Showing posts with label Taboo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taboo. Show all posts

Thursday, February 6, 2020

Shelby's longing to be bad... #Giveaway #Menage #MFM @TinaDonahue

Thrill Me cover


Check out this sizzling new menage romance from the fabulous Tina Donahue! And don't forget to enter her drawing for fabulous prizes!

  
Blurb


Longing to be bad…

For too many months, Shelby’s craved bad boys Ben and Dominic, cousins and celebrated chefs at the opulent Caribbean resort where she works. Their heated gazes prove they hunger for her as much as she does for them, but they’ve yet to make a move on her.

That won’t do. Yearning for their potent masculinity, killer smiles, and effortless charm, she sets into motion a decadent plan to be with them … at least for a little while. Her ideas include nude photos, a locale where anything goes 24/7, plus BDSM and other kink.

Fun-loving Dominic’s fully onboard. He’s had his eye on Shelby from the start. Ben has too, but he’s reluctant to mix business with pleasure. Since a previous work relationship screwed him big time, he doesn’t want to repeat the experience and won’t … as long as he keeps this strictly about sex, no strings or expectations.

Yeah, right. In an erotic journey that will surprise this threesome, all bets are off, resistance impossible, surrender assured.

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Excerpt (Rated X)

Her heart turned over, her legs giving out. She collapsed against him.

His solid bulk took the hit without a hitch. He tightened his grip and rubbed his cock against her hands.

She reeled.

“Hold me.” He thrust his hips into her. “Work my dick.”

His erect column was hot and hard against her palms but silken too, its softness stealing her breath. Her head drooped to the side.

He kissed her neck, then sucked it.

Liquid heat cascaded down her torso and settled in her pussy where it multiplied, making her unsteady, her cunt longing for their dicks, her skin ultra-perceptive to each touch.

Ben worked three fingers into her sheath, burying them fully.

She gasped.

His rapid breaths skimmed and heated her naked flesh. He tongued her folds and licked her nub. Delight shot through her then rippled down her spine to join those feelings already within her pussy, tightening the snug channel around his fingers.

He spread them, preparing her for his and Dominic’s rods, then latched onto her clit and sucked it.

Her breath spilled out. She shuddered, tensed, and pushed to her toes.

He matched her every move, not missing a beat. Holding her nub carefully between his teeth, he sucked and lapped the hard kernel, tonguing it fast, slow, and whatever lay in between.

Gah. It was too much. Her ears buzzed, and her cunt was about to go nuts. If it didn’t, she would.

Unfazed, he slid his fingers in and out of her pussy, mimicking a hard fuck. Dominic held her wrists in one hand and eased his pinkie into her anus. Quivers careened from there to her cunt then back, her poor body not knowing which pleasure to concentrate on. There was too fucking much.

He bumped his knees against her. “You’re forgetting my dick.”

He had to be kidding. She could scarcely withstand his and Ben’s carnal assault. However, she couldn’t short them in this. Forcing herself to focus, she stroked his length and the bumpy skin at his crown’s base.

He grunted crudely. “More.”

She obeyed.

His panting said he liked what she did. He captured her mouth and pushed his tongue inside. Muzzled, she couldn’t release an adequate sound or take in a decent breath. Starved for air and release, she floated, encouraging them to take the lead.

Ben toyed with her clit and sheath, Dominic her mouth and tightest opening, coordinating their foreplay like the friends and cousins they were.

Each lick and suckle stoked her arousal. Tension burned her shoulders and neck. Her legs and arms were oddly useless, no longer connected to her brain. She couldn’t have used them if she’d tried.

Exquisite anticipation built deep within her, intensifying her frustration, the fabled itch she couldn’t quite scratch. Round and round her excitement swirled, coiling and escalating, taunting and teasing, rushing close only to pull back, edging near then—

She bucked and inhaled sharply, everything inside her yielding and welcoming relief. Bliss steamrolled over her. Pronounced beats throbbed through her cunt, urging Ben’s fingers deeper.

His lips pulled to either side on her pussy, his grin wide. Dominic’s did the same on her mouth. Both guys happy, possibly smug.

For what they’d given her, she wasn’t about to bitch if they got cocky. They fucking earned it.

Listless, she sprawled against Dominic, her sole on Ben’s thigh. He kissed her knee.

