysts, heartbreaks, heartthrobs, and other things you can only begin to guess?

You can find a bit of it all in Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories. You can find my story "Memphis" there as well. Here's a preview:

Is that how it started? Is that how affairs begin? With a simple gesture or word that suddenly turns an old friendship or a new stranger into a lover crying out above you in a rented bed somewhere on the edge of nowhere? Is it something that drops out of the blue and explodes like a bomb, fragmenting your life? Or is it something that plants inside you and grows into beauty and memories that evoke smiles, building you into something stronger than you once were?

I’ve discovered that for me and my married lover, it is a bounce in your step that everyone notices but can’t explain how it got there or exactly when it appeared. It is a phone call, a voice on the other end that is clearly a man yet when someone asks you who that was, you recall the name of your best friend who is clearly a woman. It is pulling up beside a sports car parked outside of a hotel in a town you’ve never visited before, an open door with the “Do Not Disturb” sign already in place. It is no time for words before you are rushed into a dimly lit room and surrounded by his arms, his voice, and his desire as you both collapse to the bed that has become your refuge.

He was married. I knew that as I walked with him out of the restaurant and slid into the passenger seat of his sports car. I heard her name in my head as he drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh. I saw her in my head as the door closed behind us. I listened to her voice laughing with him as he pressed me back against that door and kissed me. I felt the guilt as I kissed him back, but I wanted him more than I wanted to heed the ethical conscience that was shaking its head in shame.

I didn’t hate her. I didn’t even want to hate her. She was my best friend. She was a good wife, a good mother. She was a better woman than me. She didn’t deserve this.

I slipped his wedding band off and it dropped to the floor.

Want to get the rest of the story and a few other naughty tales? Get your copy of Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories by clicking here.

Updates...Lots of Them!

Where to begin?

Erotica Revealed gave Bedding Down: A Collection of Winter Erotica a fantastic review! They loved many of the stories in the collection, and they had this to say about my bit:

“Six Weeks on Sunrise Mountain, Colorado” by Gwen Masters is literally a cliff-hanger. The plot premise (celebrity recluse rescues the journalist who tracked him down in the wilderness) is one of the most unusual and dramatic in the book. Here is the first meeting of the hermit on the mountain and the woman who has risked her life to find him:

He found the woman at the foot of the ravine. Even in the moonlight, she looked pale as a ghost. Blood covered her forehead and a bruise was already flowering under her right eye.

Luckily, healing of various kinds takes place during six weeks of hibernation in a snowbound cabin, when the man and woman come to know each other.

If you're interested in reading Bedding Down, get it here.

And on to another anthology - this one Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories. My story "Memphis" is among the offerings in this collection. I did an interview about the story and sexy hotels on Rachel Kramer Bussel's blog - go here to read it.

And finally, a few of my short stories are popping up in other collections, too:

"Secrets in Turkey Bay" can be found in the latest edition of the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica...

And "Rush" can be found in the new Black Lace Seduction anthology.

Much more to come!

Stories, Stories Everywhere!

A few new stories for your enjoyment:

For those of you in the UK, I'm doing FORUM this month! "Amanda Hardison is Full of Surprises" is all about that dominatrix of a boss, and that man who can't get enough of the punishment she doles out. Find it in the FORUM "Vice" issue, on stands now.

Also in that issue is a glowing review of the Hide and Seek anthology, which includes my story "The Craziest Thing." If you're into showing off or watching, that's one anthology sure to fulfill a few naughty fantasies!

My story of passion and play on the not-so-high seas is up now at For the Girls. "Knots and Knots" is the story of a woman afraid of water, her water-loving boyfriend, and the interesting uses they find for all those ropes on his great big boat. It's part of the very, very HOT fiction section at For the Girls, so if you're in the mood to get all hot and bothered, go take a look.

Happy Reading!

That Naughty Green-Eyed Monster...

Ah, what a jealous little woman she is, there on the cover of that book. And a redhead, just like me! Fitting, I suppose, because one of my latest stories is now in that pretty little book, J is for Jealousy.

How does a woman handle a rock-star boyfriend's nutcase fans? Listen in as one who has been there tells her friend just how it's done...

***

"I watched Adam work the crowd in the way only he could, signing autographs and making everyone feel welcome and special. He paid a bit too much attention to that little blonde slut who had been lusting after him in the front row -- she was right there beside him, moving closer and closer as she talked on and on about how wonderful he was. Of course he always had a thing for blondes and I knew that, he didn’t try to hide it and how could he? Never mind that I’m not a blonde. I teased him about it until he shot back and asked me to dye my hair.

