Sunday, March 25, 2018

Sizzling Sunday: Dragon Boat Blues - #Vietnam #MMF #SizzlingSunday

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Welcome to another Sizzling Sunday! Today I’ve got a spicy bit from the latest in my Asian Adventures series, Dragon Boat Blues, just released last Friday. The story is an MMF ménage romance set in Vietnam.


Take your chances as they come

My lost superhero Josh had jet black hair, movie star cheekbones, clever hands, the devil’s mouth, and an instinct for driving me crazy. Josh believed in his own myths. He was forty miles an hour over the speed limit that day, more powerful than a locomotive, when we smashed into the tractor trailer. He blew out like a candle. I sputtered in a sort of half life, year after year, marked forever by that brief dance with insanity.

I booked the dragon boat cruise on Ha Long Bay to use up a few free days at the end of my business trip, figuring my disability wouldn’t be a problem on the luxurious junk. I wasn’t looking for companionship, just a bit of peace. But when British honeymooners Stan and Phil welcomed me into their circle of love, I discovered how much healing I still needed.


Won’t you let me pleasure you, sweet?” He slid his palms up, closer to my center. “I’m dying to taste you.”

I don’t think—please… Oh, Stan…” I could have stopped him as he hooked the elastic waistband of my leggings and peeled them down over my hips, baring the untrimmed brown tangle of my pubis. But why bother? He’d stop by himself when he saw what lay beneath.

Stan paused, breathing in my strong scent. “Oh, Lydia!” He leaned closer, lips parted, nostrils flaring. “Let me get these off you…”

With a deftness I wouldn’t have expected from a gay man, he stripped me of the footless tights. I raised my butt to help. Why postpone the inevitable?

The horror that lit his face when he saw my scars gave me a sort of grim satisfaction.

My God! I had no idea.” With a hesitant finger, he traced the livid, cross-stitched track that ran from below my knee to my groin, just one of the puckered, discolored souvenirs I bore from my nine operations. “Do they hurt?”

Somehow I kept my voice neutral. “From time to time. Most of the pain comes from the joints, though, where the prostheses interact with the bone. The doctors did the best they could, I suppose, but there’s a limit to what medicine can accomplish...” Tears threatened again. I dashed them away with the back of my hand. “You should probably go now.”

Stan looked startled. “Oh, no, love…” He bent to my ravaged flesh and licked along the length of the scar. I shuddered at the wet heat. “Oh, no,” he murmured, so close to my pussy that I felt the vibrations, deep inside. “I want you more than ever.”

He drew my thighs apart, parted my labia with his blunt thumbs, and blew a stream of hot air over my cunt. Fiery pleasure leapt up in response. I think I moaned. Taking that as encouragement, he swept his tongue through my folds, back to front, ending with a flick to my rapidly swelling clit.

Like a speeding train, arousal hit me, smashing my reservations into insignificance. I sank my fingers into his lush hair and dragged his face to my pussy. He didn’t offer the slightest resistance. Burrowing into my cleft, he devoured my soaked sex-flesh, licking, sucking, probing my depths, fluttering over my clit, until I was half-crazy with need. I ground my pelvis against his plump lips. I impaled myself upon his stout tongue. I took what I wanted, what I so desperately craved, smothering him in my cunt, drowning him in my juices. Arching against his mouth, I clung to his skull like a life raft as my orgasm swept over me in liquid fury.

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