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Got drinks?

Here is something I've been wondering about...what about the perfect drink makes us take pictures of it? Is this something everyone does? Or just something those of us into sensual experiences do?

The past couple months, I've taken about five "perfect drink" pics.

The first one I took was of a martini called a "1988." This one I had with Katharine Ashe and Daisy Harris in LA. We were at some resturant the name of which I can't remember. Also, I have no idea why the drink is called 1988, but it looked gorgeous and tasted wonderful.

Another drink I had...something called Magner's (You guessed that from the pic I'll bet). This stuff doesn't taste so great. But it is strong. This one I had with a friend at an Irish pub in New York.

It's not unusual for me to come home from a trip and find one or two drinks photos.

Does anyone else do this? Is this a weird writer thing? Sensualist thing?

Why do we do it?


A Spankingly Good Time!!

As a kinky extra, spanking appears in many erotic books, alongside of course anal sex, toys of the vibrating variety and bondage straps, to name a few. But what is it about the word ‘spank’ that makes us keep turning the pages of our erotic romances and why do erotic authors keep subjecting their heroines to a swift slap? 

These two certainly seem to be having a great time!!

Is it the luscious descriptions of a bare handed swat, stinging and heating tender flesh until it flushes red, or is it the mind games that arise from being tipped over a lover’s knee and spanked?

As an author I adore describing the image of a bare butt exposed and vulnerable. It’s a wonderful build-up of sexual tension. The hint of what is to come, the waiting, the rush of air before the hit finally arrives. The psychology as well as the physical act are such a fountain of rich emotions and words.

Of course, spanking can be a punishment for a naughty sub, or just a bit of fun between lovers pushing the boundaries of pain/pleasure. Either way there a pictures and documents of this particular adult activity going back years and years. Its here to stay.

I’d love to hear reader and author thoughts on spanking in the books we read and write. Anyone read anything amazing lately which features a good swat? Let me know, and BTW..... is this Elvis?

Lily x


Seeing Is Believing

If you’re able to see it, then it must be true—that’s what many believe. The camera never lies and our eyes tell us all we need to know. ‘You must understand that seeing is believing, but also that believing is seeing’ so says author Denis Waitley.

I started thinking about the idea of perception after writing a short story on the theme of voyeurism, Two With A View. Though you’ll be hard pressed to mistake the act of sex itself, simply watching won’t tell you how the participants feel. I wonder if anyone really sees any reality in the staged and stylised scenes of a porn movie or whether they are just—ahem—enjoying the ride.

There are occasions when we can’t believe what we see, such as Photoshop and magicians slight of hand. Camera trickery or computer generated images can make all manner of things a reality though they could never really happen in life.

Studies on the accounts of eyewitnesses who have observed criminal acts have been shown to be quite unreliable. Apparently, our minds play tricks on us by inventing things we didn’t actually see and somehow shields things we did see.

Of course, sights are much easier to believe when you are able to orchestrate them as Natalie, the heroine in Two With A View, has the opportunity to do. And infinitely more enjoyable when the directed act is a sexual encounter.

While it is a good idea to be cautious about believing everything you see, if it’s something juicy, forget about the reality of it and just concentrate on enjoying it!



Come with me into The Green Room

The Green Room is where it all happens. It is the ultimate backstage pass and behind-the-scenes glimpse. It is where the spotlights dim and the fans fade to background noise. It is where the celebrities stop burning bright and become just like you and me.

A glimpse into the green room is to see the life behind the microphone or the photo shoot or the movie screen. The green room is where the stars become mere mortals.

Want a taste of The Green Room? Read on!

The concert that night was nothing compared to the sex.

Anthony’s hands were everywhere. He played me like a fine guitar, finding all the chords to strike deep within my most forbidden places. On my hands and knees, I braced myself on the rumpled bed. He slipped deep and I hissed in a breath of satisfaction.

“Is this what you want?” he moaned.

“For now.”

