Tag Archives: short story

Free read: Excerpt from Roadhouse Blues by Malin James

7 Jul

Today’s sexy free read comes from Roadhouse Blues by Malin James, to be published by Go Deeper Press on July 11, 2017. The excerpt below is from the first short story in the collection, “Flash, Pop!” Here’s what this short story collection is about:

Welcome to Styx—a blue-collar, American town where people can do whatever they like, so long as they don’t advertise. From a 1950s diner to the back of a rocking Camaro, the stories in Roadhouse Blues reveal sex that is by turns romantic, raw, triumphant, and desperate. Meet two women grieving the same man, a bartender looking for anything but love, and a hot, brash newlywed who knows she married a cheat. The local garage is run by a kick-ass woman who gives as fierce as she gets, and the strip club is a place full of whiskey and smoke, where memories are exposed as easily as skin.

“In the end,” writes author Malin James*, “sex is about people, and people have motivations, and sometimes those motivations surprise them.”

This is Roadhouse Blues. Surprise is just the beginning.

*Malin James quoted by LN Bey at lnbey.com.

Roadhouse Blues by Malin James

Excerpt from “Flash, Pop!” in Roadhouse Blues:

Debi has always dreamed of being photographed by the tabloids. This excerpt opens in the magazine section of the supermarket.

“Hey, baby,” Deke had said one day, looking like James Dean if James Dean had a paunch. “Why’re you reading that trash?”

“It’s not trash,” Debi replied all sassy-like. “It’s culture.”

“Culture, huh? That what they’re callin’ Dolly Parton’s tits?”

Debi shrugged. “Whatever you call ‘em, they’re on the front page.”

“That’s nothing,” he’d said, palming a cantaloupe. “You’re way prettier than Dolly’s tits.”

“Yeah, well,” Debi said, flipping her hair so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Pretty ain’t landed me on no newsstand.”

“That what you want? To be a star?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, you look like a star to me,” he’d said, fondling a melon while looking

deep into her eyes. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Debi rested her hip against the watermelon bin. She could smell his cologne—some cheap drugstore brand, but she liked it. She liked it a lot.

“Deborah,” she said, making the last part stick, “but you can call me Debi. You?”

“Deke, baby. My name’s Deke.”

“Deke? Who the fuck has a name like Deke?”

“A man,” he drawled, “such as myself.”

He’d grinned, big as trouble on Friday night. Debi smiled back—not enough to look desperate. Just enough to show off her dimples. She might not have said it, but the name fit him just fine, from his devil-dark eyes to his broke-down boots. Over the next six months, she’d come to appreciate those eyes, those boots, and every filthy inch in between.

 

One night a week, Debi’s mama watched the kids so Debi could have some “me time”—something she got very little of since Jack, her fucker of an ex, left her for a stripper like the cliché he was. More than a year later, she was still pretty wound up about it. She thought of Deke as therapy. “Me time,” so far as her mama knew, meant dinner at the Elk’s Lodge with her non-existent girlfriends. In reality, “me time” meant meeting Deke at the Pak ‘n Buy so he could fuck her in his Camaro.

She looked forward to “me time” every week.

One night, a few months into her thing with Deke, (because it was a “thing,” not a relationship, no matter how many times he talked about getting hitched), Debi got a text.

Hey, baby. Get on over here. I want to see your pretty cunt.

Debi rolled her eyes. I’ll see what I can do.

Debi liked to think that she held the reins with Deke—she had kids, after all—but cool as she’d played it, her pretty cunt was soaked. Debi dialed her mom.

By the time she got to the Pak ‘n Buy thirty minutes later, she was so hot to trot she’d run two lights. Deke was waiting for her with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth like a canary feather.

“Hey, baby,” he said, grabbing her for a kiss. Debi pretended to shove him away. She liked to make him work.

“Watch it, Deke,” she said. “I just did my hair. Like it?”

“Yeah, baby. You look good. Real good. Like a wild woman with all those curls.”

It was bullshit, but she loved it anyway so she gave him a kiss for his trouble. Then she gave him a bigger kiss, angling so the bulge in his jeans fit right between her thighs. Goddamn if she didn’t love that …. She pressed herself against him, cunt bare and slick without a scrap to soak her up. Deke ran his hands over her ass.

“You bare under that pretty white dress?”
“How ‘bout you find out,” she purred.

Deke gave her his best Paul Newman smile. Then he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Watch it, Deke!” she squealed. “I’m flashing half the Pak ‘n Buy!”

“Shoulda thought of that before you went bare, dirty girl. C’mon. I got you a surprise.”

