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 26th 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!
