• Join 583 other followers

  • Facebook

  • Twitter

  • Most Recent Posts

  • What I’m writing about

  • Archives

Review: Sexxy (Las Vegas)

I’ve talked about strip clubs in Vegas, and the Magic Mike Live show. Our final bit of adult fun was to go see the Sexxy cabaret show. We also saw O at the Bellagio (such a unique show, even from the other Cirque du Soleil shows), went out to some truly amazing food (Bazaar Meat at SLS, can’t recommend highly enough), and went to a drag brunch at Señor Frog’s at Treasure Island (the VIP tickets come with an open bar).

Sexxy is at the Westgate Resort, a short cab ride from the Strip. It’s won a ton of awards, and best of all, it’s so affordable (by comparison). The room is small so it doesn’t really matter if you go general admission ($40) or VIP ($60).

Choreographed by Jennifer Romas, the numbers take you through a sensual set of burlesque numbers. Some of the more memorable included a cowgirl number choreographed to Pony by Ginuwine. (Damn you for getting that song stuck in my head again!), a pole number, and a water number with a tub.

It’s a topless show, so the girls strip down to just thongs. I found this far more sensual and sexual than Magic Mike, which overpromises and underdelivered–seriously, butt cheeks–you couldn’t even give us butt cheeks? Or maybe it’s just because I’m queer and women are really beautiful to look at, and burlesque numbers even more so, so there’s carnal appeal. Although I like dudes, too, and Magic Mike didn’t rev my motor in the same way.

I have to compare it to Magic Mike because the two shows were very similar in their marketing, and I saw them one night apart from each other. I think that there’s some amount of puritanism in creating a show of men for women–there’s still the assumption that we aren’t as visual or whatever, or that a six pack is enough. I think we women feed into that because there was LOTS of screaming women losing their minds over the men of Magic Mike (I think I’m probably an outlier). By comparison, it’s okay to sexualize women and to say that men are very visual and we should accept that as gospel. Both of these are cultural–we are taught to sexualize breasts in a very different way than we look at men’s chests. I certainly am the result of growing up in this culture–seeing breasts feels naughtier and sexier than seeing some dude’s chest.

The women are all accomplished dancers, and the choreography is tight. The only moments the show slows down are when a singer comes out and does some numbers, which I assume has more to do with the way things work in Vegas (there was one at the show we went to years ago, and one at Magic Mike, and this is a thing per my guidebook) and to provide a few moments for the dancers to change and grab a drink of water or what have you.

After the show the women will pose for (free) photos with the audience. This isn’t the best picture of me, but it’s my selfie with a few of the ladies.

I highly recommend Sexxy if you’re looking for a topless review. I know that Fantasy is the most booked on, and I can’t compare this to that show as I haven’t seen it, but I don’t feel like I missed out on anything by seeing Sexxy instead of Fantasy. The space is intimate, the dancers are talented and it was a fun evening. If you don’t mind the taxi ride (I think it was like 15 dollars each way from Bellagio?) you’ll appreciate this show.

Strip Clubs in Las Vegas

I’m still readjusting to real life after my week in Vegas alone with my husband. I wanted to write about some of the adult fun we got up to, and it made sense to start with the strip clubs. This post is based on my experiences, and is not sponsored in any way. Obviously I don’t have personal photos to use.

First a bit of advice

1-Take the free limo from the club. Taxis and hotels get kickbacks for taking you and you have to pay whatever the full admission price is. If you take the club’s taxi, you will likely get reduced admission/drink tickets. However, getting home is your problem. Popular strip clubs like the two we went to had lines of cabs outside, but the small club near the Erotic Heritage Museum that we didn’t enter didn’t so we had to call an uber to get back to the hotel.

2-Read the Yelp Reviews before you go to the club. Had we read them in advance we wouldn’t have had the bad/ugly experiences. We went by the recommendation of the travel guide and their #1 pick sucked.

3-Do not go in expecting the sort of full strip down that you might get in your home state. Vegas has topless dancing, and dancers just usually get on stage in a bikini or equivalent and bare their breasts. In Rhode Island (the nearest state with good strip clubs to Boston) dancers would come on in a costume, like a schoolgirl outfit and strip progressively down to either just a thong or nothing at all–something more burlesque by comparison. Vegas does have a few fully nude clubs, but they were either grandfathered in and can serve alcohol (Palomino Club) or don’t serve alcohol (Little Darlings or the equivalent).

The Good—Spearmint Rhino

Our first club night out, we went to Spearmint Rhino, which had the best reviews from women based on my skimming Yelp and comparing it to Sapphire, one of the other big clubs. (Sapphire’s reviews were fine, but in my opinion, Spearmint Rhino’s were better). We took a cab there and had to pay full entry (they told us it would’ve been better if we’d taken the limo).

I have gotten used to what I call the “enthusiastic woman at a strip club effect.” Dancers LOVE when a woman is there and is enthusiastic. My experience at Spearmint Rhino was no exception.

Lap dances–the girls at Spearmint Rhino know how to give a lap dance to either a man or a woman. There’s a subtle art to giving a woman a lap dance as we don’t have a penis to grind on. I got lap dances from like four or five different girls (extra shoutout to Annamaria and Tyler Rain), and my husband and I shared a half hour booth dance from Tyler Rain. They weren’t cheap, but they were worth it.

Stage dances–We sat at the main stage right as you walk in. Like I noted above, there was nothing burlesque about the dancing, but some of the women did pole tricks, and the rest danced with varying degrees of flirtiness and interest.

Being approached–I was approached and not just my husband, which is refreshing.

Drink service was prompt. The drinks were a little weak, but I found that to be true in Vegas for the most part.

