Charity Sunday: Doctors Without Borders - #CharitySunday #conflict #emergencyresponse

We’ve reached the second Sunday of January already, which means it’s Charity Sunday once again. 

Today I’m supporting one of the organizations closest to my heart, Doctors Without Borders, also known as Médecins sans Frontières. MSF is a network of volunteer physicians and other health professionals who provide medical and humanitarian assistance around the world, in some of the most horrific environments and desperate situations on earth. MSF volunteers bravely help people victimized by disasters and conflicts, regardless of their nationality, ethnicity or political affiliation. The organization is officially neutral (a stance that has seen them expelled from some countries where they are sorely needed). In 1999 MSF was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize – deeply deserved, in my opinion.

When a magnitude 7.0 earthquake devastated Haiti almost exactly seven years ago, MSF was there, treating the wounded and helping to prevent disease in the shanty towns of displaced Haitians. When super typhoon Haiyan slammed into the Visayas islands of the Philippines in 2013, killing more than 6000 people and affecting 11 million, MSF was on the ground in days, building field hospitals, providing clean water, serving the hordes left homeless. Today MSF is at work in the battlefields of Syria and the Central African Republic, dodging bullets as they try to meet the health and humanitarian needs of civilians fleeing from violence. In the refugee camps of Yemen and in Bangladesh, right now, MSF is battling separate epidemics of diptheria, a disease of the past that is a new threat due to shattered health systems and over-crowded living conditions.

I urge you to visit the MSF site, watch some of their videos, and consider making your own contribution. In any case, I will contribute one dollar for each comment I receive on this post.

If you want to do more, you might also consider purchasing a copy of Coming Together: In Vein, an anthology of vampire erotica and erotic romance that I edited. All sales from this book support MSF. 

 

Meanwhile, as usual, I have an excerpt to amuse you this Sunday. This bit comes from my MMF erotic romance Monsoon Fever. The book is set just after the first World War, at a tea plantation in Assam, India owned by a British couple. In this snippet, Priscilla and Jon Archer and their lawyer (soon to be lover) Anil Kumar help the people of the nearby village to deal with a landslide triggered by violent rains – exactly the sort of situation where MSF might deploy its resources. This excerpt has special poignancy given the recent, deadly mudslides in California.

Priscilla saw it first. The note was scrawled on a scrap torn from a ledger, and fastened to the dining room door frame with a nail.

“Landslide at the village. Gone to help.” The writing was barely legible, but she recognised Jon’s hand.

A landslide! Priscilla recalled the heaps of mud and rock piled by the road on the way to Gauhati. 

“We must go to them,” Anil insisted, reading over her shoulder. “A landslide can bury a whole town, or sweep it away.” He searched her face. “Do you have shovels or picks? And buckets, buckets would be useful.”

“In the utility shed, behind the house.” 

Anil was already on his way out the door.

Jon had taken most of the tools, but they found a short spade and a mattock. They grabbed them and scrambled up the slippery path toward the village, rain still washing over them in dense squalls. As they approached the site of the village, home to the plantation workers and their families, shouts filled the air. Lanterns flickered in the wet, black night.

Priscilla had visited the village several times, bringing sweets for the children and English soap for their mothers. She hardly recognised the scene of devastation before her now. There was no sign of the wooden huts that sheltered the workers. She saw only a vast sea of mud, with splintered planks and beams jutting out at odd angles. Half naked men dug frantically in the muck, looking like an army of demons in the shifting lantern-light. Children hung onto their mothers, wailing or watching the rescue efforts silent and wide-eyed. An elderly woman, tattered sari clinging to her wizened body, crouched under a tree half-crushed by a huge boulder.

Priscilla saw Jon near the far perimeter, wielding a shovel and yelling orders to the other men. She stumbled across the ex-village, the treacherous mud sucking at her feet, and threw herself into his arms.

“Darling! I was so worried.” she cried. “Are you all right?”

Jonathan held her so tight she could scarcely breathe. His chest was bare and streaked with dirt. His blond hair was black with rain and soil. “Priscilla! Thank God! I’m so glad to see you!”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad—nearly all the houses were destroyed—but it could have been much worse. Most of the villagers were up at the shrine when the hillside gave way. We think that there are only a few people buried. We’re trying to find them before it’s too late.”

“Let me help. I can dig, too.” She held up her spade. 

Jonathan looked at her for a moment, appraising her strength, then nodded. “Take the north east quadrant. Be careful—you don’t want to slice into someone that you’re trying to rescue.”

“What about me? Where do you want me?” Anil had come up behind them during their embrace.

“Anil! Wonderful! Can you organise the men working in the south west? I’m not sure that they understand everything that I’ve been telling them.”