Debi’s face burned as he carried her into the parking lot, but despite her kicking and hollering, only part of her was pissed—the rest was so horny she just didn’t care. Then she saw the flash. “Deke?”

Deke pat her ass and kept walking. More flashes. Flashes and pops, like a dirty, tabloid dream. Someone had a camera and they were using the hell out of it.

“Deke!? What the fuck?” Debi started kicking for real, but the more she kicked, the more her dress hiked up. She thought of her mama and squirmed ‘til her dress was up around her waist.

Deke gave her ass a playful smack. “Keep kicking, baby! Show ‘em what you got!”

Debi shrieked. “Deke, you bastard! Put me down! They can see everything!”

“Sure can! Smile, baby!” Despite the lazy drawl, Deke picked up the pace as he carried her through the popping lights. By the time they got to his car, she was a mess from trying and failing to kick his ass. He tucked her in the backseat and looked at her with stars in his fucking eyes. “Look at you, baby. You are fucking gorge—”

Debi slapped him so hard her hand went numb. Then she grabbed him by the belt and yanked him down. She should’ve been pissed but she wasn’t, not really, not given the hell she’d catch if her mama found out she was bare-assed in a parking lot instead of “helping a friend.” That didn’t matter, though—not right then. Someone had just photographed her, like she was a person worth photographing. She was horny as fuck in the back of a Camaro, and the look on Deke’s face was her favorite kind of foreplay.

Deke shoved down his jeans. “Come here, baby.”

Debi spread her legs. Then his big cock was deep in her, and she was scratching up his back. To hell with her Gel Tips.

She didn’t expect to come. She almost never did, not from straight-up fucking, but that was okay. Coming almost cluttered the experience. She wanted to soak up as much sweat and salt as she could. She wanted to hear every panting, slick, sloppy squish and bang as they fucked, and she couldn’t do that when she was screaming like a porn star. Except, Debi realized, she kinda was screaming like a porn star. Then Deke’s phone buzzed and he stopped.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she whined.

Deke checked his phone. What he saw made him grin. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s just your surprise.”

Deke gave her the phone and started thrusting, sweet and slow, while she scrolled. There she was, peeking through her wild-woman curls…there was Deke’s hand, big and strong against her pretty, dimpled ass…and there was her cunt, glistening like candy in that bright, tabloid light. Her face burned as she stared at her body, exposed like a stranger’s, lush and ready to fuck. It was the sexiest fucking thing and it hit her like rum and Coke. Debi started to come. “Fuck. Oh, fuck! Deke!”

Deke grunted and nailed her as hard as he could while she wailed and shrieked and clutched the phone. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt those flashing lights, saw herself through that big, sexy lens.

About the author:

Malin James is an essayist, blogger, and short story writer. Her work has appeared in Electric Literature, Bust, MUTHA, Queen Mob’s Tea House and Medium, as well as in podcasts and anthologies for Cleis Press, Sweetmeats Press and Stupid Fish Productions.

Roadhouse Blues will be available for purchase on Tuesday, July 11, 2017, via Go Deeper Press.

Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 excerpt: Simply Sinful Giveaway

25 Nov

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Welcome to our Simply Sinful Black Friday Reader Event, where we’re sharing excerpts all day and giving away the gorgeous basket you see below, full of goodies any romance lover would want.

My excerpt is from Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, part of the annual series I edit for Cleis Press, from my bisexual open marriage travel erotic short story, “Flying Solo.”

Blurb: Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, edited by award-winning author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, delivers risky, romantic, heart-pounding thrills. Featuring a diverse range of characters, sexualities and scenarios, these 22 steamy stories revel in erotic adventure, from the sparks between strangers to the knowing caresses of longtime lovers. Women learn “The Ropes,” get “Starstruck” and dine with “Two Doms for Dinner.” Penned by beloved authors such as L. Marie Adeline and Tiffany Reisz along with newcomers to the genre, these sexy encounters will give you plenty of fantasy fodder to last all year long.

bweofthe-year_approved

Excerpt of “Flying Solo” by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I’ve made sure my camera has plenty of battery left for this trip, because you’re not here to watch me. I wish you were, but life sometimes keeps us apart. You didn’t ask me to, but I want to send you photos of me naked, turned on, wet for you. Even though you’re not talking up a storm as you usually are when we travel, I feel you with me as I pass through security, and especially as I head to the gate and start casually, quietly, discreetly looking around, the way we did on our honeymoon. Has it really been four years? They’ve flown by.