Sorry...you’re right. Stick to the story. Good grief, you act like you’re horny or something!

This one couldn’t have been more than twenty, probably younger, with bleached hair and enormous breasts that couldn’t possibly be real. I quirked an eyebrow at Adam, and he grinned back. He had dealt with her kind a million times before.

Adam was looking at her, his full attention on whatever she was saying. He was just being a nice guy like he is, you know. But she was moving closer. Her breasts brushed his chest. Before anybody realized what was coming, she rose on tiptoe and slid her tongue into his mouth.

Oh, yes she did! Can you believe the audacity of that bitch?

What did I want to do, you ask? I wanted to kick her ass! But security was pulling her away and Adam was blushing like mad, and I didn’t want to make a scene among those fans who were already so curious about me as it was. I had to make myself scarce before I gave into temptation and throttled the bitch.

Adam caught up with me halfway to the bus. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t kiss her back. Where are you going?”

“I’m so tired of this shit!” I hollered as I yanked my arm away from him. Oh, hell. I wasn’t mad at him. Not really. I just needed somebody to take my anger out on, and he was convenient.

“I’m yours,” Adam said, as if that solved the entire problem.

“I just wish they knew it,” I said. I admit it -- I was playing the victim card. We had been over and over this whole conversation a million times.

So then Adam said, “Let’s show them.”

That stopped whatever I was going to say next. He had to be kidding, and I was not amused. I asked him what in the world he was thinking, what in the world he was talking about, did he really think that I would buy a suggestion like that as being the real deal?

Adam shut me up with a kiss. A good, deep and rowdy kiss, the kind that made my knees weak. He whispered against my lips. “I’m dead serious. Try me and see.”

I couldn’t believe this. He was actually suggesting it! There must have been fifty people there in the parking lot, watching us.

Waiting.

Adam’s cock was already pressing hard against me through his jeans. I heard someone laugh, then a murmur rose from the crowd as he bent his head and kissed me again, this time with even more passion than before. My resistance began to melt away.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the slut that had kissed him. She glared at me. Yes, she did. That fucking bitch. Just thinking about her now, all this time later? It still pisses me off.

That glare? That did it. He was mine, damn them all, and anyone who didn’t believe that could just watch this!

I slid my hands down his back and he tensed up, then laughed a little into my mouth as his tongue danced across mine. Did he think I would go through with it? Probably not, but the realization dawned on him soon enough. Every part of my body was primed and ready and as with all longtime lovers, he knew it instinctively.

I pinned my eyes on that bleached whore on the edge of the crowd.

“He’s mine,” I said. I was loud enough that everybody could hear. “Wanna see?”

One person laughed, and another yelled encouragement. A few people left but most stayed, jockeying for a better position. Adam laughed as he grabbed my shirt with both hands and lifted it over my head, leaving me no room to change my mind. The cool breeze fluttered over my tight nipples and made me shiver. Or maybe it wasn’t the breeze. Maybe it was the fact that we were being watched?

Let’s see how the tabloids wrote about this one!"

Enjoy the rest of the story and other tales of that naughty green-eyed monster gone awry: Get the book here.

"From the Corner of Fourth and Main"

I'm thrilled to see my short story "From the Corner of Fourth and Main" included in Ultimate Gay Erotica 2008. If boys on boys turns you on, this is one anthology that will trip your trigger over and over again.

Here's a snippet of my tale:

He leaned against the brick wall. The sidewalk thudded under our feet. He was my height, which meant I could look right into his eyes while I stood in front of him. Those eyes weren’t interesting at all, placid and brown with short lashes, but his mouth made up for that. He had lips that curled perfectly around a cigarette, the slow upturn that came from a pout. They were soft and supple and kissable, even here in the glow of the neon light. Those lips would have been perfectly at home on a young woman in a glossy magazine.

Those lips were made for sucking on things.

“You got a name?” I asked. The surprise flickered across his face.

“Yes.”

That was the best I was going to get, and it was good enough. More than good enough, actually. He just seemed like a Yes. He seemed like the kind of man who had heard that word more often than he had heard his given name. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of testing him, of telling him to drop to his knees right there, but I didn’t, not only because I wasn’t brave enough to come out with such demands, but because I knew damn good and well he would do it.