“Certainly, I’ll do what I can.” Anil strode off toward the group that Jon had indicated.

Priscilla waded over to the area Jon had assigned to her. The Indian men eyed her curiously as she dug her spade into the saturated dirt. The mud resisted, sticky and heavy as cement, but she refused to be discouraged. She raised one spade-full, then another, scanning her expanding excavation each time for any sign of a body.

Her shovel hit some buried wood. The impact sent a jarring shock back through her shoulders. She thought that the thump sounded hollow. Priscilla dug in again, listening more carefully. Definitely hollow.

All at once, she heard a muffled cry, a human voice. “Jon! Over here, I think there’s a partly collapsed house here, and someone’s inside. Alive!”

The men swarmed over to where she was digging. “Careful now,” Jon cautioned. Don’t disturb the timbers or the whole place might collapse.” He showed them how to lift off the soil in layers, standing away from the hole so that their weight would not affect the precariously balanced ruins underneath. It took half an hour, but finally they pulled an old man out of the ground, crushed and bleeding but conscious.

A shout rang out from the other side of the mud field. Anil’s group had located another body. Priscilla went over to lend her spade to the efforts. Digging side by side with her husband and the Indian lawyer, she worked steadily to strip away nearly two feet of dirt. Underneath, they found the mangled corpse of a woman cradling an infant. The woman was beyond help. The baby, though, let out a lusty wail as the fresh air filled its lungs.

Priscilla bent down and took the naked child in her arms. It was covered with scratches and abrasions, but miraculously unharmed otherwise. A boy, perhaps six months old. He looked up at her with chocolate coloured eyes and cooed, waving his chubby limbs.

Tears streamed down Priscilla’s cheeks, mingling with the raindrops.

~ ~ ~

Please leave a comment. Every one means a dollar for Doctors Without Borders. In fact, to encourage you further, I will give away an ebook copy of Monsoon Fever to one randomly selected individual who comments on this post.

Sunday Snog 231: Monsoon Fever (#sundaysnog #historical #menage)

Greetings! My kiss excerpt today comes from my M/M/F historical erotic romance, Monsoon Fever. This story is set in Assam, India, a few years after World War One.

I’ve only been to India once, and never to Assam, but somehow the setting for this book really came alive in my mind. If you enjoy being transported to exotic locales, you might want to pick up a copy!

Here’s the blurb:

Divine temptation lies in wait in an ancient and mysterious land.

In their first years together, Priscilla and Jonathan enjoyed a marriage based as much on physical passion as on love. However, the travails of business and the tribulations of the Great War have taken their toll. When Jon's father dies in faraway India, the couple travels to the father's isolated Assamese tea plantation to settle his affairs. Far from the bustle and distraction of London, left alone to endure the monsoon rains while Jon struggles to complete the final harvest, Priscilla realises how much she misses Jon's touch.

Anil Kumar arrives with business documents for Jon to examine. The charismatic native enchants both Priscilla and Jon with his god-like beauty and charm. In separate incidents, each of them succumbs to Anil's lustful attentions. Will the illicit desires excited by the handsome Indian be the final stroke that destroys their marriage? Or the route to saving it?

When you’re done with my Snog, head back to Victoria Blisse’s SundaySnog page for more Sunday kisses.

(In this excerpt, Priscilla, John and Anil have just returned from the site of a landslide, where they helped the villagers dig out survivors.)

Lalida reached the bungalow before them and lit the lamps. She took the babe from Priscilla’s arms, firmly rejecting her protests. “I’ll take him to my room and give him some milk, Madam. You need to bathe and rest. Tomorrow we will try to find his family.” She bustled away with the sleeping child, leaving Priscilla, Jon, and Anil alone.

They stood facing each other in the parlour, a triangle of muddy, dishevelled bodies. Now that the emergency was over, no one knew what to say. An awkward silence filled the spaces between them. Tension crackled in the humid air.

Priscilla looked from one man to the other. Jon’s hair was matted with dirt. There was blood smeared across his naked chest, but thankfully, she did not see any wound. Anil’s fine suit was torn in two places, with the pale lining gaping out of the gashes. He was barefoot, the sucking mud having swallowed his shoes. A dark bruise swelled above his right eye.

She knew that she looked no better. Her filthy hair stuck to her forehead in damp strings. Her clammy skirt clung to her thighs. Her blouse was in tatters, the seams split from her exertion. Her lace camisole, now a muddy brown, was clearly visible.

They were tired, battered and bruised. But they were alive, when not everyone had been so fortunate.

Inexplicably, her heart soared. These two courageous, compassionate men—they had saved lives tonight. She felt blessed by their presence, full of joy, power and love—for both of them.

