My bukkake erotica story "A First Time for Everything" closes the gorgeous hardcover book just out from Chronicle Books, X: The Erotic Treasury, edited by Susie Bright.
Imagine my surprise when I opened it to see my reading seriesIn The Flesh, which celebrates its 3rd anniversary November 20th, immortalized on its pages! This is so amazing and one of the hottest stories I've ever read, and should give you a taste of what it's like BUT please note you cannot actually come and recreate this at the reading. But you just might find a hottie to go home with (be respectful though, it's a reading, not a pickup joint, but still). Plus free sex toys and condoms and $4 drink specials and amazing readers. Be there Thursday at Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street, NYC, from 8-10 pm (free, 21+). And as soon as I can figure out the hell-to-navigate Blogads, I'll have my very first Blogad up here for X.
by Marcelle Manhattan
Now is not the time for nostalgia.
I remember our evening last summer: KGB Bar, Lower East Side. I was wearing a white sundress. He was late, and I had to sit alone. Why had I agreed to a second date Was I bored? Did I like him more than I realized, after our first night out?
“So, Rachel Kramer Bussel is hosting this reading…I know erotica can be hit or miss, but it sounds like fun. Do you wanna go?”
I didn’t want to seem like a girl who’d never attended an erotic reading or didn’t know who Rachel Kramer Bussel was. I felt nervous and silly in my white J.Crew dress.
“Marcelle!” I saw him dash up to the bar. “Sorry; working late.” He kissed my cheek. As he ordered my martini, he flashed his sunny smile, and I relaxed a little.
“Just in time,” John said, as he handed me a sophisticated, funneled glass. The room silenced as Ms. Bussel took the podium, looking more like an Ivy League classmate of mine, I thought, than an erotic reading organizer.
John stood drinking whiskey like water as a petite woman recited her memoirs as a dominatrix on Wall Street. Before that night, I hadn’t truly known what a dominatrix did: pissing on well-dressed bankers and fucking their tightly wound asses with a thick, silicone strap-on as they writhed on the ground in humiliation. I took a gulp of my martini.
The second reader narrated his exploits with a candy-sweet, barely legal intern, who seduced him innocently with her short skirts at the office and screamed disturbingly hot filth while they fucked.
I sat, uncertain of my reaction. I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I was creamy wet between the legs. I didn’t know how to acknowledge my arousal in a public setting. By the third reading, I wanted to rub myself against the barstool, and John kept looking at me and smiling as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
We clapped politely for the story, and I moved my stool closer to him. I wanted our legs to touch, to rest my hand on his. I am not an initiator, but I could slowly let my lap fall open, legs spread invitingly, one bared knee brushing his leg...
Together, we stroked the smooth flesh. I felt it give beautifully back and forth, malleable and hard, under our collective grip. John had nice hands; I loved feeling him touch me while I caressed his cock. Then I let go, so I could watch him.
First, he moved it in front of my face, so I could taste longingly from underside to tip, and loll my tongue playfully around the head, lapping at its formidable split. I licked for a while, longing for more, until he groaned and pulled it away. Then, he took down my straps to shove it in between my breasts, the cleavage perfectly formed by the angle at which I leaned forward on the sink.