"Sharing the Perfect Cock" from Caught Looking

To pique your interest in my hot new book Caught Looking (which will be on sale at the October 18th In The Flesh and which some of us will be reading from Saturday, November 4th at 2 pm at the Polk Street Good Vibrations in San Francisco), I'll be posting excerpts from some of the stories.

Here's the start of my story, "Sharing the Perfect Cock," (fiction, but of course):

My boyfriend, Kyle, has the perfect cock. Really—if there were cock models, the way there are hand and feet models, I bet he’d be making a fortune off his pecker. It’s tall and poised and beautiful, sleek and strong, with light brown hairs curling at the base, as if a proud statue were rising from a vineyard. The first time I saw it I almost wept, but I resisted—and quickly got down on my knees. I’ve worshipped his dick, literally, since day (or rather, night) one and am just as smitten with the member as the man even ten years down the road. Don’t worry, he’s equally as enthralled with my pussy, and together we’ve had countless sexual adventures. But lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that his package really is too perfect not to share. I mean, what kind of selfish, spoiled brat would I be if I kept such a gorgeous cock all to myself?

Okay, you’ve got me. I’m the consummate selfish, spoiled brat, and I want to share his dick because I want to watch. I’ve been going wild picturing another girl’s lips wrapped around that luscious fat head, her saliva dripping down his dick as she opens wide and takes him inside while he looks on proudly, brushing her hair from her face. I want to see everything I don’t get to see when I’m lying on my stomach, ass in the air, taking a pounding from him as his cock smoothly dives inside me, my G-spot rushing toward him, my hips undulating beneath him, my body his for the taking; everything I don’t get to see when his cock’s all the way down my throat and I’m in blow-job heaven. Just thinking about his cock makes me horny, but usually I have it buried inside me, somewhere, swelling to fit my entire mouth, cunt or ass, his hard length leaving me little room to think or look, I must simply feel him grinding against my sensitive flesh until he rings me dry—or, wet.

I haven’t told him yet, but I’ve been on a mission, a hunt. Every hot girl who passes my way, whether it’s the waitress at our local vegetarian joint, with her long braided pigtails and ripped denim skirt and camouflage shirt that just hints at the curves underneath, or my boss’s slamming secretary who I swear could make a killing as a stripper.

Read the rest in:

Caught Looking: Erotic Tales of Voyeurs and Exhibitionists