She walked over to Jon, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him, open mouthed. He was tentative at first, but in a moment he became eager, pulling her to his chest and mashing his lips against hers. He smelled of earth, iron, and sweat, masculine, intoxicating. Priscilla’s nipples became hard little pebbles that set up exquisite vibrations each time they brushed his flesh. He reached behind her, grabbing her buttocks and forcing her pelvis against his. The hard bulk of his erection prodded the mound at the juncture of her thighs. Her sex, already damp, gushed in response. Boldly, she reached down to fondle his cock through his trousers. Her quick squeeze made him gasp.

Before he could completely recover, Priscilla moved away from him to Anil. The native’s dark eyes followed her every gesture. The hint of a smile played across his full lips. He met her kiss halfway, sinking his tongue deep into her mouth while massaging her breasts. Priscilla feathered a quick caress across his swollen groin before breaking the embrace.

She took Jon’s hand in her right, Anil’s in her left, and led them toward the bedroom. “Come,” she beckoned them . “I think that we all need a bath.”

Sunday Snog #116: Monsoon Fever

Better late than never, right? Here's my snog for this week, from my M/M/F ménage story, Monsoon Fever. I was thinking about this book because I'm working on a blog post about romance and weather, and this tale uses extreme weather as a background for extreme desire.

Divine temptation lies in wait in an ancient and mysterious land.

In their first years together, Priscilla and Jonathan enjoyed a marriage based as much on physical passion as on love. However, the travails of business and the tribulations of the Great War have taken their toll. When Jon's father dies in faraway India, the couple travels to the father's isolated Assamese tea plantation to settle his affairs. Far from the bustle and distraction of London, left alone to endure the monsoon rains while Jon struggles to complete the final harvest, Priscilla realises how much she misses Jon's touch.

Anil Kumar arrives with business documents for Jon to examine. The charismatic native enchants both Priscilla and Jon with his god-like beauty and charm. In separate incidents, each of them succumbs to Anil's lustful attentions. Will the illicit desires excited by the handsome Indian be the final stroke that destroys their marriage? Or the route to saving it?

Don't forget to visit Snog Central (http://blissekiss.co.uk) for more luscious lip locks!

Anil took her hand to lead her through the throng. Somehow, this seemed completely natural. “This temple is sacred to Sati, the wife of the Lord Shiva. When her father insulted her husband, the goddess committed suicide. Shiva, in anger and desperation, danced the Tandeva to destroy the world. The other gods sought to calm his fury, and in the ensuing struggle, Sati’s corpse was accidentally cut into dozens of pieces. Her yoni —her female organ—fell here on Neelachal Parbat.” 

 

He led her to one of the smaller buildings, through a low arch and into a cave-like interior. The only light came from a few smoky lamps. Coming from the bright outdoors, Priscilla could see little at first, but she heard the burble of flowing water.

“We believe that this spring is her yoni —the holy sex of the great Mother. At certain times of the year, the waters run red, and then we know that the goddess is fertile. Some say that those who dare to bathe in the spring gain the gift of bestowing ecstasy. If you are a man, your penis will become like the bull’s; if you are a woman, your sex will become so velvety and supple that mere entrance will bring your man to his crisis.”

Priscilla’s face grew hot with embarrassment. How could a near stranger speak to her of these things? Still, his words aroused her unbearably. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, gentle and provocative, and she imagined him stroking the folds of flesh curled between her thighs. She stood beside him, gazing into the sacred spring, powerless to take back her hand or to protest this unseemly intimacy in this heathen sanctuary.

He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “You are as lovely as a goddess, Priscilla.” His mouth claimed her, his tongue more insolent than his fingers had been. One arm slid around her waist and pulled her body against his. She melted into him, grateful that she no longer had to resist her own desires.

Through the fine wool of his tailored trousers, she felt the hardness that testified to his own need. Panic and lust fought within her. I am a married woman, she wanted to cry out, but his lips played upon hers and stopped her voice. His hands roamed freely over her body, massaging her buttocks, cupping her breasts, fingering the tight nubs of flesh that poked so obviously through the fabric of her blouse. He strayed to the damp crease between her thighs. She moaned into his spice-flavoured mouth, urging him on to more brazen explorations. He began to unfasten the first of the buttons that closed her skirt.

All at once, thunder cracked around them. Lightning flashed outside the arched door, momentarily blinding her. She smelled sulfur and charred wood.

Anil broke the kiss, looking around them, “Oh dear. It sounds as though the rain I predicted has arrived.” Another fierce peal of thunder echoed through the stone buildings. Priscilla cringed. “I think that perhaps we should head back. Come.”

Priscilla was simultaneously disappointed and relieved. She smoothed her skirt and ran her fingers through her curls, then followed Anil out into the courtyard. The rain had not yet begun, but the sky was a roiling mass of black clouds. Another lightning bolt lanced across the horizon, turning the clouds a livid purple.