In the moment of silence he pushed off the wall and moved toward me until we were mere inches apart. He was thin and lanky and hot. The heat from his body breached his thin t-shirt and my polo and went straight to the center of my chest, a burning ember that slid all the way down to where he wanted it to be. He smelled like cigarettes and whiskey and the slightest hint of sweat.

He waited until I shifted my weight and looked away. With a sly smile and not a single word he turned away from me and headed into the crowd. Only the merest tilt of his head told me to follow.

I did as I was told. I studied him from behind as we walked down Fourth Street and toward the river. He was thin but solid, his shoulders not all that broad, his hair a little too long in the back. He walked with a swagger, the only thing about him that suggested he was younger than he looked. A tattoo of symbols ran up the side of his neck, ending at that sweet spot right underneath his ear.

He led me down the street, then suddenly cut into a small alley. At the end of the alley the street rose and narrowed into a catwalk. The river rushed below us, and for a moment I was dizzy. I grabbed the railing and the whole catwalk chattered in protest.

“Don’t look down,” he called over his shoulder. “Look straight ahead.”

I focused on his hips, where the tapered curve of his back disappeared into the too-tight jeans. We crossed the grate and went up a fire escape. He took a running start, snatched the ladder with one hand and swung. He climbed it like a monkey up a tree.

I followed, the old paint chipping off against my hand, the metal burning my skin even in the cool of the night. I stumbled twice before finding my rhythm, swing and up three, swing and up four, swing and three, over and over and up and up until we came to a door that wasn’t locked and a room that was lit by a small table lamp.

“My place,” he said.

What happens at his place, you ask? You can get your copy of the book here.

New Story, New Q & A...

Alana is one of my favorite writers. Ever. And she has one of my favorite blogs on the web, filled with tons of her exceptional writing. Every now and then she posts a Question-and-Answer with an erotic author, and today it's my turn! At Mars with Mars and Venus, you will find a new Q & A with yours truly.

Also posted is "White," a short-short story about addictions. Sex addiction, drug addiction, addiction to the wrong person at the wrong time, addiction to all those crutches that make a crazy lifestyle seem somewhat sane. It's a hardcore look at the secrets of people who could be your next-door neighbors.

Go. Read. Enjoy.

Thanks to Alana for inviting me!

Coming Together: Under Fire

It was only a few months ago when wildfires flared in California, scorching thousands of acres and destroying hundreds of homes. This Christmas will be quite different for those families who have to rebuild a home from the ashes.

You can help! A group of erotica writers, led by the impressive talents of Alessia Brio and Will Belegon, have come together for those devastated by the California wildfires. Coming Together: Under Fire features hot, sizzling erotica that will warm up your winter nights...and ultimately, help someone in need. All proceeds from Coming Together: Under Fire will be donated to the victims of nature's fiery wrath.

It comes in print and ebook, and is available now from Phaze. Click here to order yours.

Here's an excerpt from my story in Coming Together: Under Fire. Enjoy!

* * *

The End of the World
by Gwen Masters

Australia, 1978

The Gibson Desert was the end of the world.

I was certain of this. I stood on the hood of the old Land Rover, the one with the three useless canisters full of petrol in the back. I turned in a complete circle and gazed in every direction. The vast emptiness made me dizzy. There was nothing there. Nothing. Only the tracks from whence we came, and those were quickly disappearing under the weight of the wind. Australia was a big country with more sand than was good for it.

Patrick sat in the front seat and surveyed the map. He had a compass in his hand. His face looked grim.

“How much farther?” I asked. “Can we walk it?”

Patrick snorted with mirthless laughter. “Sure. In a bloody month or so.” He flung the map down on the passenger seat and yanked his hat down over his eyes. The floppy brim obscured all but his mouth, which was set in a long, thin line of annoyance.

We had set out from Alice Springs a few days earlier, determined to try our luck at the crossing. It was ridiculous to most, but to us it was necessary. We didn’t want to go along the conventional beaten path. A photographer and a writer, out in the middle of nowhere; it would make for a few good books. Besides that, it was a personal mission. We were working on the goals we had set for ourselves, and hopefully our failing marriage would keep stride with the victories.

It was working until that engine threw God-knows-what and stopped us dead in the middle of no-man’s land.

“You could help me here instead of getting so upset,” I snapped. “We have to think.”

“Okay.” Patrick yanked the hat off and slapped it on the dashboard. Dust and sand flew from it in a beige cloud. “Let’s think. We have a Rover that has gone belly-up. We have a radio that doesn’t fucking work. We have enough water to last for three days, no more. We are in the middle of the desert and the next outpost is four hundred clicks away. What do I think? I think we’re in a goddamn bloody mess, that’s what I think.”