The motion was steady and unbroken. We were both dead tired, but that didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter, not even when his cell phone rang from somewhere on the nightstand. My fingers searched the polished top until I found it. Feeling entirely inappropriate and loving every second of it, I flipped the phone open and handed it to him.

“Yes…yes, I’m here in the hotel room…”

It was his wife.

I bit my lip and thrust back hard. I was determined that he would not forget who he was fucking, who had got him here, who had led the way to that recording contract he would sign in a few days. I swivelled my hips, reminding him who was really fucking whom. My lack of shame would bother me later, but right now I was too far gone with illicit pleasure to care.

“I miss you too, honey…”

He dipped one finger into the cleft of my ass. I pushed my hips up, inviting.

“No…no, I’m not sure…”

He thrust harder, and I reached under us to touch his balls. He struggled to control his breathing. He pinched my hip viciously, as if to warn me against acts that were far too indecent to carry on during a phone conversation. I squeezed with my inner muscles hard enough to make him stifle a moan.

It was a battle of wills, and I wasn’t the one holding the cell phone.

I picked up the pace, merciless.

“The show went well…I’m going to be in Alabama tomorrow…”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “Sodomy is illegal in Alabama,” I mouthed.

Anthony slipped out of me. He pressed hard against the tighter hole, the one that he hadn’t sampled yet. I pushed back and felt the delightful sting as my body began to open under his. I swivelled my hips, trying to make it easier.

“The show was great. Lots of fans…the place was packed…”

He held perfectly still. I thrust back slowly. I would pay for my little ingenuity in the morning, but I didn’t give a damn. I wanted to be as dirty and naughty as I could be while his wife listened to what she didn’t know was happening. If I had stopped to think about it, I might have been appalled by my actions.

Lucky for me, I was too busy fucking to think.

I thrust back harder, and Anthony’s cock slowly impaled me. I opened under the pressure with a burn and a moan. Anthony quickly covered my mouth.

“I’ll call you in the morning, honey…”

We suddenly found the right angle, the perfect fit. He slid all the way home, his balls pressing hard against me, every inch of my body throbbing with heat.

“I love you, too,” Anthony said to the Mrs Keenan as he began to move back and forth in earnest. He said goodbye, hung up the phone and tossed it to the floor. He grabbed a handful of my hair and thrust hard. Pain and pleasure shot through every pore of my body.

“Who’s doing the fucking now?” he growled in my ear.

Who, indeed!

My latest novel is The Green Room, available on August 1. Preorder your copy here, enjoy the book, and let me know what you think!

Gwen Masters


The Sins of Summer

By A.J. Llewellyn

With much of the US gripped in a rare and terrifying heat (Iowa officially reached boiling point today) it seems apt that I'm part of a new and spicy-hot anthology with my wonderful co-authors, D.J. Manly and Serena Yates. The Sins of Summer, coming to Total-e-Bound on August 1 is the first of four seasonal anthologies that addresses the seven deadly sins.
Several months ago I came up with the idea and pitched it to DJ who always listens to my hair brained schemes. He said, "I'm in!" We approached Serena Yates, with whom I'd co-authored The Cake and we were off and running.
With our first group of stories set in the summer , it didn't take me long to pick my location - the Greek Islands or my sin. Jealousy.
I admit I'm a jealous guy. I'm jealous of my friend in Argentina who writes to tell me how chilly the weather is there when I'm dying of heat over here. I'm jealous of people who can eat and not gain weight. I'm jealous of John Barrowman's husband (only half kidding. And I would willingly share John B. with D.J. who always calls him "our guy").
Some years ago I had a boyfriend and I played amateur detective when he canceled a date. And I mean amateur. I got in my car, drove by his house with my best friend who thought she was cleverly disguised in a Santa Claus hat and to my horror, said boyfriend was standing outside his house in his boxers. The poor man was enjoying the cool night air having a quiet cigarette.
Not only did he see me, but the shock of being caught sent me off the road into a fire hydrant on the corner of his street. He called 911 when the street became flooded. My car was soaked and had to be towed and...he was absolutely right to break off our relationship.
I assure you, Leo Gannet, the Private Eye in my story, Burnt Island, is a lot more savvy than me. He's just...unfortunately dealing with a jealous guy.
The Sins of Summer weaves a general thread of deception loosely tying tales of sin together. Envy, lust and wrath are explored in these scorching m/m tales involving action, burning hot sex and sinful adventures that will have you cranking up the Air Conditioning.
In his wonderful tale, paranormal tale Mayze, D.J. addresses the super-hot sin of lust. In her wickedly simmering tale, Summer Escape, Serena addresses the sin of wrath.
Having read all of these fine stories, I can only say it's soon gonna get a whole lot hotter everywhere when this antho is released.
You can check it out here:

Aloha oe,



Sizzling, Sultry Summer Sex

Hello TEB’ers. I’ve guest blogged a time or two at Hitting the Hot Spot, and now it’s time for me to have my very own special day.  Yep, the 22nd of each month will be my time to share with you.

Today, I want to talk about sex. What else, right? Specifically, the seasons of sex. Yes, I believe sex can be divided into four seasons. In a nutshell:

Winter Sex makes me think of cuddling and long lovemaking sessions in front of a fire - or under covers - interspersed with intimate pillow talk.  


Spring Sex is full of laughter with loads of touching and openness. 


Jumping over one, Fall Sex is the time when words aren’t needed so much; there is a deeper bonding for all involved. 

Currently (if you live in the northern hemisphere), we are in the middle of the summer season. I live in the deep south of the US and our summers are sticky, humid, and blistering hot. Think about it a moment. I just described our weather. I can hear you groaning and saying “yech!” Air conditioners become your best friend this time of year if you’re lucky.

However, what if we take the same words (sticky, humid, and blistering hot) and shift the context? I'll give you a hint. Think: Summer Sex. 

Now these words sound delicious.  (And isn't he yummy!)

Imagine sultry evenings with a cool breeze coming through the window, just enough to raise goose bumps along your skin as you move lazily with your partner(s). No rush, no time limits. Every touch, every slide, every thrust is simply hot, hard and breath-taking. Moans grow deeper and your partners’ slick skin feels like heaven beneath your touch. The surrounding heat fuses you together and pushes you toward that pinnacle to match the fierceness of a summer lightening storm. 

Whew. Yeah. So go out and enjoy your weekend, your summer, and your Summer Sex. 

{Just be safe!}


Summer Heat

After a cold and rainy spring, summer has finally arrived. Having five months of winter is more than one person should have to bear, so summer is very precious to those of us who live in Canada. So if you’re not already feeling the heat of summer, I hope these photos do the trick.

Blue’s my new favourite colour.

Aren’t stripes supposed to make things look longer? Or is it taller?

I love the contrast of the buttercup yellow against the dark skin.

One word- taut!

Don't you think his skin looks like satin?

The cold water doesn’t seem to be bothering him one little bit.

Surf’s up!

This photos is so suggestive- the pose, the look on his face, the seemingly ordinary underwear that isn’t.

I’ve posted this photo before because I absolutely love it.

There’s something so sexy about a man’s bum.

So much revealed and still he manages to keep himself hidden.

Don’t you just love a man in a white dress shirt?

Hope these photos have brought you some of summer’s heat.

Make sure you check out my story, Indulge Me, a male/male story set in the largest gay spa in Toronto.

See you next month,


Kaenar Langford

Tales to seduce and entice…


Men reading erotica

I know there is no way men even come close to the amount of women who read erotica, but I wonder how many of them do. I am talking straight men here, not gay men reading MM romance they would be in a whole other catagory. I wonder how many straight men sit down and read an erotic romance book?

I have run across a few men through twitter and facebook who have read my free story and checked out my website...but few of those go one to purchase and read my books. Though I was shocked last weekend when I was approached at my 10 year high school reunion by a guy who said he bought, read and enjoyed one of my books. He actually admitted to reading it at work, and that that had probably been a bad idea.... I thought that was awesome, definitely a huge compliment to my writing.