Maybe the gods had intervened, to save her from herself. Or maybe they were angry at her faithlessness.

As Wet As It Gets

Hey, everyone! Welcome to the Wet and Wild blog hop, organized by the intrepid Skye Warren. Skye has a talent for coming up with the most fabulous grand prizes imaginable. For this hop, she's offering a $100 gift certificate from Victoria's Secret (that's a lot of lingerie, baby!) and a big prize pack of sexy reading.

Of course each of the participants is sweetening the pot. My gift to you is a brace of best-selling print anthologies, autographed of course: Brit Party (ménage themed, includes my M/M/F story Monsoon Fever) and Bound Brits (bondage themed, includes my M/F story Getaway Girl). All you have to do is leave a comment on this post, with your email address. In fact, I'll offer a second prize, too, an ebook version of Brit Party. I will draw my winners on Sunday the 26^th of May.

I picked this book because Monsoon Fever includes one of the wettest, and wildest, scenes I've written, a three-way interlude in the Indian version of a shower room. The story is set in the Indian state of Assam, just after World War I.

Priscilla and Jonathan originally enjoyed a marriage based as much on physical passion as on love. However, the travails of business and the tribulations of the Great War have taken their toll. When Jon's father dies in faraway India, the couple travels to the father's isolated Assamese tea plantation to settle his affairs.

Anil Kumar, a charismatic Indian lawyer who arrives on business, enchants both Priscilla and Jon with his god-like beauty and charm. In separate incidents, each of them succumbs to Anil's lustful attentions. Will the illicit desires excited by the handsome Indian be the final stroke that destroys their marriage? Or the route to saving it?

Here's the excerpt, which takes place after the three main characters have been working to dig survivors out of a landslide that engulfed the tea workers' village. Hope it has the desired effect! (That is, an increase in wetness!)

***

The bathroom was simple, Asian-style, a tiled area with a drain rather than a tub. Lalida had left an ample supply of hot water, filling every bucket and ewer in the house. Cold water came directly from the rain-fed cistern on the roof.

Quickly, before she could think too much about what she was doing, Priscilla stripped off her clothes and kicked them into a corner. She grabbed one of the pitchers of hot water and poured it over her head.

Dirt sluiced out of her hair in muddy rivulets and swirled down the drain. The warmth soothed her aching muscles but made her scratches and blisters sting. She picked up a bar of her precious English lavender soap and began smoothing the suds over her breasts and belly. She lingered over the task, savouring the silkiness of her own skin under her fingertips.

The two men watched her, transfixed. Jon’s mouth hung open as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing, but at the same time his trousers were distended by a huge erection. Anil’s lips were parted, his tongue-tip playing unconsciously at the corners. She could see that he was hungry to taste her. For long moments, though, neither man moved.

Her soapy hands slipped easily into the cleft between her thighs. It seemed so natural, to slide her slippery fingers along her folds and stroke the juicy bud of flesh that set her trembling. She had done this so many times; she knew instinctively the path to her own pleasure. No one had ever watched her, of course. Instead of inhibiting her, though, her audience stirred her to new peaks of excitement.

No longer was her self-pleasuring lonely and sterile. Now she was sharing it with the man—the men—that she loved and desired. As she climbed higher, she could see her own arousal reflected in their faces. Neither moved to expose his cock, not yet, but she knew that would come soon.

She rubbed harder, plunging three fingers into her depths while vigorously thumbing her clit. With her other hand, she pinched her soapy nipples, sending sharp bolts of sensation straight to her sex. She moaned, closer every instant to her final release. With her eyes closed, she could still feel their lustful gaze, hear their harsh breathing.

All at once, Jon groaned. Priscilla’s eyes flew open. He had unbuttoned his trousers. His cock jutted out, pale as ivory, the helmet purple with blood. He gripped his length with both hands, jerking away desperately. A grimace distorted his sweet mouth; he seemed almost to be in pain.

He worked his cock faster and harder, his eyes never leaving her soapy form. She picked up his rhythm, her fingers probing and twisting, her thumb mashing her clit against her pubic bone. She was close, and so was he. She squatted, opening her thighs wide and burying both hands in the sloppy, soapy cavern between them. Jon groaned again at the sight of her lewd posture.

They were locked in a race toward completion, each urging the other on. Priscilla tottered on the brink, humping her hands, watching her husband ravage his beautiful blood-engorged cock. Energy whipped back and forth between them, circling, strengthening. Nothing existed but their two bodies, straining toward ecstasy.