Dominic released her wrists and pulled his mouth from hers. “Need a few winks before we smear the gunk on you?”

Ben rested his chin on her smooth mound. “If you snore, we promise not to notice.”

Romance didn’t get better than this. She smacked the side of his head and elbowed Dominic. They both howled as if she’d kneed their balls.

Men. Such babies at times. “Guys need a nap after coming. Women don’t.”

“Uh-oh.” Ben rolled his forehead over her stomach. “Is this the part where you tell us no male could survive childbirth or cramps?”

They must have heard the lecture before. “Nope. Men do have some good points.”

“Yeah?” Dominic nuzzled her neck and slipped his arm around her waist. “Such as?”

She squeezed his dick. “What do you think? Let me go.”

He released her instantly, but didn’t look happy. “The party’s over?”

Ben groaned. “Say it ain’t so.”

It wasn’t.

About the Author


Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic novels were Readers' Choice Award winners. Another three were named finalists in the EPIC competition. One of her erotic contemporary romances was chosen Book of the Year at the French review site Blue Moon reviews. The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition. Another two won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.

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Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Nothing held back ... INDULGE ME by @TinaDonahue #taboo #multipartner #eroticromance


Indulge Me cover

Blurb

Nothing forbidden…nothing held back.

Lissa prefers reading to cutting loose, but is willing to do whatever it takes to get the juiciest assignments for her job at a major travel magazine. Her chance finally arrives. She’s set to experience a posh Caribbean resort, a dream article and review except for one huge problem. It’s the anything goes theme week where nudity is expected and lusty hook-ups make threesomes look downright tame. Holy Hell. What has she gotten herself into?

Precisely what resort owner Jon Thorne thinks. Tall, dark, and luscious, he fears the randy male guests will eat her alive, resulting in a lousy review. His only option is to serve as her guide for every decadent delight from nude body painting to Dom’s Den where submission and punishment rule. Unless she wants to call the whole thing off…

And lose her chance with him, plus give up this gig? Dream on. Tempted beyond anything she’s known, she matches his passion and then some, surprising him during a sexy adventure like no other. 


 

Excerpt

They placed a sugared grape in her navel, two thin mango slices beneath her breasts, laid a pineapple slice over each nipple, settled a chocolate-coated strawberry in the hollow of her throat and on each palm, then glided beef au jus on her inner thighs.

She fought for breath, their touch further igniting the fire within her.

Using the spoon, Jon spread passion fruit over her bush.

She gurgled.

The guys held her tighter.

Jon gobbled the strawberry on her throat and suckled her neck, creating indecent pleasure.

The two holding her wrists wolfed down the chocolate strawberries on her palms, sucked her fingers, and planted wet kisses on her arms. The ones grasping her ankles, lapped au jus from her inner thighs.

She bucked.

Jon held her down and licked the pineapple slices surrounding her nipples, touching her areolas and tips more than he did the fruit.

Heated waves washed over her, turning her limbs to jelly, making them so deliciously weak she never wanted to leave this spot.

As the others feasted on her arms and inner thighs, he finished the pineapple and mangos, then focused on the grape, chasing it around her stomach like a ball, his licks arousing her past the point of no return.

Fighting for control, she tensed.

The grape rolled off her, settling next to her hip.

He grasped her upper thigh, bent down, and ate the piece, his fingers near her pussy.

She sucked in air. Didn’t help. The hut kept swimming, the candlelight blurred.

“Hmm.” He licked his lips and pressed his forehead to hers.

Gasping, she gathered enough strength to capture his mouth. He tasted like chocolate, sugar, pineapple, and a surprisingly tart flavor. This was eating at its finest.

He pulled his mouth from hers and heaved air, wonder in his eyes.

His reaction was the best present he could have given her. This wasn’t a surprise. It was a freaking miracle.

Settled between her legs, he lowered his mouth to her bush, but bypassed it and the passion fruit to tongue her cleft.

Jesus mother.

She arched her back, her legs wobbling, skin tingling from too much stimulation.

Her jailors clamped down.

She fought them to get to him. Even if she hadn’t liked him as much as she did, she wouldn’t have stopped what he’d planned for her. He was a damn artist in the sack, gliding his tongue down her slit then back up to lick her nub.