“Three days of water?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“That’s what I said,” he said, spacing the words out as if I were slow.

“How the fuck did that happen?” My hands were on my hips and I was glaring at him. I knew what picture I made, and I knew he hated it. I didn’t care. Right now I was very close to hating him.

“It happened because I thought we would be there in time!” he exploded. “I’m not an outback photographer. I shoot runway models, for crying out loud. I eat catering. Not...not snake and snipe and whatever that bloody dog thing is—“

“Dingo?”

“Yes!”

“You have never eaten dingo. Stop being melodramatic. I’m the only person out here and I’m not going to listen to your bullshit.” I leapt from the top of the Rover and landed smoothly on the sand. The heat of it immediately warmed the bottom of my boot. The sun wasn’t overhead yet, but she was well on her way.

Patrick slammed his hat against the dashboard again. I looked at the ground, where two pieces of metal lay in the narrowing shadows. Those had come from the engine. And I had no idea where they went or how to put them back. There were no tools in the Rover anyway.

We were well and stuck.

I climbed into the back of the Rover and unfastened the canvas tarp that served as a roof. Patrick watched as I rolled it across to the windshield and fastened it down. “That makes it hotter,” he complained.

“The sun is worse.”

“You would know,” he said snidely. “Why don’t you just call your Outback Jack ex-boyfriend to hop over on a wallaby and save us?”

I looked out over the desert, trying to think. “Camel.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t ride wallaby, for God’s sake. You ride camel.”

Patrick snorted in annoyance. I watched the shadows and the wind gather together. This was a land of mirages. I wondered if I might see one. It would surely be better than the guy sitting next to me.

Patrick tapped a pen over and over against the steering wheel. The sound was maddening, but I wasn’t about to give in and snap at him about it. Fighting would not help matters. It wouldn’t help the situation we were in and it damn sure wouldn’t help our marriage. I was on the verge of being done with him for good, and I was almost certain Patrick would reach that point very soon. Perhaps even today.

Why the hell had I shacked up with him anyway? That’s all it had been. The sex with Patrick had been spectacular from the night we met – literally. I never fucked on the first date until Patrick. But it was so damn good, I couldn’t feel ashamed about it. One night led to a weekend and then a week and then six months later I was pregnant. The shotgun wedding was romantic enough, and then the miscarriage came three weeks later. Patrick and I were left with a marriage from which the foundation had disappeared.

We had battled it out for three years, which was about two years too long.

But the sex? Christ, it was good.

“What are you thinking about?” Patrick snapped out of the blue. I jerked back to reality.

“Huh?”

“What? Outback Jack?”

I sneered at him. “I was thinking about what a good fuck you are,” I said bluntly. Even in the midday desert heat, I could see Patrick’s furious blush.

“Liar.”

“What is the point in lying at this late date? We’re going to leave each other, you know. Our marriage is over. Our lives might be too. What good would it do to lie?”

Patrick glared at me and got out of the Rover. He took off at a slow jog, looking from side to side as he ran. So he was going to be the big hero. What was he looking for? Something I had been unable to see from standing on top of the Rover and gazing out over the gravel hills and sand dunes?

I couldn’t wait to divorce the pompous bastard.

* * *

Get the rest of the story and other hot erotica in Coming Together: Under Fire. The erotica will warm your body, and the giving will warm your heart.

Hide and Seek

I'm happy to be included in Hide and Seek, the great new anthology from Cleis Press. Not only did I get to write another hot story, I got to work with both of my favorites, Alison Tyler and Rachel Kramer Bussel, at the same time. -swoon-

Here's the press release for the book. Do you have yours yet?

***

In this sizzling collection from the editors of Caught Looking, these voyeurs and exhibitionists go all out in their quest for the perfect peep show.

Hide and Seek
Erotic Stories
Edited by Alison Tyler
and Rachel Kramer Bussel

"I tend to think that all writers are exhibitionists of some sort, begging
readers to feast their eyes on our most salacious output. We want people to
watch us get naked as we explore our deepest fantasies, the kinds that make us
blush and squirm and shift in our seats…But we writers are also voyeurs,
constantly absorbing everything around us, our eyes zooming in on all the
pertinent details, the little moments that make sex all the hotter for their
simplicity. We notice the details, and we want you to know that we’re watching
your every move.”
— from the introduction by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Get a front row seat for the steamiest live action with prolific erotica editors Alison Tyler and Rachel Kramer Bussel as the men and women of Hide and Seek strip, tease, and make you beg for more! In Saskia Walker’s “Counting the Days,” an office worker flashes a window washer who can’t believe his good fortune. An adventurous couple performs in the back seat for their cab driver as they hurtle through midtown at 4 a.m. in “Operator 84” by Thomas S. Roche. Whether putting on a deliberate show for an eager audience or looking into the hidden lives of their neighbors, these characters want you to peek as much as you want to look.

