Bah, humbug! – #ChristmasInJuly #SummerTime #FreeBook #BDSM #Menage

Image by Myshun from Pixabay

One of my few marketing activities is sharing posts via Triberr. In case you’re unfamiliar with this site, it allows authors (or other people with common interests) to form “tribes”. You set up your blog to feed its content to the platform. Members of your tribes can see your posts and opt to share them via their own social media. Of course, you’re expected to reciprocate.

Anyway, I belong to about a dozen tribes related to romance and erotica, and I log on to share my tribemates’ entries at least a couple times every week. Not only does this help my visibility (and theirs, of course), but it gives me some idea of what’s popular and trending.

Over the past month, do you know what has dominated my Triberr stream? Christmas stories!

Blizzards. Holiday lights. Mistletoe kisses. Christmas babies. Jeez!

I don’t want to be a Scrooge, but in the northern hemisphere at least, it’s summer. Isn’t that enough to celebrate?

Why are we rushing toward winter?

Okay, I understand that Christmas, like romance, is about feeling warm and fuzzy. But if you’re going to celebrate it out of season, doesn’t that make the season itself less specia?

Anyway, I’m firmly entrenched in summertime thoughts and feelings right now. So I thought I would share a spicy excerpt from my BDSM ménage story On the Beach.

Image by David Mark from Pixabay

“Ever been to a nude beach?”

“I did some skinny dipping in high school, but not since then.” I’d pressed back against Greg’s chest, craving the closeness despite the pain from my scored flesh.

He’d licked my ear lobe and pulled me tighter before answering “Not me. I was too fat.”

“You, Greg? Fat?” James sounded astonished. “What happened?”

“Discipline.” The familiar bulk of Greg’s half-hard cock settled into the crevice between my butt cheeks. “Self-discipline, I mean.”

I knew how he’d struggled to slim down. Now he was all muscle—formidable.

“Well, tomorrow’s supposed to be warm and sunny. Bonnie Doon’s only about forty-five minutes from here—a really gorgeous clothing-optional beach. Shall we go show off our beautiful Isabella?”

The way he’d said “our” made me weak with desire.

Greg and I hadn’t seen James since New Year’s, when my husband had decided to share me with his closest friend. Over the months that followed, I knew James sent Greg periodic “suggestions” for things to do to me, and Greg emailed him videos of the results. Then James had invited us to his house in the Santa Cruz Mountains for “summer vacation”. So far we’d spent quite a lot of that vacation in James’ bedroom or the open-air dungeon he’d set up on his secluded deck. There’s nothing like being flogged while surrounded by towering redwoods.

“Sounds like fun,” Greg commented. It did sound like fun, at first. What woman wouldn’t enjoy being the center of admiring attention from two handsome, well-hung guys—even if they did get their kicks by ordering her around?

“Imagine how shocked everyone will be by the marks from your caning,” Greg had continued in that honey-rich voice of his. He ran his fingers through my tangled hair, tugging a bit, the way I like. “They’ll all see what a filthy, perverse little slut you really are.”

“Oh, no—you’re right, of course the stripes will show…” For once, shame smothered my lust. “I can’t—”

“Let’s do it.” James had slipped his hand between our bodies to tickle my clit. I squirmed against Greg, friction waking echoes of my beating. “You’ll love it, Bella. I promise.”

“No, please—no…” But Greg’s cock had slipped back into my stretched and lubricated rear hole, James drove four fingers into my pussy, and I’d known I was lost.

I wait, naked and blushing, my shame displayed for anyone who cares to look, while the men undress. They’re so beautiful, each in his own way, that I find myself distracted a bit from my own plight. Greg is massive, over six feet tall and solid as a tree, his swarthy skin gleaming with summer sweat. Black hair furs his chest and makes a curly nest between his corded thighs, where his half-hard penis juts in invitation. I lick my lips, hungry to taste his salt and musk.

James is shorter and slighter, lithe and wiry like a dancer, with a fair complexion that contrasts with his shaggy dark locks. His biceps and pectorals are smooth and hairless. Muscles ripple like water under his skin as he tosses his tee shirt onto a nearby rock. James’ cock is fully erect, arrowing up toward the cloudless sky. There’s hunger in his eyes as he approaches.

I scan the currently empty beach. The walkers have rounded the promontory that delineates the cove to the north. The sea thunders, leaving foamy filigree upon the slate-hued sand. A pelican swoops over the waves, then wheels out of sight.

“Turn around,” James orders. I glance at Greg. He nods. I understand that I am to obey them both today.

My husband’s friend traces one of the stripes on my shoulder, then slips down to fondle another welt on my ass. His touch, though gentle, wakes new pain in my battered flesh. I wince and he lands a sudden slap on my punished butt. I don’t mind. I feel myself moistening, melting, yielding as always to the intoxicating combination of tenderness and power.

“We really did a job on you.” His voice is gruff with lust, but I also hear something like awe. “Sorry, Bella.” He draws my hair aside to nuzzle at my nape.

“Don’t apologize to the slave, James.” Greg steps in front of me. His cock is now fully engorged. It sways as he steps closer to tweak my nipples. Lightning sizzles down to my clit. His cock bats against my thigh. I lower my gaze, as I’ve been taught. “The slave exists to serve us. If we want to beat her, we beat her. She’s happy to beaten, as long as it pleases us.”

He sounds like some Dom in a cheesy romance novel. That doesn’t mean it isn’t true. With his finger and thumb, he tips my chin up so that our eyes meet. A wild light burns in his, fierce and proud and full of love. Joy balloons in my chest, ready to burst.

When his mouth descends to mine, I open immediately to his probing tongue. I want him to take everything he can. He tastes of espresso and maple syrup, from the decadent brunch James cooked for us. His familiar scent fills my nostrils, like sun-warmed earth. His vacation stubble grazes my cheek. Every sensation is welcome, glorious. His lips seal themselves to mine, drinking in my devotion. This is my husband, my lover, my master. I deny him nothing.

* * * *

Want a copy of this story? All you have to do is leave me a comment with your email and the format you want (mobi, epub or pdf).

If you want to buy it... you’ll discover that it’s part of three-pack of BDSM tales featuring the same characters, entitled Coming in Costume. In addition to this summery tale, there’s a Halloween story and – yes – a Christmas tale called Silver Bells in which I first introduced the characters of Bella, Greg and James.

So you can celebrate Christmas in July, if you really insist!