I tried to google it, but all it gave me for percentage of men who read erotica, was percentage of men who watch porn! Seriously a disappointment. I am certain that men who enjoy reading and enjoy porn would enjoy reading erotica, there is something for everyone in erotica and they could definitely find something that they enjoyed. So why don't more men read erotica?

Is it because erotica has a stigma as being for women? Or is it just not being marketed to them in the right way?


Faery Seductive Escape by Gillian Archer

Release Day!

I’m very pleased to announce the release of my very first published story, Faery Seductive Escape. Before I dive into the nitty gritty, I just want to take a moment and thank my wonderful critique group, ERAuthors. You guys are the best! I wouldn't be here without you. Thanks for the support and the constant boots in the butt.


Her escape attempt was going to plan… until she stumbled across a faerie orgy.

Kidnapped into slavery by the fae, medical student Ashley Jones is desperate to get back to the human world. Her opportunity arrives when the faeries assume human guises for their Midsummers Night costume party. Knowing this is her only chance, she steals a human costume and blends in. She’s moments from freedom when a crowd of faeries sweep her into the Great hall filled with revelers having an orgy. Ashley doesn’t know where to look, what to do. Panicked, she scrambles to escape but finds the exit barred by a gorgeous faery prince.

Tiarnan Dáirine is entranced by the faery who has disguised herself so well that she truly appears human. Although he hates mortals, he admits the human guise she’s wearing is enchanting. Seeing her shock at the activities in the Great hall, he realizes this must be her first Beltane celebration, and takes her up into his private viewing box.

Spellbound by the sexy faery prince and the erotic activities below, Ashley finds herself in a most awkward position. Her mind is screaming for her to leave but her body is begging her to stay. Tiarnan’s touch decides the matter, but when they make love, he captures not only her body, but her heart as well. When the night is over and their two worlds collide, will Tiarnan forgive her for being human?


Ashley Jones skulked down the torchlit hallway, keeping to the shadows. Desperate to get away, she couldn’t chance being seen by any fae despite the stolen costume she wore. With any luck anybody or anything who saw her would mistake her for a fae woman dressed for tonight’s festivities. She couldn’t risk her human features drawing attention.

Previously she’d thought faeries were sweet, dainty little people who granted wishes and hid pots of gold. But two months ago she’d been kidnapped from her college dorm room and imprisoned in an underground fortress. She’d learned that the fae were actually human-sized beings—gorgeous beyond her wildest imagination—but they weren’t the cute, harmless, little moth-like people she had seen in cartoon movies. No. They were heartless jackasses who didn’t care that she had a life, a home, or a family who cared about her.

Okay, the last one was a little bit of hyperbole. Her family probably didn’t even miss her. But still. Just because she had been taking—and acing—a midwife training class didn’t mean she wanted to be one. Definitely not under duress. She wanted to go home, wherever home might be. Either her dorm room abroad in Ireland or back home in California with her family.

Especially after last night.

She’d tried to help, but nothing she had done helped the mother or her unborn baby. After three endless days of labour, Ashley had lost them both. She stopped, leaning against the wall, her eyes growing wet as she remembered the blood-soaked sheets, the screaming agony of the mother and the tiny lifeless body of her babe.

Despite their magical abilities, the fae were on the brink of infertility and the majority of their rare pregnancies ended in death for both mother and child. Not that it excused her failures. Punishment loomed in her future and if it was going to be anything like the last time she had to leave.

Crap. She really had to stop musing about her shitty situation and concentrate on getting out. She had a small window of time and she couldn’t waste it.

Footsteps from down the hall forced her to hide. She tried not to gawk at the jewel-encrusted walls as she crouched behind an ornate table decorated with gold leaf and...Were those diamonds? Her palms sweated as the footsteps grew near. Double crap. Should she try to act fae-like and see if her costume held up to scrutiny? What was she going to say if they uncovered her hiding place? Damn it, damn it, damn it. What should she do?