If you love to watch -- or be watched -- this one's for you! You can get it here.

In the Rain

In the Rain
by Gwen Masters

“You’re the color of the sky
Reflected in each storefront window pane,
You’re the whispering and the sighing
Of my tires in the rain...”

-Jackson Browne, “Sky Blue and Black”

Larry’s radio murmured as he turned into the parking lot of that hotel, the one with the broken mirror in Room 108, the one with the non-smoking rooms that smelled like smoke and the king-size beds that were too big for two people in love. The windshield wipers made their comforting thump-whack and his watch kept up the steady ticks and the rain poured down, coloring everything a darker shade as he thought of Katherine.

She would be cooking dinner about now, standing in the kitchen with her blonde curls tied up in a bun, or maybe under a bandana, one of those cheap ones from the discount store. She would be doing half a dozen things at once, manning the brigade of pots and pans as she sidestepped around a two-year-old and hollered to the six-year-old that his room had better be clean before he came to dinner or there would be serious trouble. After stirring a pot and hearing the grandfather clock chime she would holler again, her voice carrying down the hallway and to the bedroom where a man would be taking off his shoes after a long day of work, smelling the good smells and feeling his stomach rumble.

Larry remembered what that was like.

The old Ford truck was one they had made love in when they were courting, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, before children and mortgages and things that went wrong. One night while they were lying down on that bench seat Katherine had gotten her long blonde hair caught in the door handle and she couldn’t move and somehow that excited them both, excited them so much that Larry went at her hard enough to rock the truck on its wide wheels, hard enough to fog the windows. The whole time the radio was playing one song after another, songs that meant something, songs that fifteen years later were like that truck: they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

When it was over Larry had untangled her hair and she had cried because his hands were so tender and so careful, and because she loved him so much.

Lightning struck something nearby. The sound was loud enough to make Larry jump, close enough to turn the radio to static. Thunder roared. Larry watched the little blue car come through the curtain of mist. Behind the wheel was a pretty brunette, a bit on the heavy side with deep blue eyes and a radiant smile. She looked frightened as she drove under the light of the neon sign, and Larry guessed she was afraid of storms. He was learning more about her every time they met.

She ran to the shelter of the hotel room. Larry watched her as she opened the door to Room 108. He caught a glimpse of the broken mirror and thought about how Erin kept getting the same room as though they were testing their luck, as if the clerk at the front desk didn’t notice that they only stayed for a little while. Did she want to get caught?

Larry wondered if Katherine had wanted to get caught and if that is why she had left her own hotel key in the console of the car. He wondered if she had left it there deliberately and if she had ever thought about the way he would react, the suspicion and then the anger and then the shock of finding out that he was right after all.

She had been in Room 214. At least that time, she had been. Larry wondered if she had ever watched the new man in the mirror as he fucked her, perhaps in Room 108.

Another clap of thunder, and this time Erin looked out the window. She hadn’t seen his truck yet, parked way over there on the other side of the lot, but he climbed out anyway. He had forgotten his umbrella. By the time he dashed through the rain and the door closed behind him, he was soaked. Erin remedied that by removing his clothes.

She was wearing something silky. Her skin was scented with the fragrance that was uniquely her, the one that was seductive. She also wore a wide gold wedding band. Larry needed to make love to a married woman, to take what was taken from him, and Erin seemed to understand, seemed to revel in it sometimes by asking him if he thought Katherine had ever fucked her new man like this, or like that, or like this.

Larry came harder than ever when Erin did that, because it was like permission to go where his mind was going anyway, it was like having both of them in bed with him, it was living out the questions in his head, and it disgusted him yet made him want more at the same time.

He didn’t want to think about it.

Larry kissed Erin and lowered her to the bed and removed her clothes a little bit at a time, until he was between her widespread legs and she was playing with her nipples. He looked up and watched the harsh light from the bedside lamp as it glinted from her gold band.

