“Loaner Lovers” (Book 3 of “The Chronicles of Staffordshire)

Loaner Lovers Teddy Risque_WebIt’s feeding time at Staffordshire.  The Mistress’s libido is positively famished!  She hasn’t corrupted anyone in months and her global circle of lovers just isn’t big enough for her glutenous appetite.

Ahhh, but the Mistress knows precisely who to defile!  The lanky neurosurgeon with her unrequited, college-years crush on The Master and the surgeon’s husband who fantasizes about bedding the Mistress.  Ah yes, they will do nicely!  After all, there’s nothing like a nice, intimate orgy between friends to strengthen one’s marriage, don’t you think?

Plus…

Dangerous secrets abound among the inner circle at the estate.  Things have become so bad, the estate’s slutty Upstairs Maid/Therapist has called a weekend-long, emergency intervention.  It seems someone had an “oopsie” with The Mistress during dungeon playtime, one of the Paulson sisters has tried to steal The Master from his Mistress, and another servant has considered dispatching themselves from this life.

(Just remove the breakables from the room, Maricela.  You know how nasty things can get when The Mistress is crossed.)

Also in “Loaner Lovers”…

In the wake of a tragic passing, the Family St. Cloud will take a camping trip to the wilds of New York and learn the power of divine forgiveness.

The Mistress Mommy will share words of wisdom with her beautiful little girl, sweet little sobriquets that will come back to haunt everyone at the estate for a generation to come.

Yet another tragedy will befall the St. Cloud’s and a mystical near-death ride in the countryside will leave The Mistress wishing she had freshened the dungeon decor sooner.

The Mistress will scheme yet again, altering love’s natural course and brokering a premature union that will curse everyone at the estate.

And – as always – The Mistress’s Guardian Girl will bear the greatest burden of all, sheltering her lover’s messy secrets and picking up the pieces of her failed, duplicitous schemes.

Yes, the weird, wonderful world of Staffordshire lives on!

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Danger Mouse

Dead_Mouse“God damn this piece of shit!”  

I slammed yet another crappy, corded mouse against my desktop, cracking the case.

“This is the second one that’s died on me this month!  Where’s Ted?!  Where is that idiot IT boy Ted?!”

Groaning loudly, my luscious assistant Nina popped out of her cube and peeked her head around my door.  Twenty-six years old and 5’4″ of spicy, curvy, Double-D Latina in a navy skirt, white blouse, and 5″ pumps.  My God, she gets me wet!

“I don’t know where Ted is, my liege.  I’ll page him.”

I unplugged the mouse and held it aloft by the cable. “When Ted gets here, you tell him that this ancient piece of shit is going in the trash.  And if he wants it, he can just dig it out himself.  And you can tell him its time to start spending a little more money on the hardware.  If I find out he bought this piece of shit from his shady cousin again I’m going to castrate him!”

“I’ll let him know, Vampira.  In the mean time, do you want to just use mine instead?”

I popped the laptop from its dock and prepared to depart for wider vistas.  When I’m on deadline, my office feels like the walls are collapsing in on me.

“NO, goddammit!  I mean…”  I mellowed slightly, realizing that Nina was not the source of my frustration.  “No…  I’m going down to the conference room and work in there.  I need some space and a whiteboard.  But if Ted gets here soon, page me!  I want to have a chat with that boy.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Supreme Bitchiness.”

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The Flirt

You love parties like I love a good PAP smear.

Your wood shop mysteriously calls when black tie beckons.

But that is not our life.

We must show up and show off,

Being witty and engaging with other witty, engaging people.

It is the world we chose,

The life we lead.

Tonight is formal.

I have on my sexiest, red gown,

Demure in the front,

A plunge in the back,

Acres of flesh on display.

And let us not forget the risque slit up the right thigh.

Six-inch black leather pumps and bare legs.

The double-trouble combo.

I will be ogled tonight!

I already feel a little frisky,

Playing with you before we get into the car,

I am a little too touchy for your taste.

You try to cool me down.

“Are you going to be like this all night?”

I lick your ear.

“You are going to be like this all night, aren’t you?”

I kiss the tip of your nose.

I can’t keep my hands to myself as we travel.

I can see your adorable manhood pulsing.

I cannot ignore it.

My kitty is famished.

The console is not big enough to block my grope.

“C’mon, babe…  Not now…” you whine.

“Ohhh…  You’re no fun…” I pout.

That’s okay.

I’m patient.

I know how to break your resolve.

All our friends know.

Your wife is a notorious flirt.

We arrive and the valet gets the first taste,

A long, lingering look at my legs as I exit the car.

I add a polite little kiss to the cheek.

Sonny must be into women of a certain age!

We enter the room and my mouth waters.