The footsteps continued by her without pausing in the least. Phew.

She cautiously rose and checked the hallway for any more traffic. Since the festivities had started an hour ago, she thought she would have a clean getaway. She forgot to factor in Irish timing. Who knew the Irish and the fae shared such fabulous time-keeping abilities?

The only good thing about her current predicament was that she knew which way was out. If she were back in her captor’s Sidhe mound, she wouldn’t have a hope in hell of escape. Hidden, its hallways were heavily guarded to keep people like her in. This Sidhe mound, where all the fae in the area had apparently converged, wasn’t guarded at all. Kind of like a house party where everyone just let themselves in, she guessed.

Sneaking down the hallway again, she tried to ignore the rough burlap scraping her bare skin. If this is what they thought humans dressed like…She shook her head. Thank God she was able to steal this “human” costume from the laundress. She’d stick out like a sore thumb with her own black slave robes. Nothing said escaped convict more than a prison uniform.

She paused outside an open doorway. She could do this. She had to do this. Taking a deep breath, she started to dart past when a cacophony of footsteps had her freezing in place. She frantically looked up and down the hall for someplace to hide, but could find none. Not wanting to be caught out in the open, she took a deep breath and ducked into a room.

And stopped in her tracks at the sight that greeted her.

A room easily the size of a football pitch overflowed with “humans” in various states of undress. And all were engaged in some sort of passionate activity. She couldn’t help but gawp at the many gorgeous people having a very good time. A few metres away, a woman lay prone, ardently kissing one man while two others knelt next to her and each suckled at her breasts. Ashley quivered at the scene. To have three men attend to your every sexual urge while everyone in the room watched and grew aroused by the sight… Her nipples tightened.

To her right a man knelt behind a woman as he thrust his large cock inside her. The woman’s cries of satisfaction filled the room. With one mighty surge, the man swept the woman from her crouched position, forcing her back against his sweat-slicked chest. As he held her against his body, he cupped her breasts in his hands and tweaked her nipples with his fingers.

Ashley’s panties grew damp. Oh, God. What she wouldn’t give for a little of that action. Especially with a guy as hot as he. Typical of most fae, he was outrageously handsome. The only noticeable differences between him and any famous New York underwear model were the pointed ears and luminescent skin all fae seemed to possess. His body practically glowed as he fucked his very willing partner.

Oh…my...God. So this was what the festivity was all about? A huge swinger’s party? She never would’ve guessed. No wonder they dressed in itchy burlap sacks with drawstring pants. She was tempted to rip off the prickly clothing and join in the lusty pile of twining bodies. If her hormones had a say, she would be stripping down and getting busy. But she couldn’t. This was probably her only chance to escape. She couldn’t let her libido rule her and let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

With one last, longing look at the writhing bodies, she turned to go.

And smacked right into a very firm chest.



Uno… memories of the game

From the first time I saw it was intrigued. My first Uno game was when I was a kid. It was a Christmas gift and one that I to this day feel was the best gift ever. When I opened the deck, read the directions, explained to my family and then all my family present at Christmas sat down to play it was magical. It was fun, loud and exciting. When I won my first game and shouted “Uno” I was hooked. After that we played often. There was laughter, fun and teasing. I took my Uno game wherever I could and played with whoever was willing.

As the years went on I still played but not as often. In college I bought a new Uno deck so I could have some fun on those nights I had night duty as a RA for my college. And I found others who loved the game. During my night duty I would put out the word that an Uno game was on. People would come and we would have some cut throat games. Some with as high as 20 people with others waiting to take the place of the losers. It was a fun rotation of people to match Uno wit’s with. It was a great time. I even bought an Uno handheld game so I could play wherever I went.

But atlas time passed and I lost track of my Uno. At least until the last year or so. I noticed in the café at the day job there was a set of people playing Uno and my love of the Uno started to come back. Each time I passed the Uno players in the café I watched as they played and longed to join them. I didn’t but my Uno love continued to grow. Finally I asked to take part in a game and was accepted in. When I won my first game and shouted “Uno” it brought back memories of that first game. I was hooked all over again. Ahh Uno brought back so many memories or time spent with family and friends.