He played his tongue over her lips, nice and slow, teasing each one. He delved into her, his tongue at first, then his fingers. By the time he touched her clit she was writhing under him and he knew how to do it, knew what would set her off, knew how to make it last. She told him over and over that he was better than her husband was and he clung to that like a drowning man clings to driftwood he happens to find in the ocean.

The new man would be sitting down in Larry’s chair now, looking at the food on the table and perhaps looking at the woman who served it. What was she wearing? Something that the new man would take off later in the bedroom that now belonged to them but used to belong to Katherine and Larry?

Larry bit gently on Erin’s clit. She wiggled in that certain way. Larry slid two fingers into her and then three and then four. Larry knew she would be sore and he was glad for that. He wanted her to be sore from him when she fucked her husband. That was important.

“Baby, I love you,” Erin gasped, but Larry didn’t hear her.

His mind was in a house across town, sitting down to dinner of mashed potatoes and peas and beef brisket with that good gravy only Katherine could make, and Larry felt a hunger inside, something deeper than anything food could fix.

Then Erin arched up into him and she cried out, a long wail that told him he had done what he was supposed to do. It was his turn now, because that was how things worked, wasn’t it? He did his duty and then she did hers or they did it together and that was supposed to be the correct way. It was all supposed to feel right.

Larry slid into Erin and she moaned, that deep down way that she always did, not like the gentle whimpers that came from Katherine. He moved deep into her and held her hair in his fists, the way she always liked it. He said all those things he had never said to Katherine, things like slut and whore and bitch and Erin broke out into goosebumps and moans with every new word. They turned together, her on top and him on bottom, and she rode him hard while she played with nipples on breasts that were bigger than Katherine’s, much bigger. Her body was rounded and soft and it was a turn-on of immense proportions (at least that’s what his dick said and by God, dicks don’t lie). It wasn’t more or less than the body Katherine had. It was just different.

When Erin leaned forward and rode him in that perfect way that drove his cock against the back wall of her cunt, the way that put pressure on his pelvis and his belly and everywhere else, Larry wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to her throat. He came hard, deep inside her, where her husband might find it if he chose this night to fuck his wife.

When it was over, Larry said all the right things and did all the right things, but Erin knew he was far away. He could tell it by the look in her eyes when she saw the look in his.

“I said something wrong, didn’t I?” she asked, and Larry didn’t know what she meant, but he held her and kissed her and told her no, she hadn’t said anything wrong. She had said everything right.

She smiled and was content, and that was good. Content was good.

Two hours and then they were gone from the hotel room, the door closed and nothing amiss, the broken mirror in darkness, her little blue car disappearing in a haze of rain and fog. Larry drove slowly out of the parking lot and turned up the radio, which was no longer static but crystal clear, songs from years ago that still meant something. He turned toward the apartment across town, the one with the mismatched furniture and the empty fridge.

The rain poured down harder, hard enough that he had to squint to see through the windshield. Finally Larry had to pull over, had to sit there while every song on the radio told another tale from the story of his life and the rain pounded the hood of the old Ford. Unable to be here, he closed his eyes and he was there, sitting down to a dinner of beef brisket and mashed potatoes and peas, Katherine was smiling at him, and all was right with the world.

Originally published on Clean Sheets, copyright 2007.

"The Right Thing"

My latest story, "The Right Thing," is now at Ruthie's Club! Here's a tease:

I walked into the side door, the one marked Hospital Personnel Only. Robert followed me, even though I tried my best to slam the door in his face. I marched into the first unoccupied room I could find, and Robert was right behind me, making little noises that sounded suspiciously like whimpering, as though he wasn’t sure what to say but had to make some noise to show that he was trying to come up with something.

I rounded on him as soon as the door was closed. The fluorescent glow from the hallway fell through the small window in the door, leaving just enough light to see the mixture of emotions on Robert’s face. I got right up against him, toe-to-toe, and made him look me in the eye.

“What are you following me for, Robert? Huh? You want to get a promise out of me that I won’t run down to the cafeteria and announce your little indiscretions, don’t you?”

Even in the dim light, the ruddy flush on Robert’s face was unmistakable.

“Look, I know you’re mad. I know that’s my fault.”

“Mad ain’t the half of it, weasel.”

“Weasel?”

“Hell, I might not run down to the cafeteria. I might announce it on the intercom.”

Robert shook his head, his eyes wide as saucers. “You will not!”

“I don’t answer to you,” I said, punctuating each word with my anger. “Understand? You will have to wonder if I’m going to tell her. You will wonder for the rest of your life.”