Fresh meat everywhere I turn!

Tonight, I am not a woman.

I am a jungle cat.

I smell the scent of animals in heat.

They are nothing but bait.

I do not want anyone’s attention but yours.

I set my trap.

The flirt begins her prowl.

I stand just so, the runner’s leg exposed through the slit.

I hug each man a little too firmly,

My breasts pressing into his chest.

Pete’s arm gets a seductive brush.

Ward’s cheek gets a pleasant peck.

Oh dear!  A lipstick smudge!

His wife sneers at me.

I bump up against Albert’s side.

His elbow needed a hook!

I watch your eyes,

Flaming with jealousy.

Smiling, I blow you a kiss.

You know what I am doing.

You endure, you ignore, you fume.

I become more and more flirtatious,

Touching, kissing, hugging, men and women alike until…

You explode!

But you are such a gentleman.

No scenes to be made.

You take me by the elbow.

“Excuse us for a moment, will you?”

You lead me out of the hall and to a secluded spot by the elevators.

You spin me forcefully and stare into my eyes.

“What the hell are you trying to do in there?”

I grab you by the arms, throw you against the wall, and pounce.

Pawing at your chest,

I confirm your suspicions.

“Well whatever I was trying to do, it worked!

“Do I have your attention now?”

“Well…  YEAH!”

“Good!  Then DO something about it!”

I kiss you lightly.

We wouldn’t want to mess up the makeup…

Just yet.

You scowl, squint, and grab my arm!

You angrily toss me toward the elevator!

I stumble, falling backward against the doors.

You pound the “up” button,

Glaring into my eyes.

We wait in silence.

You scowl some more.

It is all an act!

The door opens.

You throw my rag-doll body inside.

As the doors close, it is your turn to pounce.

Good thing I reserved a room.

“Wild, Wild Wives” (Book 2 of “The Chronicles of Staffordshire”)

Wild Wild Wives 2 Blue Corset with Script_Scaled_Web

The Paulson Princesses finally have their man! Lena, Lenore, and Rory are now a happy little ménage à trois, making love here, there, and everywhere as the urge strikes. The threesome has forged a blissfully depraved little family and nothing will ever tear the three lovers apart or strain their eternal bond.

Except, perhaps, for the “M” words. Mistress, Marriage, and Mommy.

It seems Rory doesn’t know that his future wife has a cracked brain and Lena can’t tell him about Lenore’s little problem without betraying her sister’s trust. The Guardian Girl has a few more top-secret dirty jobs to do before she can release Lenore to Sonia’s protective care and the sexual tar pit of Staffordshire’s dungeon.

Plus, Lena knows she can’t be a third wheel in Rory and Lenore’s bed forever. Once they marry, the Master and Mistress will want to start a family. It is only a matter of time before Lena must find her own way in life and love. The Wild Child needs a Prince of her own to sweep her off her feet. She needs a big, cuddly, soft-spoken Prince with a gift for the perfect cup of coffee and a HUGE crush on, “The most beautiful tennis player in the world.”

And as the estate prepares for the birth of the next generation of Paulson Sisters, a mysterious young woman will visit The Master and his Mistress and teach them the real meaning of the word, “Oneness.”

The saga of Staffordshire continues. The estate’s “Wild, Wild Wives” will continue their wicked, libido-exploding ways.


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Teasing Aloud

“Do me, do me, do me again.

“Take me, take me, take me and then,

“Make me, make me, make me come HARD…”

I sing my way through the dishes with the voice of a whiskey-soaked rocker.

Wearing low-rise, skin-tight jeans I strut and preen like Jagger at Wembly.

You laugh, shaking your head at your wife’s crazy antics.

“Do me, do me, do me again,

“Take me, take me, take me, and then,

“Make me, make me, make me come HARD…”

In a flash I drop to my hands and knees.

I crawl toward you like a tigress on the hunt.

“Do me, do me, do me again…”

You are laughing but you are becoming concerned.

You know what I want and you can’t escape.

“Tough day at the office, dear?

“Ohhh…  I can fix that, sweetie…

“Do me, do me, do me again…”

My sound track just won’t shut off.

There is no knob you can turn, no button you can push to shut me up.

The only thing that will silence me is feeling you in my snatch.

I crawl up your body, grabbing at your waist, pawing up your chest.

“Do me, do me, do me again…” I whisper.

I turn, I shimmy, I grind your crotch, I strut away.

“Take me, take me, take me and then…”

I hop up on the counter and spread my wings wide.

“Make me, make, me, make me come HARD!”

It is always a game with me now.

My sexuality is beyond my control.

I like playing hard.

I am always guiding you, now…

Teasing you…

Drawing you in and giving you hints.

I beckon with my finger.