She pulled air in too fast and coughed.

Gripping her thighs, he lapped her cleft as he might an ice cream cone, sometimes touching her clit, sometimes not, his actions becoming a hit or miss proposition as far as making her blast off. Deliberately, he kept her from climaxing, drawing out the pleasure, her excitement growing only to wane before she reached her peak.

Perspiration glazed her throat and neck. Frustrated at him denying her, she lifted her butt and pushed her pussy closer to him.

Hand on her stomach, he guided her back down and kept her there, as the others did her legs and arms.

Her heart quivered at their alpha ways. She stayed where she was, until she ached to get closer to Jon and finally fought him and them.

On a huff, he broke the others’ hold on her legs, propped her calves on his shoulders and resumed his torment.

She clawed her captors’ shorts.

They didn’t let go.

She scratched their balls.

They pulled her hands away.

Jon indulged, slipping two fingers in her opening while suckling her nub.

Something inside her coiled and nagged. An itch she couldn’t scratch, her pussy constricting around his fingers.

He spread them, making this more intimate, downright base.

Powerless against his strength, she dug her nails into her palms, using pain as a distraction to keep from nearing climax too fast and having him delay it as before.

He worked his fingers deeper into her pussy then pulled them back, repeating the process to mimic a fuck, his pace on her clit increasing, his suckling pushing her to the limit.

Delight pressed close then scampered away only to return a second later. Pulling in any air became impossible. Her world centered on her nub, the wondrous pressure that kept building and torturing, refusing to stop.

She stiffened and gasped, everything within her exploding. Dazzling pleasure swept over her, heating her clear to the back of her mouth, making sounds sharper, touch more acute.

Her pussy went wild, a strong pulse beating rhythmically deep inside.

Buy Links

EVERNIGHT BOOKS: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/indulge-me-by-tina-donahue

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VZVSBY7/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=tina+donahue+indulge+me&qid=1564686223&s=books&sr=1-1

SMASHWORDS: https://bit.ly/2T5cGad

NOOK: https://bit.ly/2LSgISo

KOBO: https://bit.ly/2GHuNOq


About the Author



Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic novels were Readers' Choice Award winners. Another three were named finalists in the EPIC competition. One of her erotic contemporary romances was chosen Book of the Year at the French review site Blue Moon reviews. The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition. Another two won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.

FB Fanpage: https://www.facebook.com/DonahueTina1/

Email: tinadonahuebooks@gmail.com

Website/Blog: http://tinadonahuebooks.blogspot.com/

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tina-donahue

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tinadonahuebooks/
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1wFmIu6

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tinadonahue

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1Dl8DHy

Triberr: http://bit.ly/1CE2ec7

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/1yFLeMx

Amazon author page: http://amzn.to/1ChWFkO

My page at TRR: http://bit.ly/1vb7eEc

Kensington Author Page: http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/24772

Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

Romance Books 4 US: http://bit.ly/1JPtfeS




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Friday, June 14, 2019

Twins! Who me? Impossible. I can’t be having twins! -- #Taboo #Twins #Giveaway


Her Brother's Wife banner
By Bianca Swan (Guest Blogger)

If your ultrasound shows two little bundles of joys, then you are carrying twins. Two names to think of. Two strollers or one-double. One each arm. Two bottles or two tits. Two cribs, two college tuitions. Oh, but I digress. Here goes: If offspring are identical, they are monozygotic, which means they develop from one zygote that splits and forms two embryos. If they are not identical, they are dizygotic ('fraternal'), meaning that each embryo develops from a separate egg and each egg is fertilized by different sperm cell.

At any rate, the rate of monozygotic twins remains at about 1 in 333 across the globe. Chances are slim on those identical babies keeping you up all night.

That’s about as technical as I want to get or you want me to get, I suspect. I will add this, which I found interesting:

Then, I came to a chimera. In Greek mythology, a chimera is a fire-breathing female monster with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a serpent's tail. Wikipedia, in their “twins” article, said it “is an ordinary person or animal except that some of their parts actually came from their twin or from the mother. A chimera may arise either from monozygotic twin fetuses (where it would be impossible to detect), or from dizygotic fetuses, which can be identified by chromosomal comparisons from various parts of the body. The number of cells derived from each fetus can vary from one part of the body to another, and often leads to characteristic mosaicism skin coloration in human chimeras. A chimera may be intersex, composed of cells from a male twin and a female twin. In one case DNA tests determined that a woman, mystifyingly, was not the mother of two of her three children; she was found to be a chimera, and the two children were conceived from eggs derived from cells of their mother's twin.”