“You can’t do that,” he said stupidly, looking at me like I had grown another head.

“You can’t stop me,” I growled.

Robert moved toward me. He meant to grab my arm, to shake some sense into me, to hold me steady in one place so he could tell me the way things were. I saw it coming and beat him to the punch, so to speak -- I reached out and slapped him. The sting of it traveled through my palm and all the way down my arm, a lightning bolt of pain. Robert’s head rocked to the side, and he looked back at me in amazement.

In the sudden silence following the slap, a tinny, disinterested voice boomed from above us. It called my name, and asked me to dial two-five-one.

Then he reached for me. Despite all my tough talk, I let out a little squeal that was half fear, half rage. Did Robert actually grow a set of balls? And if he did, God forbid and holy shit, what was I going to do?

He grabbed the bottom of my scrub shirt and yanked it up. He grabbed my scrub pants and yanked them down. He shoved me to the side of the bed and pushed me down on it. It all happened in a matter of seconds. It took a few more seconds for the whole scenario to register.

Did he really think he could fuck me into submission?

I helped Robert yank his belt loose. His penis was harder than I had ever seen it. He came down on top of me and the bed made a squeak of protest. One of us hit the adjustment buttons, and the bed moved up a few inches with a smooth, mechanical hum. We both froze, united in sudden fear of who might have heard, and who might come through the door.

A nurse in whispering shoes laughed with someone in the hallway, oblivious to what was happening in the room just a couple of steps away. After a few moments, the voices became distant.

Robert moved his hips. I arched my back. He pushed into me -- not slid into me, because I wasn’t wet enough for that, I was pissed off, after all -- and that anger rose to the surface. I was good enough to fuck now that he was angry, but as soon as he shot his load it would be the same old saw about doing the right thing.

“You don’t seem so upstanding now, do you, Robert?”

He glared at me and pinched one of my nipples. Hard.

I grabbed at his shirt. I yanked at it. At first I thought it wouldn’t work, but then it did. The fabric made an ugly ripping sound and buttons scattered to the floor.

“Explain that to your wife,” I hissed.

***
I'm a tease, so that's all you get!

If you want more, visit Ruthie's Club. Adults only and subscription required...but it's well worth the money!

Sex, Religion and...

Politics
By Gwen Masters

(Flasher -- 299 words)

The cuffs were tight around her wrists and ankles. The strap was firm against her belly. She hung suspended, held by carefully placed ropes that didn’t chafe. She could have drifted in a cocoon of pleasure, so comfortable they were.

The whip stung the back of her thighs with no pauses, no mercy.

She began to count. By the time she reached forty, she had forgotten which number she was on and had to start counting again.

“This bitch won’t give,” said the trainer. He was one of the men who had sneered at her from the guardhouse when she was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the Impurity Compound. Four years after the American President had turned into Little Napoleon, he had ordered all sexually adventurous women to be imprisoned until they were cleansed of their impure thoughts.

The trainer had a sadistic streak -- he was the former Attorney General, after all -- and he had meted out every punishment that was sanctioned and a few that were not. Two months, and she hadn’t broken.

She began counting again.

Finally the trainer threw down the whip. He walked away. He would leave her there, like he had so many times before.

The other trainer stepped up behind her. He sank his cock into her with one long thrust. She started counting the strokes. Sex like this was not allowed any longer -- anyone who dared do the deed for anything other than procreation in an approved marital setting was breaking the law.

When he pressed his fingers to her clit, she came. She moaned quietly. He came inside her and then he was gone, nothing but a ghost who left wetness dripping out of her and onto the dirt floor below.

Those who want to fuck will always find a way.

Love on the Dark Side

Today I opened my mailbox to find a copy of Love on the Dark Side, a novel of paranormal romance and erotica from Black Lace.

Isn't that a yummy cover?



I'm happy to be included in such a great collection! My short story "The Shadow of Matthew" is here, along with some hot stories by many of the other sexy Lust Bites women.

For your reading pleasure, here's an excerpt from "The Shadow of Matthew."

A bit of background: Alison hasn't been back to her home in many long weeks, afraid of the memories she would find there after losing her husband in a tragic auto accident. Now she has returned, and she finds more than she bargained for.

She walked through the unforgiving sunlight and looked down into the sink. The cologne bottle was in a half-dozen pieces. She picked up little shards of green glass with careful fingers and dropped them into the wastebasket. Then she turned on the water and washed the majority of the cologne down the drain. The scent was still in the air.