“Listen…  I said…  Do me, do me, do me again…”

You come closer.

“Take me, take me, take me and then…”  I leer.

You rub your hands along my spread legs, bare feet high in a flying V.

“Make me, make me, make me come HARD!”

You laugh, burying your face in my crotch.

You chew my pussy through my jeans.

Teasing is more fun when its sung…

Coming Alive

The week behind is a blur.

The week ahead is unknown.

The woman you once knew is evolving,

Becoming unburdened by old limits and shackles.

Old things we both thought we loved,

Are now but small pieces of cut, colored glass,

Forming a kaleidoscopic tapestry of intimate oneness.

Your flesh has never made me feel more alive.

Your caress has never been quite so bold or fierce.

Your willingness to travel this journey with me empowers me.

Thank you for sleeping this way.

For so many years I have wanted to lie next to you,

Knowing that at any moment your flesh could awaken within me.

Three AM will never be the same.

Feeling your naked body spooning into me,

Feeling your pulse throbbing in the folds of my tenderness.

You were being so good,

Holding back your ardor against your urges,

Wondering if I was awake, asleep, or lost in a fantasy.

I teased you, I admit,

Pretending not to feel your presence,

Hiding my exploding arousal with slow, deliberate breaths.

All I wanted was to feel you enter me,

To feel your body join with me once gain,

To experience the mystical oneness meant for our marriage bed.

And then, you knew.

You knew I was playing.

I felt your fingers roam and probe.

You took away my breath,

One hand caressing and teasing my breast,

The other hand massaging and testing my vulva.

I wanted to scream!

I wanted to shout, “Take me!”

Instead I played along, letting you lead.

And then I realized…

For all the times I feel the slut,

At three AM I feel the wife, your mate for life.

And I wanted tenderness.

I wanted to be treated delicately.

This was not the heat of day, but the cool of night.

I am begging you with my sighs,

Welcoming your presence with my shivers,

Eager to feel your lifeblood flooding my hungering soul.

I feel it now…

I feel you lifting yourself…

I lift my leg slightly, signaling my readiness.

You are there,

Your manhood at the threshold,

And my breathing speeds, my eagerness builds.

Ohhh…  Slowly my love.

Gently, I want to feel you enter.

Effortlessly, I want to feel us becoming a soul.

And then it begins,

A slow, rhythmic dance at midnight,

Not the wild mindless abandon of a hot afternoon.

I love you so much.

I could live like this forever.

After so many years, I still come alive in your arms.

“Your Honor, I Plead the Fist.”

Sometimes I surprise myself.  I’m willing to try things today that I never would have considered 20 or even 10 years ago.

Take Tutti-Frutti ice cream, for example.  I have never, ever tried Tutti-Frutti.  Yeah, I think I’m going to try it!  I think that would be fun!

NiagaraFalls

Or, take squirting, as another example.  Just this past week I learned that with the proper stimulation, I could squirt and squirt HARD!  Niagara Falls HARD!  Shake, rattle, and roll my entire body HARD!

To those women who believe squirting is a myth, I say this…  I was once a skeptic.

Now, I bow at the feet of Poseidon.

I found out that if I played with my pussy with my Hitachi on my clit and a G-Gasm wand working my G-Spot, I could have an orgasm so intense I would soak the sheets.  It was an orgasm so mind-numbing I came close to blacking out.  That first squirt-gasm was so intense, I wished I’d had it 20 years ago because I could have had 5000 more just like it by now!

My husband walked in on me just as my first ever squirt dribbled to a conclusion.  From the other side of the house he heard me screaming like a B-movie horror queen and raced to my aid.  The look on his face was a little bit frightening and funny, kind of like he just watched a space alien invade his wife’s body and do things with it that one just can’t do without space alien technology.

Now I’m a squirt whore!  I try to replicate that squirt every time I masturbate.  It’s not as easy as I thought, but I’ve hit the plunger twice in the week since my first experience.  Gotta hit that G juuuust right with some stimulation going on outside and BLAMO!  Squirt-o-matic!

But squirting wasn’t the only new trick I tried out this week.  This next little sexual oddity makes double-team masturbation and squirting seem almost tame by comparison.

The other night I sent an Internet pen-pal a fantasy involving fisting her.  It was all fantasy.  I just made it up.  I’d never fisted a woman in my life.

But she came back and said that, yes, she’d actually been fisted.  She further went on to say that she came so hard she squirted all over the guy doing the fisting.

Hmmm…  Sounds like a challenge!

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Soft is Nice, Too (Erotic Prose)

The sexual freak needs a break.

The “Other Woman,” the woman you didn’t marry but who still looks like your wife,

Needs to give it a rest.

It was a hard day at work.

Clients bitching, bosses twitching, and the world crumbling around her head.