A half-strangled cry from Anil drew their attention. He had freed his cock as well. He stroked the thick rod of tawny flesh gently, far from the desperation of climax, or so it seemed. Yet as they watched, his cock contracted, pulsed and sprayed viscous ribbons of cum all over his delicate brown fingers.

The sight was simultaneously beautiful and obscene. Priscilla ground herself against her hands, hurling her body into an orgasm that tore through her like a hurricane. Even as she quivered in the retreating gusts of pleasure, she heard Jon yell and knew that he was spewing his seed across the floor.

The next thing she knew, Jon was beside her, helping her to stand. He clutched her soapy form to his now-naked body and sealed her lips with his. Joy ballooned in her chest. It had been so long since she’d felt his decisive mouth or tasted his familiar flavour. She rubbed her breasts against him, smearing herself with his dirt. His rigid nipples poked at her chest. Below, she could feel his cock stiffening again, nudging into the gap between her thighs.

She opened her legs and tilted her pelvis toward him, inviting his entry. Then, all at once, a torrent of warm water poured down on their heads. They broke their kiss, sputtering in the surprise flood. Before they could respond, another bucketful drenched them.

“Anil!” Priscilla turned to find that the native was behind them. He too had shed his clothes. As she watched, he raised a pitcher and poured its contents over his own head.

The shower slicked his dark locks against his skull, emphasising the fine planes of his countenance. Rivulets coursed over his muscled shoulders and down his hairless chest. His skin looked oiled, cinnamon-hued and buttery smooth. Only in his groin did hair grow, in wild black tangles completely different from the golden fur at the base of Jonathan’s cock.

***

Wet enough for you?!

Don't forget to leave a comment. Every one counts as an entry for the grand prizes, as well as for my giveaway. And to increase your chances of winning, visit the other authors participating in the hop. Just click on the links below.

A big thanks to Skye for organizing the hop. Have fun!

A M/M Embrace from Monsoon Fever

I've got a lovely snog for you today, a steamy M/M kiss from my historical ménage Monsoon Fever.

In their first years together, Priscilla and Jonathan enjoyed a marriage based as much on physical passion as on love. However, the travails of business and the tribulations of the Great War have taken their toll. When Jon's father dies in faraway India, the couple travels to the father's isolated Assamese tea plantation to settle his affairs.

Anil Kumar, a charismatic Indian lawyer who arrives on business, enchants both Priscilla and Jon with his god-like beauty and charm. In separate incidents, each of them succumbs to Anil's lustful attentions. Will the illicit desires excited by the handsome Indian be the final stroke that destroys their marriage? Or the route to saving it?

After you've savored the scene below, hop on over to Victoria Blisse's Sunday Snog page for more kisses from all your favorite authors!

Kumar snaked his arms around Jon’s body, pulling it back against his own. Jon froze. His cock jerked skyward. “Let me help you, Jon. You are so tense. You need to relax.” 
 

One of Kumar’s hands stroked Jon’s pectorals. Jon’s nipples spiked up into tight triggers that shot incredible pleasure through him when touched. The native’s other hand reached between Jon’s legs to cup the bulk of his erection.

“No,” Jon moaned, but at the same time his engorged cock threatened to explode in response to the intimate caress. Kumar squeezed the rigid organ, and Jon groaned again. Please, I can’t…”

Kumar nibbled Jon’s earlobe. Sparks flashed down Jon’s spine to ignite in his groin .” Why not?” he murmured, his voice rich with encouragement. “Why not allow yourself the release you crave, that you need?”

Nimble brown fingers unbuttoned Jon’s trousers. Jon gasped at the first touch of Kumar’s bare skin on his own. He slumped back, letting Kumar take his weight as the Indian fondled his aching cock. Jon could feel the hard bulk of Kumar’s own erection pressing into his backside. Panic seized him. He had to escape.

At the same time, the rock-hard evidence of the other man’s arousal nearly took him over the edge. He leaned against the other man, not daring to move, trying to ignore the insistent tease of Kumar’s cock, knowing that with the slightest provocation he would experience the ultimate shame. Yet the humiliating image of his seed shooting out all over Kumar’s hand only drove him closer to that extreme.

Kumar slid his thumb back and forth over the exposed and sensitive bulb. Jon gave a strangled cry of pleasure and anguish. “Don’t resist it, Jon. Why not enjoy the flesh that the gods have given you?”

“But—it’s an abomination. You, me…”

“Perhaps in England. Here we know that male and female are merely two aspects of the One. Turn around now, and I will show you such pleasures that you will not doubt they come from the gods.”

Jon could not help himself. Kumar steered him around until the two men were face to face. The Indian fastened his ripe lips on Jon’s mouth in a sweet, deep kiss. He crushed Jon’s exposed cock to his own groin. Through the thin cotton trousers, Jon could feel the native’s rigid cock, duelling with his own.