I’ll never forget sitting with you and hearing you whisper, “Find someone to take back to our hotel room with us.” You didn’t specify if it should be a man or a woman, and although I’d never considered it before, the idea of being pressed between you and another man made me so excited I almost spilled the medium coffee I’d just purchased. You took it from my hand and blew through the small opening in the plastic top for me, raising your eyebrows. I giggled, then started looking. I reached for your hand for support; you squeezed it but then let me go. I fiddled with my wedding ring, twisting around the new gold band over and over, afraid I looked like a kid in a candy store.
You’d whispered to me again. “I’m just so madly in love with you, and I think this should be a new tradition; when we travel, we find someone to join us. Just for fun, no strings attached.” I’d spent the entire time before we boarded perusing every adult sitting around us, mentally undressing them, wondering who had piercings or tattoos, who was kinky, who was the best kisser. I pictured the tall man in a suit, speaking rapidly in Spanish on the phone, with his cock in your mouth. I pictured the short, curvy redhead with her head buried between my legs while you entered her from behind.

“Well?” you’d asked, as they started to board the plane.

“I can’t decide. And I certainly can’t go up to any of these people. What am I going to say? ‘I just got married and my husband wants to have a threesome?’” Yet even saying those unspeakable words made me wet, made my mind and heart race. I’d told you that I was bisexual after our third date, wanting to make sure you wouldn’t have that awful, frat-boy, “That’s hot!” reaction that even most seemingly sophisticated men busted out once I revealed I went both ways. You just nodded and let me tell you all about Simone, the gorgeous woman with the smoky voice and beautiful, curvy body I’d most recently bedded.

I’d fallen in love with you in part because you let me tell you anything, and in turn revealed some of your fantasies. We’d tried out many of them—bondage, strap-ons, hot wax. We’d talked about threesomes and orgies but in a fantasy way, until that trip. For whatever reason, you’d never mentioned wanting to be with another man, but I liked learning new things about you just when I thought I knew it all. “Let’s wait until we’re on the plane,” I’d said, and lucky me: my dream girl, the one whose face I kept returning to, was sitting next to me on the plane. You’d pretended to sleep while I made small talk with her, all the while working up the courage to say what I most wanted to. As it turned out, she’d been the one to whisper in my ear, “I wish I could be alone with you for an hour. I want to kiss you all over.”

I’d stared right back at her, barely hearing the screaming infant behind us, or the blaring music from the woman’s headphones in front of us. I just saw her, Katia, her ripe, naturally pink lips, her jet-black hair, the tiny diamond glinting from her lightly freckled nose. When I reached up and traced her lips, you’d stirred, gently knocking my knee with yours. “You can. Well, not alone, exactly. I’m with him,” I’d whispered, getting close enough to make sure my lips grazed her earlobe. “It’s our honeymoon, but he wants me to bring someone home for us to share.”

“I’m good at sharing,” she’d whispered back, and she’d proven exactly how good once we were settled into our suite. Fresh from a hot shower we’d shared, our kisses making me tingle all over, Katia had gotten you and me on our backs and eased her mouth from one to the other until I was absolutely dripping wet, desperate for more. “You get on top of him,” she’d instructed, in the sweetest, silkiest voice possible. It was an order, but a gentle one. If I’d had a better plan I’m sure she’d have gone along with it, but there was nothing I wanted more than your cock inside me, my body primed from her hot, hungry tongue. She eased you inside me and just as I moaned and thought I might come right then and there, her tongue was back, lapping between the cheeks she held open with those soft, delicate hands. Her tongue pressed against my rosebud, making me groan.

“She’s licking me,” I’d whispered frantically before burying my face in your neck. She worked me into a frenzy, one that your hard, driving cock only made more frantic. When Katia’s fingers reached around me to circle my clit, I came, trembling against both of you, then biting your neck when her fingers didn’t stop dancing against my hard bud. She raised her head, only to nip at the soft flesh of my ass while she coaxed another climax from me. But it wasn’t until she lifted me off of you, pressed three fingers deep inside me, then eased them out and put them in your mouth that I really lost it. The look of sheer ecstasy on your face had me slamming down on top of you, fucking you harder than I ever had. You looked right at me while you sucked her fingers, and I came for the third time, something I’d also never done.

