I've been so focused on getting my memoir out into the world I've been neglecting to tell you fine readers about Rose Caraway's latest anthology, Tonight She's Yours! As always Rose has selected the hottest stories to make up this collection of cuckolding tales.
Cuckolding has never much crossed my mind but the call for stories for this anthology inspired me to write a little something. This something ended up being a ridiculous and yet hot cuckholding threesome written and set in a gritty Noir world. Okay, it was really all just an excuse to use the word "pea-shooter" as a euphemism for cock, but people seem to like it!
The entire anthology including my story "The Third Man" is available as an audio book (which I highly recommend because Rose has literally the sexiest voice and can make any story even more erotic somehow by reading it) or or as an e-book.
And to tickle your fancy, here's an excerpt/tease from my contribution:
I knocked and heard the clatter of well-heeled footsteps pacing to the door. It opened to a soft cloud of floral perfume and the wide smile of Mrs. Chandler. My mug softened to take her in, that snug emerald dress hugging her curves had me dame dizzy.
“Mr. Harris, do come in.” Her voice was cigarettes and sass as she stepped aside, hurrying me into the warmth of her decadent sanctuary. Before the door was closed she was already behind me, all heat and sex, fingers at the shoulders of my coat. Sliding the leather off my arms divested me of my protective exoskeleton. I felt naked and under her sway.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Oh, Mr. Harris, I’m far too fresh to be any one's ma’am.” She breezily slapped at my arm. “Call me Anne, please.”
I couldn’t bring myself to use her casual name so I cracked a grin at her and nodded, “Of course.”
“Good. Now, can I get you a drink?” She gestured to her own glass of brown nectar.
“I’ll have what you’re having.” Our fingers touched briefly as she passed me the drink.
“How are you, Mr. Harris? You look so serious, so tired. Don’t you ever relax?” Before I could open my craw, a thump, like a sack of meat hitting the floor, came from the bedroom.
Well damn, I thought; what pearl of nastiness did they have in store for me tonight? The Chandlers were usually into tail, not bloodshed but nothing much surprised me anymore.
Mrs. Chandler played like she hadn’t heard a thing, beaming at me all sunshine and crimson lipstick. “Where’s Mr. Chandler tonight?”
She seemed shocked at the line of questioning, her smile turning into something much more dangerous as she lined her body up against mine. I willed myself into playing the stoic. Living another day was more important than following my pea-shooter into putting my mitts on the lady of the house.
Upper hand firmly established, Mrs. Chandler looked up at me over her long lashes, daring me to make a move. But a muffled cry knocked me out from under her spell. I turned to investigate the bedroom but she grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to her, bosoms heaving against my chest as she sighed.
“I was hoping to have you all to myself for a moment. But if you’re going to be so insistent, come with me.” She led me further into the pent house where Wallace Chandler, the third fattest cat on the east coast, was in the buff and roped to a chair. A scarf I’ve seen around Mrs. Chandler’s throat many times wrapped around his grill.
Seeing the head honcho gagged and bound, my first instinct was to cut the ropes and make a getaway. That was until I saw his stiffy. It all clicked in my thinker and I backed away, nearly toppling over the bed. I stood dumbfounded, unsure where my allegiances lay and why I’d been called.
“Have a seat, Patrick.” Mrs. Chandler sauntered over; placing one manicured pointer to my chest to push me into a seat on the bed.
She steps out of her stilettos and uses my shoulder to her crawl herself into the bed behind me. Breath along my neck as she tickles her lips right up to my ear, “Loosen up.” I can’t help but enjoy her fingers working the knots in my shoulders; she’s got a firm grip for a socialite. But the stink eye of Mr. Chandler digs a hole in me. His stony dark gaze holds mine.
So this is how I’m going to take the big sleep, then, seduced by the Mrs. as the boss man watched? It wasn’t how I’d pictured going down.
She followed my gaze to her husband, and chuckled. Swiveling my head to eye her instead, Mrs Chandler said, “Don’t worry about Wallace. As you can see he’s enjoying himself.” I tried to scour the image of his woody from my mind. “Wallace is a lot of things but a keen lover is not one of them. Isn’t that right, Wally?”
Wallace Chandler’s mug looked ashamed but his pecker did not.
I don’t know how or why I fit in here but I was pinned to the spot with my own growing hard-on. I was a lost cause the minute Mrs. Chandler touched me. Still I couldn’t risk returning her amorous attention in front of one of the top guys in the game. I held stony silent hoping by some miracle this was all a shut-eye hallucination and I’d wake in my sweat-stained sheets any moment.
Her lips at my ear hole again. “He’s never been able to satisfy me. Isn’t that right, Wally?” Mr. Chandler wiggles against his bonds in agreement, wagging his head sadly. “His pecker is shameful, it’s hard as a hollow point right now but as soon as he puts it near me it shrivels.”
Somehow she managed to shame him and make her pipes sound hot to trot at the same time. The puff of her breath as she talked tickled down my neck until I was stiff with a mixture of excitement and fear.
“He might be a pathetic, shrivel-dick, loser but Wally gets what he wants. And tonight that’s to see me get stuffed by one of my favorite fellas.” She ran her hands down my chest as the lightbulb went on in my thinker.