If you want to learn more about twins, my reference is Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twin

My twins are an impossibility, and therein lies the plot. The characters’ motivation is another layer in the story. The fantasy setting? When I thought of Alastair Keep, I pictured St. Michael’s Mount off the coast of England. The twins started talking to me early one morning, after a night on South Beach, and the original draft was written in purple pen on a legal pad.

Her Brother’s Wife (named by the publisher—my title was Gemini Rising) is a dark psychological novel dealing with a controversial subject in a fantasy setting, much like Cersei and Jamie in “Game of Throne”.

Blurb

From birth, Alain and Alina Alastair are a scientific phenomenon—identical male/female twins—a biological impossibility. Wishing to avoid notoriety, Lord and Lady Alastair whisk their miracle children to their island home isolated by a two-hour ferry journey from the mainland of England. It is at Alastair Keep that their destiny unfolds to the constant percussion of a restless sea.

As a young man, Alain craves escape from the seclusion while Alina more willingly follows her heart. Unaware, they struggle with a genetic proclivity, the Gemini Factor, that will lead them down the farther, forbidden paths. The secrets at Alastair Keep will undermine the foundations of their world and indeed threaten their very lives.




Excerpt

Alain tucked the in-flight magazine into the seat pocket and gazed out the window. The distance from one life to another vanished with the clouds fleeing beneath silver wings. The new 777-200 transported him from a sunlit future to a misty past…from a black-haired beauty to a fair-haired princess. Sunlight broke through cloud striking steel, blinding him for an instant.

Someone was going to get hurt.

Already he hurt—a low throbbing like a toothache. If he returned to Portugal, Alina would be devastated. His father would disown him. If he picked up his discarded heritage, a part of him would die and Maritza would grieve. For a time. He wasn’t vain enough to think she’d pine for him forever`.

The choice lay in his hands.

Damn, life got complicated when he tried to declare independence from The Keep. He shifted his long legs cramped beneath the airline seat. He preferred not to think, but fragments of memory plagued the corners of his eyes.

A vivid picture of Alina supplanted images of recent days drenched white-hot by a Portuguese sun. His twin’s presence was more corporeal than the woman sitting to his left. Welcome or not, Alina was there inside him, the mere thought of her a compulsion. He sensed her anticipation mounting as the miles melted. Expectation tingled over him. In self defense, he grasped at a memory of riding the splendid Lusitano stallions, their beauty and majesty a temporary refuge. Like Maritza. As he pictured his lover framed in an arbor of roses, his heart dived. Grief mingled inseparably with the mounting excitement.

His seat mate muttered something. He smiled vaguely at the tiny movie screen where imaginary figures acted out their roles. The film would end happily; every desire fulfilled. He hated the silver screen people. Things never turned out right—except in the movies.

The roar of jet engines and the spattering of conversation became a distant echo. Alina was journeying. When his sister took flight, despite the distance, she’d lead him down the path her imagination chose. Alina had always been the leader. Or is that a cop out to ease my own guilt? He laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. Why fight the inevitable?

The rumble of the sea surrounded him. July sunshine warmed his face. The light of home was different from any other place, diffused, like sunlight filtered through a special camera lens. He stood on the top tier of the formal garden, looking down on another sweeping flagstone terrace. A brisk waterfall sprang from an aperture in rock to feed the swan pond. Even in summer the water rippled clear, green, cool.

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Check out my other books there too!

About Bianca

Bianca lives in deep in Dixie with her characters and other friends visit. She has two children of whom she is extremely proud. She loves horses, sports cars, travel, theater, symphony and a very few TV programs, including Lucifer. News on the sports car front: This spring she handed in her Peter Pan shoes, trading a hot racy car for an SUV. She still believes in the power of love—and the power of lust—and enjoys delving into the soul of both the l-words, bringing to life hot men and the hot women who love them.



LADIES AND GENTS, LEAVE A COMMENT WITH YOUR EMAIL! BIANCA IS GIVING AWAY A $10 GIFT CARD TO BUY SOMETHING FOR YOUR TWINS.