“Can I taste him?” she’d asked, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than I was climbing off of you, wrapping my hand around the base of your cock, and feeding it to her. She didn’t swallow the whole thing greedily like I would have. Instead, Katia was like a cat with a bowl of milk, her tongue slowly licking up the cream at the tip, one long stroke at a time. I’d never seen a woman give a blow job up close like that, and I didn’t even think about what I did next, I just leaned forward and joined her, my tongue on one side of the ridged crown, hers on the other. Soon we were taking turns putting the head in our mouths, but I let her do the honors when you started to buck your hips up and down. I was too blissed out to give you the proper care and devotion you deserved, but Katia certainly wasn’t. I saw her saliva glinting off the length of your shaft as she rose all the way up, opened those beautiful brown eyes to stare at me, then, keeping her gaze locked on mine, moved all the way down. When I reached out to stroke her hair, you grabbed my hand and we both put just a little pressure on her head, enough to make her moan. Soon you were fucking her face—there’s no other way to describe it. She was grunting like an animal and you were lost in the feel of her mouth.

If someone had told me I’d spend the first night of my honeymoon watching another woman giving my husband head—and liking it—a few years before, or even a few weeks before, I’d have thought they were crazy. But in the moment, it was the hottest thing ever. There was no separation between us; we were all connected by our desire, our yearning to give and get pleasure all at the same time. When you came, I could tell instantly, even though Katia expertly sucked down every drop. “I think you should let Katia sit on your face,” you told me.

Oh my goodness. Of course. I lay back and soon she was on top of me, not writhing wildly, but slowly pressing herself against my mouth, enveloping my senses with her perfume. You got between my legs and ate me while I ate her, and even though your tongue distracted me from what I was doing, nobody minded. Eventually her languid movements weren’t enough for me, and I pulled her tight against me, loving how wet she was getting, loving it even more when she came. She repeated her clit stroking as you kept your mouth on me, so I got to experience a fourth orgasm that knocked me out. Katia was gone by the time I woke up, but what she left us with was an insatiable sense of sexual adventure.

Since then we’ve bedded men, women and couples—only while traveling, never back home. Today will be a first, though, and I not only don’t want to let you down, I’m curious what it’ll be like. Though I’ve had more partners than most of my married friends, when I’m with you, it always feels like married sex, no matter how many people are in the room. This time, it’s just me, and I have to imagine you watching, you whispering to me, you encouraging me. I still get nervous, as you well know, but I’ve loved every single one of our encounters, both in the moment, and how they spur us on later when we’re alone.

I text you a quick hello along with a photo of me, and just as I’m finished sending it, I see a man watching me. His head is shaved, and he towers over my five-two frame. I can tell he’s muscular from how his suit doesn’t quite fit him, even though he looks amazing. He’s taller and wider and probably stronger than you, but again, I know that if you were here you wouldn’t be threatened. Remember that pro football player we picked up, the one who not only bent me over and, with my head buried in the sheets, fucked me so well I squirted, but also fucked you? I think about that when I’m alone sometimes. It was one of the hottest things we’ve ever done. I wonder if Mr. Muscles would ever want to be with a man like you. Instantly, I blush; I can never hide that.

You’ve told me that’s one of the things you love about me—how easily I blush, how readily you can tell when I’m thinking something dirty. The muscle guy walks over. “Hi,” he says, his voice deep yet somehow boyish. “You busy?”

“Just waiting for my plane. Going on a business trip,” I say.

“Me too. Meetings, but not till three tomorrow.” Our flight’s at seven and is only an hour and a half, which means we both have a whole night free. “Look, I don’t want to bother you if you aren’t interested”—he nods at my wedding ring, which I only take off when I shower—“but I couldn’t help noticing you.”

“I’m interested,” I say quietly. I’ve had this conversation dozens of times, but it’s never easy to tell a stranger you’re in an open marriage, and it’s even more challenging without you by my side to help ease things along. “I’m…available. Tonight, anyway,” I say with a laugh.

“Tonight works for me,” he says. I motion to the seat next to me and we sit in companionable silence. I have an urge to lean my head on his shoulder, so I do. He strokes my hair, a seemingly gentle touch, but one that sends shivers running through my body. I picture you on my other side, and me snug between two men, one who sets me on edge and one who makes me feel safe—and sexy too. That’s what you do, if you didn’t know; I feel like I could take on the world in every way, knowing you’re there for me.

flying-solo

You can read the whole story in the anthology, available in print, ebook (including Kindle, Nook, Google Play, iBooks and Kobo) and audiobook. You can also listen to the full story free read by Audible audiobook narrator Rose Caraway

Comment below–or on any post published today, November 25–and be entered to win a Simply Sinful basket of book goodness.

Books! Wine! Bath bombs and soaps! Scones! What more could you need?

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Giveaway closes at midnight (Eastern), November 25, 2016.

Next up in the LadySmut Simply Sinful Reader Event is Isabelle Drake at 11 a.m.

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Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com.

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