The heat of the kiss stole Jon’s breath. He had never before kissed a man, but now something was loosed in him. He opened his mouth to Kumar’s agile tongue, welcoming the foreign sensation of being invaded, savouring the exotic taste of anise and coriander. He wrapped his arms around the Indian’s muscled frame. Kumar’s light cotton garments were no barrier to sensation. Jon could feel everything—the heat coming off the native’s silky skin, the dampness near his armpits and his groin, the stony pillar of flesh rising between his thighs.

The Indian finally broke the kiss. Before Jon could sigh his regret, Kumar had slipped to the floor, kneeling in front of the Englishman. Before Jon could think about propriety or shame, Kumar had sucked Jon’s cock into his mouth. 

The More the Merrier

By Lisabet Sarai

Yes, it's me again, your hostess, with an excerpt particularly appropriate for a "Share the Love" event. The excerpt below comes from my story "Detente", in the volume Coming Together: As One, a ménage-themed collection which benefits ONE, the campaign to end global poverty. This story features a woman who lives with two men, her husband and her master. Although this might seem like the ideal, their jealousy and bickering make her life a hell. She takes off to visit a female friend, but returns to find that the dynamics of the threesome have changed in totally unexpected ways.

In addition to celebrating Coming Together, my post today is also part of Ranae Rose's multi-author Red Hot V-Day Blog Hop, which runs from the 7th to the 14th of this month. Check out the list of participants at her blog. Each of us is giving away a prize, plus Ranae is offering a grand prize $60 gift certificate to one lucky reader.

By commenting here, you're eligible for her grand prize. You may also win my prize for today, a copy of my ménage novella Monsoon Fever. And of course, all your comments today also count towards the Share the Love grand prizes - the $50 gift certificate and the Kindle Fire.

Talk about multi-function!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the excerpt. Note that it includes M/M interaction and some hints of dominance and submission.

*****

In less than thirty seconds, my clothes are in a pile on the floor. I turn my attention back to the center of the room. David's hands rest, motionless, on Eric's buttocks. Eric lays with his cheek against the padded table. They're both watching me, looking nervous but also appreciative. They wonder what I'm going to do next.

I cup my breasts in hands still slick with lotion, then flick both nipples with my thumbs. Lovely darks of pleasure pierce my sex. Eric gives me one of his enigmatic half-smiles. David licks his lips.

I look around, locate a stool, and seat myself on it with my legs spread rudely. I smooth my hands down over my thighs, then up along the inner surfaces, until my thumbs rest near my pubis. David's swollen cock throbs and twitches as he follows my every move. Slowly, I burrow into my thatch and open my cunt lips to their gaze. A drop of liquid flows from the splayed folds and traces a lazy path down my thigh. The air fills with my funky perfume.

Eric squirms a bit on the table. David releases a shaky sigh.

"So, did you miss me?" They both nod, apparently speechless. "It does seem that you've been keeping yourself busy..."

Casually, I slip the two fingers of my right hand into my cunt. My juices overflow onto the wooden seat. I slip a third finger into my cleft. Blood surges in my clit. With the forefinger of my other hand, I begin to draw little circles on the head of that aching button of flesh. Each touch makes me shiver with pleasure.

The uncertainty is gone from my lovers' faces. All that remains is lust. I beckon to David. "Come over here and eat me," I command. He doesn't need a second invitation.

He kneels between my legs and buries his face in my bush. I nearly come the first time he plunges his tongue into me, but I hold myself back. I want to make him work for a while.

David licks and sucks energetically at my flesh, making obscene slurping noises that arouse me even more. I stroke the dark tangle of his hair, murmuring encouragement. Over his head, I catch Eric's eye. I don't see any bitterness or jealousy there. His mouth is half open, as if he's panting.

It's too delicious to resist for long. I close my eyes and surrender to sensation. David tickles, gnaws, probes, swallows me whole. When he takes my clit between his teeth, my whole body begins to shudder. After four days without sex, I come in a thundering flood. The world crumbles around me and is swept away. The aftershocks gradually subside. I open my eyes. David's still between my thighs, his mustache limp and dripping, his cheeks smeared. He looks awfully pleased with himself.

"Was that good, Margot?" he asks.

"What do you think?" I reach down and pinch the taut flesh of his cockhead. He winces in response. "But you're not done yet."

"What is your pleasure, Mistress?" He's jesting, but in fact I know that he'll do as I say.

"It's time for Eric to have some fun," I tell him. "Eric, slide down so that your feet are on the ground. Just your chest and shoulders on the table."

I've never given Eric a direct order before. He looks daggers at me. I realize that I've miscalculated.

"David, make Eric do as I said."

