I have two stories in the new Black Lace (RIP, this year is the last year they are publishing anything new) anthology Sexy Little Numbers. I even got my name on the cover, woo-hoo! As someone who owns a lot of Black Lace books and has been reading them since way back in the early 2000s when I was first writing erotica, this is an extreme honor.
The first excerpt is from the start of the story, the "All in the Details" one, about a bisexual couple's dirty talk is a little bit into the story. I'm honored that the esteemed Adam Nevill (now at XCite Books) bought these stories and that I'm in a Black Lace anthology. Seriously, pinch me! I think I blogged this before, but yes, "The Perfect Distraction" is fiction, but was inspired by a hot couple I'd have hooked up with if we'd had time who I met at Dark Odyssey. Also, any time I can work in photo hunt, aka "the naked girl game," I'm a happy writer.
The Perfect Distraction
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
It’s hard to get distracted from watching an orgasm relay race, but Charles and Amanda manage to distract me quite easily. We’re all standing watching five women get fucked by powerful, giant machines that are intent on bringing them to orgasm. The room is filled with the collective energy of held breaths, wet pussies, and hard cocks as we partake in the highlight of the BDSM conference. Except for, well, me. I’ve come here on my own, and the two of them are the hottest thing I’ve seen all weekend, outstripping even the motor-powered climaxes just waiting to happen. Real live flesh will win out over machinery anytime, though in this case it’s pretty close.
Still, it’s undeniable that they are creating their own quite powerful energy right in front of me, the kind that you feel more than see, the kind that makes your pussy tingle and your brain go to mush. He’s got a sexy short brown beard and pinchable cheeks, and she’s got red hair, glasses, and a cleavage-baring red dress, but it’s not just their looks; it’s the energy they give off that makes me want to escape from the crowd and get them alone. They’re whispering and giggling and she’s running her hand under his shirt; I imagine she’s running a fingertip over his nipple. I can’t make out their words, but I don’t need to; I can tell they’re plenty dirty.
We keep turning toward each other, the attraction palpable, like we’ve already dispensed with the getting-to-know-you small talk and moved on to getting-to-fuck-you. He’s rubbing the back of her neck, and I picture him grabbing her there and shoving her onto her knees. I step closer to them and get in on their whispering. “Charles wants you to spank him,” Amanda says to me, then looks away. She’s made me blush, and I tell her so. I may put on a good front, but I’m never quite sure what to do when people so boldly proposition me. Clearly they’ve heard about the impromptu spanking demo I gave the day before, one that was fun, but nothing to write home about. It was a momentary bit of pleasure, but it didn’t make me ache like watching the two of them does.
All in the Details
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
I had already slipped my fingers between my legs. This was the best foreplay we’d engaged in in years. I was so smitten with the idea of my very manly, hunky boyfriend jerking off in secret as he lusted after his male roommate. It was so forbidden and naughty and hot. I’ve long loved looking at men kissing, whether photos, porn, or real-life opportunities, and have even initiated male-on-male action from some of my friends who’ve seemed interested but tentative, though those forays had never yielded more than a few moments of mutual pleasure. And while watching bonafide gay guys make out is arousing, getting two men who wouldn’t otherwise be drawn to their own sex to discover the thrill of kissing another man, making another man hard, is the sexiest power trip I know. My friend Belinda taught me how to go about it, and it’s been a little party trick of ours over the years, but one whose excitement was fleeting and impossible to predict; some guys can, indeed, resist a pretty girl pouting and begging him to pucker up.
So knowing that my lover, the man I’d shared a bed with for the past two years, had just such an episode in his past, was making my wetness practically spill onto my fingers. “I was going to just try to make my cock calm down, but I wound up beating off as I thought about him down on his knees sucking me off. I had to shut my eyes and soon I was coming, biting my lip to stifle my moans as I quickly cleaned up and headed back out, trying to keep my dirty thoughts to myself, even though I knew there was no going back. Once I’d pictured him swallowing my seed, I knew we’d be naked together by the end of the night.” He paused to kiss the back of my neck, almost absently, like he wished it were Jason’s. Then he came to life, nuzzling against me, breathing in the scent of my grapefruit shampoo, so he got to be there and here at once. We both did, and I was getting such a vivid picture in my mind, I was starting to regret that we hadn’t met back then and could’ve devised a way for me to watch this gay seduction in action.
“I took him to a bar off campus that most students shunned because it had nothing fancy to offer. But as you know, I have a soft spot for dive bars, and the darkness there was the perfect cover for me to both cheer Jason up and make him think our getting together was his idea. I bought us both beers, whatever was on tap, and then made him chug his. Then I got us another round and suggested we play photo hunt--you know, that game you love, actually, with the almost-naked girls you have to match up with each other.” I giggled, because it’s true; just like his former friend, I get beyond excited when I see that a bar has those video games. They bring out my competitive spirit along with my desire to check out other women.
“I figured that if we were both safely looking at women, women in glistening bikinis, picturing what we’d do with these girls, we’d both get turned on, but the chances of any real-life women entering our realm were slim. The chances of them coming on to us were even slimmer, so the result would be that we’d head back to our room a little buzzed and a lot horny. And that’s pretty much what happened.” His fingers found mine inside my panties as he pressed his hard-on against my backside. I was glad this wasn’t just some chore he was doing as a favor, recounting the time he got it on with another guy. I’d done the same for him, told him about fiery kisses with other girls, my friend who attacked me one night and wouldn’t stop until I sucked her nipples to orgasm, or my ex-girlfriend who delighted in lifting up my skirt and giving me spankings anywhere and everywhere. I loved sharing those details because I’d been with too many guys who were close-minded and felt threatened by even a hint of lesbian lust. Here I’d found a hot guy who not only wanted to hear about my dykey past, but had a little contribution of his own to our bisexual relationship.
In other words, I knew that at the end he’d fuck me senseless. “Keep going,” I murmured, meaning both his fingers and his tale.
“So we played a few more rounds, wound up getting free vodka shots from the bartender, and capped things off with a final beer. Jason was grinning, and when I asked if he was feeling better, he looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. ‘What do you mean? I’ve never felt better,’ he said, with a little slur in his voice. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said and winked.”