She turned the water off and looked at the sink. There were drops on the side, high on the edges where the water didn’t normally reach. She dipped her finger into one and sniffed. Yes, it was cologne. She put it on her wrists, on her throat, behind her ears. The scent of Matthew surrounded her.

She started to cry again, but it was a quiet and gentle cry, not the sobbing hysterics she thought she needed. She turned on the water again, used the closest washcloth to sweep out the sink, and tidied everything up again.

Alison.

This time she turned with a small scream, sure there was someone in the hallway looking at her, certain there was someone in the house. She stood stock-still and waited. There was nothing again, nothing at all. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, afraid to move, lest she miss some little sound that would give away the fact that there was an intruder in the house. She was aware of the grandfather clock, the ticking of it from down the staircase and down the hallway and around the corner, and she wondered if she could hear that, why couldn’t she hear someone breathing?

The logic of it relaxed her, and she stepped toward the door again. She looked out into the hallway. The sun had reached that point Matthew always loved the most, when it found the half-moon windows in the top of the house and spilled light through them in shafts that were so strong, they looked almost solid. The light danced across the floor and dust motes danced in the beams, reminding her of how long it had been since she had been in the house. Avoidance had seemed the right thing to do, but looking at those shafts now she wondered if she had waited too long, if Matthew’s memory had somehow evaporated during those long weeks she slept in her old bedroom at her mother’s home, afraid of the memories this house would hold.

I missed you.

Alison stared at the sunlight and waited. The fine little hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she broke out into goosebumps, the same way she always did when Matthew kissed that sweet spot right underneath her ear. She listened and heard nothing and decided she really was going crazy, bonkers, bound for the funny farm, one brick short of a load, not playing with a full deck –

Stop it, BeeBop.

Alison was suddenly dizzy. She groped for the wall and leaned against it. The voice was shocking but the words were so astounding that she couldn’t utter a single sound in response. No one called her BeeBop; no one even knew that name existed. Not her best friend or her mother or her sister or anyone else.

No one but her husband.

To get more, click here: Love on the Dark Side: A Collection of Paranormal Erotica from Black Lace

Handcuffs are Very Good Things

The delightfully sexy Alison Tyler is editing the Alphabet Series of naughtiness for Cleis Press, and I'm happy to be in the "H" volume. H Is for Hardcore is now available, and Alison is treating you today with an excerpt from my story, "To Protect and to Serve."

And if you check it out right now, you might win an autographed copy!

Go on, now. Go see Alison. Give her a comment, and give it to her dirty. You know she likes it that way.

Panty Fetish, anyone?

It all started with a pair of purple panties.

I bought them at Victoria’s Secret, one of the few indulgences I could afford to make on a part-time salary. I was a full-time college student, and saying money was tight was an understatement. I had scrimped and saved for those panties and that beautiful matching bra, the one that held my breasts in just the right way, the one that always made me look a size bigger. Those panties, however, they hugged in all the right places, never rode up and made my hips look perfectly curved. I loved the bra, but I loved the panties even more.

My boyfriend loved those panties, too.

Taylor would lie in bed beside me and run his fingertip across the edging of those panties, riding it all the way around my hip and between my thighs, over my belly and across the small of my back. He would slip his finger underneath and lightly touch the satin with just his fingertips, then trace the places on my skin where it had touched. The panties became our own special brand of foreplay. He would spend a good hour making smaller and smaller circles until he found the wetness he had created, and then he would make me come while those panties caressed my skin with the familiarity of a lover.

Sometimes we would go out to dinner or a dance or simply walk around the college square at night and at some point, I would lean over and casually tell him I was wearing purple. Other women might get a rise out of their men by mentioning they were stark naked under whatever demure outfit they were wearing, but I could always get Taylor going by simply leaning over and whispering into his ear, “I’m wearing purple.”

Sometimes he fucked me while I wore them. He pulled the crotch aside just enough that he could slip his cock against the satin even as it slid into me, and the delicious friction of my tight wetness and that satin tease would drive him over the edge faster than anything else we could possibly do in bed. Then, of course, he would pull the panties back into place. I would walk around the house with panties on and nothing else, drenched between my legs from the wetness he had put there, and before I could get out of the bedroom to get a glass of water he would be ready for another round.

I was wearing the purple panties when he asked me to marry him...

And then, things started to get really interesting!

To read the rest of the story, as well as other hot and steamy tales from fantastic authors, visit Ruthie's Club. You'll be glad you did.