She sits there in the lounge, still dressed in her work clothes.

She’s crying.

“Tough day at work,” you ask.

“Does it show?” I quip.

“Care to talk about it?” you ask.

“No,” I lie.

I’m praying, praying deep inside that you’ll understand,

That you’ll realize that I need you!

But I can’t say it!

I need my man to feel it, to sense what I need!

I can’t be the cougar, the prowler, or the sexual freak!

I can’t hint, or seduce, or draw you in.

I just need you to be the man I married.

I just hope I haven’t tainted you too much with my freaky side.

You sit next to me.

You pull me close.

“Take off your shoes, babe.”

I just needed someone to tell me what to do.

“Gimme your head.”

I lay it to your shoulder.

You stroke my hair and pet me, lover to lover.

I cry harder.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah…  I just love the way this feels…”

You cuddle me closer, wrapping me so tightly I melt into your side.

The cougar may be away prowling, but the kitten is warming up.

I slip my fingers through your shirt, rubbing your chest in thanks.

You’re too much of a gentleman to admit that I still look sexy as hell.

You’re trying to restrain yourself even though my touch is turning you on.

But I feel what’s happening.

I see what’s happening.

I grin.

I scooch over and climb into your lap.

And it’s happening a little faster now.

I kiss you, giving you permission to do more than just caress.

“You sure you’re okay, babe?  I wouldn’t want to…  You know…”

I grind your crotch a little with my ass.

I feel your throbbing manhood pressing upward into my mound.

Yeah…  I’m feeling way better now!

Finally! The Hubby Seal of Approval!

Approved_ScaledEvery day at Casa de Simmons is a new opportunity for intimate exploration, orgasmic exhilaration, and spousal satisfaction.

For the past three years I wrote “The Chronicles of Staffordshire” in virtual isolation.  My family knew it was happening, but they never asked how it was going or what it was about.  Good thing, too, for the subject matter was too racy for any of my kids when I started writing.

About two months ago I introduced my husband to the first book, “Guardian Girl.”  His jaw hit the table.  Female bi-sexuality?  Partner swapping?  Bondage?  Oh my!

Then I introduced him to the second book, “Loaner Lovers.”  His eyes bugged out.  Mistresses?  MORE swapping?  A mystical near-death encounter with God?  Good grief!

Then I introduced him to the third book, “Drop Dead Daughters.”  That shocked him even more because the “daughters” in the story are about the same age as our own college co-eds.  An all-out dungeon orgy in the first chapter?!  An extended lesbian seduction scene?  A dungeon battle royal between a Mistress and her locked-up sub?  Hemena, hemena, hemena…!

Hubby knew I was a wild woman at heart.  He did not know just how much of a wild woman.

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SRO (Erotic Prose)

You fear me, my love.

You should.

I do not know who I will be from one day to the next.

I have become unpredictable, and headstrong, and risky.

Will you come home to a kitten, soft, and playful, curling around your ankles?

Or to the lioness, salivating, leering, claws at the ready?

Today I am anything but a kitten.

I hungered for you from the moment I awoke.

I couldn’t sleep last night.

I laid awake for hours, fantasizing about something new to try.

New for us, but as ageless as sex.

All day long, I was wet and aroused and hungry and dreaming,

I would spring my trap later.

In the hallway.

At home.

My outfit was my bait.

Too short, too tight, too revealing,

Far too risque to be seen in public.

I had my hair up and clipped, craving your kisses to the nape of my neck.

I had my heels on, making myself taller, just the right height.

I had on the perfume you love, rousing your attention.

As you walked by in the hall, an animal slammed you against the wall and tore into your flesh,

Mauling your mouth and consuming your soul.

The animal pawed, and clawed, and purred, and growled,

Preparing your body to be taken and taken with violence.

It was my honor, my love, to warm you up in proper fashion.

It was my joy, my love, to feel you warm me up in return.

Because this is all so new to you, I must lead you.

This maelstrom of sex that possesses me is unfamiliar to my loving husband.

This is not predictable, a trip to our marriage bed for missionary and little more.

“We’re not leaving the hallway until I get fucked,” I purr.

I turn, I assume the position, and I wait, palms pressed to the wall, legs spread.

You lift away my skirt to find that I have left my panties in the drawer.

Your mouth warms me up.

Your tongue opens up a flood.

I feel myself preparing, blood rushing to fill my lips.

I am wet and thick and clenching.

I feel you…  Pressing in…  Preparing to fill me…  And then…

Ohhh…  The sensation of your body and my body blending as one.

It felt like our first time, full of heat and abandon.

The animal got her wish, mounted by her mate,

The way all wild females are possessed and subdued.

And for the first time in our marriage, we went SRO.