And since I love gadgets I am now in search of an Uno handheld game (grin). I love me some Uno. Now loud and clear. Come on and shout it with me “Uno”.

Taige Crenshaw
…increasing the sizzle factor

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Naked Recreation

By Lisabet Sarai

Photo by Adam Laurel

In my past gigs at the Hot Spot, I've taken you on tours of a sex club and a Japanese sex museum. This time, I thought that perhaps you would like to join me in a visit to a nude beach. I've done my share of skinny dipping over the course of my life, as well as indulging other forms of naked recreation including nude hiking, biking, camping and hot-spring soaking. I've been to nude barbecues and dances. And I've loved it!

You might get the idea - hint, hint, wink, wink - that visiting a nudist colony or a clothing-optional beach is a sexually arousing experience. In fact, overt sexual activity is generally frowned upon at nudist (or as they are sometimes known, naturist) venues. Members of the international naturist community spend a huge amount of time and effort trying to refute the general perception that nakedness equals sex. Their promotional literature emphasizes the health benefits of nudism, the way it can increase your self-confidence, the way it erases social barriers when nobody around you is wearing designer clothing or five hundred dollar shoes. Naturism is touted as an excellent lifestyle for people with children, and indeed, I wish I'd been able to run around naked when I was a kid.

This is all true. The fact is, though, that there you are, surrounded by naked people, and it's difficult not to think about sex.

Granted, many of the individuals you'll see have bodies that show the ravages of age. Some are overweight, even to the point of being grotesque. One wonderful aspect of naked recreation is the fact that no matter how ugly you think your body is, or how fat you feel, there's usually someone who looks worse - and who appears perfectly comfortable without clothes anyway.

At the same time, you're exposed (so to speak) to younger, more attractive people as well. Without clothes, you can really appreciate the diversity of body types and recognize that it's a great thing one size doesn't fit all. You can check out guys who are circumcised and guys who aren't, hairy men and smooth men, muscular bruiser types and slender aesthetes. Not to mention (if you're bisexual as I am) the many shapes and sizes of women, from willowy sylphs to buxom goddesses. All in all, the experience can be quite - um - stimulating.

You can't do anything about any of this, of course, unless the nude scene happens to be connected to a sex club or adult resort, but that's okay. Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac. You can stow away plenty of mental pictures for later fantasy (or to be turned into characters!) Meanwhile you can enjoy the fresh air and the pleasant, non-specific buzz that comes from doing something a bit daring.

One of my favorite spots for nude recreation is a lake in southern Vermont about an hour from where I used to live. Actually, it's a reservoir belonging to a power company, a vast sheet of sapphire-blue water surrounded by verdant hills. On a hot summer day, there will be scads of clothed families picnicking and splashing at the official beach maintained by the utility company. Passing them by, you set off down a shady forest path for an easy twenty minute hike to the clothing optional area.

Unlike the public beach, the nude swimming area at this reservoir doesn't have any sand. Instead, there are huge slabs of granite, stretching from the shore into the water. By the time we'd usually arrive, in early afternoon, the sun would have warmed the stone to a perfect temperature. We'd undress, piling our shorts and tee shirts on convenient rocks. Then we'd spread our blanket on one of the smooth ledges, stretch out, and settle in to read, doze, or watch our fellow nudists. When we'd been adequately baked, we'd take a dip in the remarkably clean water. You could slip from the slabs into the lake without having to step on the slimy mud typical of New England water bodies. By midsummer, the water would be cool enough to be refreshing but not numbingly cold. (Some Vermont streams are - even in August!)

People were always incredibly friendly at this beach. That's understandable. We were all in this together, defying convention if not the law. (The legal status of nude recreation is muddy in many parts of the U.S. The power company certainly knew the nude area existed. Generally, as long as no scandalized do-gooder complains, there's no problem.)