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Sunday, May 12, 2019

Sizzling Sunday: Miranda’s Masks - #Victorian #EroticDream #SizzlingSunday

Sizzling Sunday Miranda's Masks banner
 
It’s time for another Sizzling Sunday! Today I’ve got a long excerpt from my taboo erotic romance Miranda’s Masks. Miranda, the heroine, working on her doctoral dissertation in literature, on the topic of Victorian erotica. I guess it’s not surprising she’d have a dream like this!

* * * *

She dreamed, coherently, lucidly, knowing that she dreamed. She stood before a tall oval mirror, outfitted in full Victorian costume—lace cravat at her high-buttoned neck and lace at her wrists, fitted cuirass waist of fine gray gabardine, gathered overskirt of the same and underskirt of flounced gray silk. Her jet locks were piled high on her head in elaborate swirls and rolls. Garnets set in gold dangled from her earlobes, and a matching brooch adorned her throat. She was holding her breath, it seemed. After a moment, she recognized this pressure as the embrace of her corset, encasing her flesh in a manner that was oddly comforting. She moved slightly, watching her skirts sway gracefully, noting how the gaslight made her jewels sparkle.

“Shall I help you to undress, Mistress?” The voice was familiar, though the inflection was not. Miranda turned to see her roommate Lucy, dressed as a lady’s maid, with a starched white collar and apron and matching cap atop her blonde curls. The girl’s expression was demure and respectful, but Miranda caught a hint of mischievous gaiety underneath the proper demeanor.

“Yes, please, Lucy, if you would be so kind.”

“With pleasure, Mistress,” she replied. She began unfastening the dozens of buttons along Miranda’s spine, until the fitted top hung loose from Miranda’s shoulders. Then, coming round to face her mistress, Lucy took hold of the long, tight sleeves and pulled the garment off. Next came the main skirt, which was tied around her waist, then the bustle and underskirt.

As the maid worked, Miranda noticed, she allowed her hands to linger slightly on her mistress’ body—an apparently accidental brush of fingertips across Miranda’s breast—a tracing of her hipline while removing a petticoat—a bare palm on the bare flesh of Miranda’s back as her corset was unlaced. Miranda was sure that these brief touches were deliberate, and meant to inflame her senses.

And so they did. When she stood, finally, wearing only her chemise, drawers and stockings, Miranda noted in the mirror the nubs of her taut nipples, pushing through the fine cotton, the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with her heightened breathing. She could feel the growing tension in her sex, wound like a coiling spring, pressing for release. A warm golden aura emanated from her form, pulsing and flickering like a candle’s flame. The rest of the room grew indistinct.

In the mirror, her eyes met those of the saucy maid, who stared back, boldly provocative, abandoning all pretence of propriety. “And now your hair, ma’am?”

“Yes, Lucy.” The maid removed pins and combs, and Miranda’s raven locks tumbled down over her bare shoulders. Lucy’s fingers trailed lightly down the side of Miranda’s neck, along her collarbone, then into the hollow between her breasts. Miranda felt the tension in her 
sex wind tighter.

The dream’s richness of detail, the vividness of sensation, amazed her. The delicate fabric of her undergarments draped loosely on her frame, semi-transparent. Miranda could detect the shadow of her black pubic curls through the cloth. Lightly, she touched herself there, with one finger, and shivered as sparks travelled up her spine. With her other hand, she cupped her breast, pushing it up and outwards so that the chemise was stretched tight and she could see, like a dark ghost, the rosy halo around her nipple. Lucy watched all the while, her blue eyes sparkling with her own lust.

“You are a very naughty girl, Lucy,” she said finally. “I’m not sure what I should do with you.”

“Leave that to us, Madame.” Miranda was startled by a masculine voice, coming from somewhere behind her. She whirled round to find herself confronted by five men in riding clothes, complete with top hats and high, shiny boots. They wore masks, not dominos but flesh-colored contrivances that covered the whole upper half of their faces, leaving only mouth and chin visible.

Her boudoir had unaccountably metamorphosed into a library or study, full of shadows, polished wood and dark leather. A fire burned on a hearth to her right, framed by two oversized chairs. 
 