"Boy, move your ass. Feet on the floor, thighs spread." I can hardly believe this is my David speaking. Even more astonishing is the fact that Eric promptly complies. A wave of new lust washes over me at the sight.

From the supplies cabinet, I retrieve a tube of lubricant and a condom. I hand the latter to David. "Put this on." Meanwhile I squeeze a thick rope of lube onto the small of Eric's back.

I want to be the one to smooth it into his crack, but I don't dare. "Grease him up, David. Get him nice and ready."

David is torn. He's afraid, but he wants to do it, too, wants to slide his lubed fingers into Eric's asshole.

"No, please," Eric begs, his voice cracking. "Not that."

The protest, and my silent insistence, help David to make up his mind. "Quiet, boy. You'll take it, and you'll love it. You know you will."

It's true, I understand now. Having David fuck him will be a thrill that Eric will never forget.

I watch, totally aroused, as David smears Eric's sphincter with slippery goo. He probes with one lubed finger, then two. "Relax, Eric," he says. "Don't fight it. You'll enjoy it a lot more if you loosen up."

I realize that this is the first time he has called Eric by name.

I almost come when David first eases his cock into Eric's butthole. I'm totally fascinated, holding my breath, as the pole of rigid flesh disappears inch by inch into the depths of Eric's body. How well I know that awful, glorious sense of invasion! My own muscles spasm in sympathy.

Eric moans softly. David's in to the hilt, his wiry pubic hair brushing against the white flesh of Eric's cheeks, which still show the marks of David's whip.

He keeps his slender body motionless for half a dozen breaths, letting Eric get used to his bulk. Then David begins to pump, slow and gentle at first, but gradually increasing the speed and force of his strokes.

He weighs much less than Eric, but the force of his thrusts shakes Eric's frame. David grunts each time he slams his pelvis forward; Eric groans a fraction of a second later. I can see everything in lewd, outrageous detail: the way that Eric's anus stretches when David pushes in, the way the muscles flutter loosely when he pulls out.

David's cock seems bigger than usual. He's gritting his teeth, trying to keep control as he pounds away at Eric's poor butt. Meanwhile, Eric is arching back as if to impale himself more deeply, offering himself to David. Completely open.

Love and lust are so mingled in me that I can't distinguish them. I crouch down under the table, kneeling between Eric's legs. His cock dances in front of me, vibrating in time to David's strokes. "Master," I murmur. Gently, reverently, I take him into my mouth.

I don't even need to suck. He explodes immediately. His bitter semen floods across my tongue and drips out of my half-open lips. He wails and jerks his hips, spurting fresh gobs of come onto my face and hair. Now David is yelling too, grinding himself into Eric's guts as he finally allows himself to let go.

And me? I'm shaking, laughing, crying. I don't know if I've come, and I don't care. It doesn't matter, at this moment when we're all connected. It doesn't matter at all.

******

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It's My Birthday - But You Get the Presents!

Today's my birthday. Of course it's a week day, so I have to work, but that's not going to stop me from celebrating!

And I want you to celebrate with me. So I'm giving away three erotic romance ebooks today, to three people who leave comments. All you have to do is tell me which you would prefer, and why.

Here are your choices:

• Monsoon Fever - M/M/F historical ménage
• Crossed Hearts - M/M BDSM contemporary
• Getaway Girl - M/F light bondage

If you're not familiar enough with the different titles to make a choice, check out the covers, blurbs and excerpts on my website. And don't forget to include your email address in your comment.

Thanks for joining my celebration! And don't forget to come back tomorrow for the first day of the Sharing the Love Blog Bash. You could be the lucky reader who wins a Kindle Fire.

Monsoon Fever: Excerpt

In their first years together, Priscilla and Jonathan enjoyed a marriage based as much on physical passion as on love. However, the travails of business and the tribulations of the Great War have taken their toll. When Jon's father dies in faraway India, the couple travels to the father's isolated Assamese tea plantation to settle his affairs.

Anil Kumar, a charismatic Indian lawyer who arrives on business, enchants both Priscilla and Jon with his god-like beauty and charm. In separate incidents, each of them succumbs to Anil's lustful attentions. Will the illicit desires excited by the handsome Indian be the final stroke that destroys their marriage? Or the route to saving it?

***

The bathroom was simple, Asian-style, a tiled area with a drain rather than a tub. Lalida had left an ample supply of hot water, filling every bucket and ewer in the house. Cold water came directly from the rain-fed cistern on the roof.

Quickly, before she could think too much about what she was doing, Priscilla stripped off her clothes and kicked them into a corner. She grabbed one of the pitchers of hot water and poured it over her head. Dirt sluiced out of her hair in muddy rivulets and swirled down the drain. The warmth soothed her aching muscles but made her scratches and blisters sting. She picked up a bar of her precious English lavender soap and began smoothing the suds over her breasts and belly. She lingered over the task, savouring the silkiness of her own skin under her fingertips.