There's such a sense of freedom in shedding your clothes. It seems to heighten all your senses. I could get drunk, just from the feel of the breeze against my bare skin. The heat of the sun is more intense. The resiny scent of evergreen, the muffled calls from the official beach drifting across the water, the salt of the sweat I wipe off my brow - I'm there in the here and now, one hundred percent present.

I haven't been skinny dipping in a number of years. Since I moved to Asia, I've actually had fewer opportunities, although the tropical climate here would be far more conducive than New England's. Recently though, I was reliving the glorious experience of being naked out of doors, while I was working on my upcoming Lust Bite, Hot Spell.

My heroine Sylvie flees to the mountains to escape a brutal city heat wave and her own loneliness. She's far more at home in the forest than in an urban environment. She bathes naked in a mountain stream. She hikes to a high meadow and can't resist removing her clothing, especially since she believes there's no one around. And of course, once you're naked, the sensuality of the experience makes it difficult to resist thinking about sex...


Tree shadows told her it was well past noon by the time she reached the high meadow that overlooked Crystal Lake. The lake spread out below, a shimmering expanse of sapphire fringed with emerald. From the city, the hills had looked sere and sun-bleached, but here in the heart of the mountains all was green, save for the scarlet splash of early poppies. Jagged peaks reared in the distance, still clad in snow, almost too bright to look at.

The sun beat down upon her, burning hot but somehow less cruel than in the city. The warmth distilled the fragrances of nature – pine resin and crushed foliage, musty fungus and moist soil. Sylvie filled her lungs. The spicy mountain air was like wine, making her feel drunk, wild, a bit crazy.

She glanced around the clearing. A flock of swifts swirled up from the rippling sea of green into the surrounding trees. Otherwise, all was quiet. She might have the only person on earth.

Her sweaty clothes clung to her limbs. She wanted to feel the sun on her bare skin. And why not? She was alone, and with her tawny complexion, she wasn’t at all prone to sunburn.

Shucking off her shorts and shirt, Sylvie stretched out in the tall grass, exposed to the baking sunlight. A stray breeze stirred her hair and tickled her forehead. An insect buzzed overhead, then disappeared. The delicious heat made her languid and sleepy. She allowed her mind to wander.

Sylvie didn't intend to think about him. She couldn't help herself. With her eyes closed all she could see was burnished muscle, swollen cock, powerful hands gripping and squeezing. She saw the frenzied motion of his fingers, raking over his taut skin as if to torture himself. She recalled the pained look on his face, as though pleasure for him was a kind of agony.

As she remembered, she let her own hands trace her curves down to her pussy. The slick folds fluttered around her fingertips and her ocean smell rose to join the scents of grass and flowers. What if he touched her, with those strong hands, those knowing fingers? Circling her throbbing clit, she imagined it was the stranger who was kindling her, driving her deeper into fierce desire.

Her cunt was a hungry cavity aching to be filled. It swallowed her fingers, bathing them in hot fluid. She strummed her thumb against her clit while stroking in and out, all the while imagining the stranger pleasuring her. His mouth had been firm and sensual. How would those lips feel, pursed around her clit, sucking, kneading, striking sparks? Her pussy was on fire, her sun-heated flesh slick, ripe and screaming for release.

The pressure built in her belly, coiling tighter with each plunge of her fingers into her welcoming depths. Her nipples throbbed with the energy of arousal, crying out for some stimulation. She transferred one hand to their aching points, giving them what they craved. Lightning shot up her spine and fireworks detonated in her clit. She would come any instant, come under the expert hands of the gorgeous man who had wrung such fierce cries from his own throat. She was coming, coming...

A gasp, and not her own. Her eyes flew open.

Don't stop,” he cried. A man loomed over her, a man with a deep tan, a blond ponytail and eyes flecked with gold. The man from the creek.


I hope you've enjoyed our quick trip. If you've never experienced the delights of being naked out of doors, I encourage you to try, even if it's only in the privacy of your own back yard. You never know where it will lead, in your fantasies - or even in reality.