Directly in front of her, behind the phalanx of masked men, stood a heavy table of carved mahogany. Miranda had a vague impression of glazed floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, statues on corner pedestals, windows shrouded in folds of burgundy velvet.

The man in the middle spoke again. His voice was hauntingly familiar, though he was as anonymous as the other gentlemen who flanked him. “Indeed, Madame, you have been acting most improperly yourself. I expect that my friends and I need to teach you a lesson as well.”

A frisson of fear shook her, followed almost immediately by a surge of arousal. “Lucy, remove her chemise and knickers. Leave on the stockings.”

Gleefully, Lucy obeyed. Miranda felt helpless, somehow, to speak up or object. The common dream-sensation of being rooted to the spot, unable to flee, held her in thrall. Now she stood nude in front of them, blushing with the knowledge that her nipples were visibly erect and that a careful observer would note traces of moisture on her thighs.

The spokesman continued. His companions remained mute. “You are very lovely, Madame, and very depraved.” He turned to one of his assistants, handing him a silk handkerchief. “Blindfold her. It will heighten her shame, and her arousal, to be unable to tell which of us is abusing her.”

The designated gentleman, slightly shorter than the spokesman, followed instructions. He circled behind Miranda, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. Instead of silk caressing her eyelids, however, she felt rough hands on her breasts, pinching and pulling. This hurt, and yet caused the fires in her sex to flare even higher.

After a moment, the man behind her resumed his task. She felt cool silk against her face, then a sharp tug as the knot was tied. All was blackness as she was led toward the table.

Yet, this was a dream, and dreams are fundamentally visual. Thus, even though Miranda experienced the deprivation of sight, and the intensification of her other senses, she also found herself looking on the scene from the outside, like a disembodied presence, or perhaps, the scene’s director.

Two of the men lifted her onto the polished mahogany surface and positioned her there, on her back, near one end of the table. They bent her legs at the knee and spread her thighs, so that her sex was open and exposed to all of them. Though she did not struggle, two men took hold of her ankles as if to restrain her. She felt motion and warmth there, between her thighs, and when the leader spoke again, she could tell he was very close.

“You are in our power, Madame You are clearly guilty and deserve punishment. And yet you are obviously, shamefully, wet with perverse desire.” He ran one finger swiftly through her folds, from back to front, ending with a sharp flick to her clit. She squirmed uncontrollably. Then he held the finger below her nostrils, forcing her to breathe her own sharp, musky scent. “You are wanton, Madame, and should be whipped.”

Miranda smelled leather, and felt a light touch running down the inside of her thigh. His riding crop—she was certain. At one level she was terrified. She wanted to protest that she was innocent—though she knew she was not—to beg for mercy. Yet she was silent, seething with passive lust, secretly inviting him to torment her, to mark her, to use his power over her. Her body shuddered, half in fear and half in frustration.

The unseen man laughed a little. “However, I am feeling merciful, and so the only rod you will suffer tonight will be made of flesh.” He paused for two beats. “Starting with mine.” And with no preparation or warning, he plunged a rock-hard dick into her depths.

Miranda screamed, with surprise, pain and pleasure, so mingled that she felt her senses swimming. He rode her with a fury that left her no respite. With each stroke, it seemed that his cock grew thicker and longer, so that she feared she would burst. Now her other eyes were closed, and all she knew was sensation in the dark, sensation so acute that she thought she would faint.

Meanwhile she smelled man-scent and sensed another cock above her, prodding her lips open. Obedient, hungry, she sucked this new cock into her mouth even as her cunt swallowed the first.

There was an explosion between her legs, a flood of cum washing out of her as she was left empty. But only for a moment; another cock slammed into her, taking up where the first had left off, stretching and filling her till she would have cried out, had not her mouth also been full of male flesh.

The owner of the cock in her mouth pulled out, though she sucked hard, trying to hold onto him. A loud grunt issued from his throat, then semen splattered her face. She licked her lips. The strange, acrid taste made her want more, more of anything they were willing to give her.

“You dirty girl, you like that, don’t you?” It was the leader, close to her ear. “You would like us to come in your mouth, on your tits, in your cunt, in your ass. Wouldn’t you?”

Miranda still could not speak, but she nodded. It was true, all true. She would give them anything they wanted, these strangers. She craved their touch, their caress, their abuse.



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