The two men watched her, transfixed. Jon's mouth hung open as if he didn't believe what he was seeing, but at the same time his trousers were distended by a huge erection. Anil's lips were parted, his tongue-tip playing unconsciously at the corners. She could see that he was hungry to taste her. For long moments, though, neither man moved.

Her soapy hands slipped easily into the cleft between her thighs. It seemed so natural, to slide her slippery fingers along her folds and stroke the juicy bud of flesh that set her trembling. She had done this so many times; she knew instinctively the path to her own pleasure. No one had ever watched her, of course. Instead of inhibiting her, though, her audience stirred her to new peaks of excitement.

No longer was her self-pleasuring lonely and sterile. Now she was sharing it with the man -- the men -- that she loved and desired. As she climbed higher, she could see her own arousal reflected in their faces. Neither moved to expose his cock, not yet, but she knew that would come soon.

She rubbed harder, plunging three fingers into her depths while vigorously thumbing her clit. With her other hand, she pinched her soapy nipples, sending sharp bolts of sensation straight to her sex. She moaned, closer every instant to her final release. With her eyes closed, she could still feel their lustful gaze, hear their harsh breathing.

All at once, Jon groaned. Priscilla's eyes flew open. He had unbuttoned his trousers. His cock jutted out, pale as ivory, the helmet purple with blood. He gripped his length with both hands, jerking away desperately. A grimace distorted his sweet mouth; he seemed almost to be in pain.

He worked his cock faster and harder, his eyes never leaving her soapy form. She picked up his rhythm, her fingers probing and twisting, her thumb mashing her clit against her pubic bone. She was close, and so was he. She squatted, opening her thighs wide and burying both hands in the sloppy, soapy cavern between them. Jon groaned again at the sight of the sight of her lewd posture.

They were locked in a race toward completion, each urging the other on. Priscilla tottered on the brink, humping her hands, watching her husband ravage his beautiful blood-engorged cock. Energy whipped back and forth between them, circling, strengthening. Nothing existed but their two bodies, straining toward ecstasy.

A half-strangled cry from Anil drew their attention. He had freed his cock as well. He stroked the thick rod of tawny flesh gently, far from the desperation of climax, or so it seemed. Yet as they watched, his cock contracted, pulsed and sprayed viscous ribbons of cum all over his delicate brown fingers.

The sight was simultaneously beautiful and obscene. Priscilla ground herself against her hands, hurling her body into an orgasm that tore through her like a hurricane. Even as she quivered in the retreating gusts of pleasure, she heard Jon yell and knew that he was spewing his seed across the floor.

The next thing she knew, Jon was beside her, helping her to stand. He clutched her soapy form to his now-naked body and sealed her lips with his. Joy ballooned in her chest. It had been so long since she'd felt his decisive mouth or tasted his familiar flavour. She rubbed her breasts against him, smearing herself with his dirt. His rigid nipples poked at her chest. Below, she could feel his cock stiffening again, nudging into the gap between her thighs.

She opened her legs and tilted her pelvis toward him, inviting his entry. Then, all at once, a torrent of warm water poured down on their heads. They broke their kiss, sputtering in the surprise flood. Before they could respond, another bucketful drenched them.

"Anil!" Priscilla turned to find that the native was behind them. He too had shed his clothes. As she watched, he raised a pitcher and poured its contents over his own head.

The shower slicked his dark locks against his skull, emphasising the fine planes of his countenance. Rivulets coursed over his muscled shoulders and down his hairless chest. His skin looked oiled, cinnamon-hued and buttery smooth. Only in his groin did hair grow, in wild black tangles completely different from the golden fur at the base of Jonathan's cock.

Priscilla's palms itched with the need to caress that silky, dark skin, to mould Anil's flat breasts and flick her thumbs across his chocolate-hued nipples. She saw herself kneeling in the puddle at his feet, swallowing his majestic penis. The urge to turn image into reality was overwhelming. Did she dare to act on her desire?

She glanced back at Jon. He too seemed transfixed by the sight of Anil's glorious nakedness. His cock was fully erect once again. It twitched slightly, in rhythm perhaps with his racing pulse. His hands were clenched at his sides, but as Priscilla watched, he relaxed and began stroking himself. His cock swelled further. She willed him to look away from Anil and meet her gaze, with its unspoken question. He must have felt her thoughts. Their eyes locked, and for a moment Priscilla felt the old connection that they'd had at first, the sense that everything was understood. He nodded slightly, a half-smile playing on his lips.

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