American Concubine – Steamy S&M With a Younger Man
Guilt because I have not written a blog for months and now here I am asking you, my loyal readers, to dip into their pockets and get a copy of my new book. And even that needs an explanation.
American Concubine is the retitled anthology of six novellas originally titled Fallen Angels. For some reason, the android censors at ‘distribution’ discovered reasons to shield the reading public from my work – it was just SO sexy their mechanical minds had to be re-oiled twice a day! I had to tinker with certain sections until the robots settled down and did what robots are supposed to do, stop being human. Weird? Absolutely.
The anthology consists of six novellas beginning with the luscious tale of an unfulfilled woman who meets a younger man and learns that discipline might just be the answer to cure her own frustrations. With American Concubine are five more tales: Snow Falls Softly, Flight 69, Sophie’s Secret, Hell is Other People and Bringing Angels to Life.
Excerpt from American Concubine
She slipped down to the bed so he could remove her shoes, her red pants, her panties with satin bows. She was with a man ten years younger than her and she thought about something Justine had said: why had she waited so long? She was naked, finally, and being naked with this stranger she didn’t know and knew nothing about made her nipples harden.
He stood there waiting for her to unbuckle his belt, unsnap the button at the top of his jeans, lower the zipper. He was wearing white shorts and when his cock emerged from the folds she hesitated only long enough to admire this thing, this creature that is man, this work of art, this object with a will of its own. His cock was long, wide, the head pale pink and it felt as smooth as porcelain as it slid between her lips and down her throat.
‘That’s it, slowly now, up and down, up and down. Don’t think, just go with the flow,’ he said and she remembered the way he had encouraged her with his velvety voice as they crossed the Queensboro Bridge and completed the New York Marathon.
She paused for breath. She flicked her tongue across the indent at the tip of his cock and softly squeezed the sack of his balls. He sighed. He liked that. She dropped to her knees. She pulled his jeans and boxers down to his feet. He tossed his jacket on a chair, removed his tee-shirt and took hold of the hair at the nape of her neck before setting her back in motion.
‘Open your eyes, look up at me,’ he said and she did.
Michelle could hear the whoosh and slap of flesh against flesh. She held the globes of his backside and slid rhythmically up and down the length of his cock, her mouth expanding and contracting, her senses pricked by the scent of roses. She hadn’t done this for a long time, longer than she could recall, but it’s like…like swimming. You don’t forget. It’s natural, it’s feminine. She had no idea why it felt so right but it felt so right; it felt as if she were born to be down on her knees, eyes wide, a beautiful cock sliding in and out of her throat.
NOW, TODAY –
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