Overall it was a fun night out at a strip club, and we happily stayed there until something like three or four in the morning.

The Bad: The Hustler Club

(Sorry the pics won’t upload)

Let’s just say that the women at The Hustler Club are immune to the enthusiastic woman at a strip club effect. If anything I seemed to be an inconvenience or invisible to the women who came over to chat up my husband (I have no problem with him getting chatted up, but I don’t like being ignored or seen as an obstacle to his wallet). We’d taken the (battered) free limo to the club, and received drink coupons to be used either downstairs at The Hustler Club or upstairs at Hunk Mansion (we’ll get there in a second), but I couldn’t get any attention (in a club that was pretty dead) to use them. There were plenty of dancers, but they were clustered together by the bar.

I can only toss money at disinterested dancers for so long before giving up. There was one dancer who flirted a bit with me, but was uninterested in giving a lap dance to a woman, I guess–it was disappointing.

This is the top rated strip club in Vegas. I expected more. At minimum I expected to be able to get lap dances and have some fun flirting. But sometimes things just don’t work out as we’d hoped for.

That said, this is the third Hustler Club I’ve been to (the others are New Orleans and San Francisco), and I have never had fun at a Hustler Club. I don’t know if it’s a woman thing (in that they are disinterested in female clientele or assume I must be hostile) or if I have phenomenally bad luck or if it’s just some spiritual disconnect. Regardless, in my limited opinion–give it/all Hustler Clubs a pass and just go somewhere else.

The Ugly: Hunk Mansion

(pic unavailable)

On the roof of the Hustler Club on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays there is another club in operation–Hunk Mansion with male dancers.

My partner and I have done female strip clubs for over a decade, so the opportunity to check out the men was irresistible. I wish we’d resisted.

It’s kind of obvious that the space isn’t used or used frequently outside of hunk mansion. The stage is pretty much what my kid’s preschool used to set up–something temporary, almost rickety. The chairs and tables are much more fragile looking and battered compared to what’s downstairs. Just as downstairs, it was pretty dead.

The thing about male strippers is, apparently, that they leave me cold. “Stripping” seems to be comprised of impressive dance moves, but dance moves I have seen done equally well in the subways of New York City. They take off their shirts and pants, but there’s no burlesque or performative element to it. That can still work (see Spearmint Rhino) but there’s nothing to write home about seeing guys in manties that cover more than most European male swim bottoms that would pass muster with PG13 censors.

The above would have taken it to meh territory but there were a few elements that ruined it.

The first was, again, being ignored including by wait staff. I never used my drink tickets because no one was interested in selling me a drink, and I wasn’t waving the tickets around so there was no reason for them to think I wasn’t going to be paying for said drinks. There were one, maybe two dancers besides the one on stage and at least one of them seemed to be actively trying to avoid attention.

The crowd was a mix of apathy and from the bachelorette and several older women overt aggressiveness which made for a weird vibe. (I’d see this at Magic Mike as well).

It was, in a strange way, too well lit, unlike most strip clubs which tend towards low lighting. Which meant it felt like I was attending a PG13 talent show in a school cafeteria where some of the parents are bored and waiting for it to be over.

But the thing that truly raised my ire was discovering that men don’t get lap dances at Hunk Mansion. If you’re willing to pay 3x the cost you can get a short private lap dance, but the establishment is pretty anti-gay. The policy of charging men more and making it shameful for a gay/bi/curious man to even ask in the first place is ethically repugnant to me. If you don’t believe me, just read the yelp reviews. Most of the one star reviews talk about how anti-gay this place is.

So like anywhere, your strip club experience is hit or miss. But hopefully you’ll end up with the kind of experience I had at Spearmint Rhino. In fact, just go to Spearmint Rhino. I wish I’d gone back there instead of wasting a night, and ending it in a fairly irritated mood, at Hustler Club.

Guest Post–An Interview with Tanith Lee

Today I welcome fellow Totally Bound author, Tanith Lee to my blog. Her new book Wish I’d Never Met You looks like such a great coming of age story. I can’t wait to read it.

 

tanith1

1–Hi Tanith! Tell us a little about you.

I’ve been writing erotic romance for about nine years, published for six, and I live in Yorkshire with my husband and two cats Dash and Spot. I’ve been published by Totally Bound, Naughty Nights Press and House of Erotica, and there’s nothing I love more than watching a horror film with a Mojito by my side.

2–Tell us about your journey from aspiring writer to published author.

I began my debut novel when I was 27 but was spurred on by the onset of my 30th birthday to get it finished. At the same time I was taking the Writers News course in fiction writing and had been connected to the RNA via my tutor, so I submitted my novel under the NWS. After receiving feedback and reworking it I submitted to several e-publishers and was accepted by Totally Bound, who I’ve been very happy with ever since!

3–Who has influenced you

I’ve been influenced by a number of people as my writing has progressed – Victoria Blisse (who introduced me to Smut By The Sea) and Gina Kincade (who invited me to submit to Naughty Nights Press) have been particularly influential and have broadened my horizons considerably. I also learned how to blog by working with Kallypso Masters on Red Lipstick Diaries. I would also have to give credit to my tutor Valerie Holmes and the Book Doctor Debi Alper who first advised me to re-brand my writing.

DashandSpot

4–Where do you usually write, and what’s your ideal writing space?

I do most of my prep work curled up on the sofa surrounded by cats, which is perfect for me as I can either glance up at the TV or stroke one of them whenever I get stuck. They also like to lie behind me when I’m on the computer in case I need a two-minute snuggle break.

5–Tell us about your current book.

Flick Lindenwood, fresh from college, has returned home to the suburban haven of Green Valley, back to society…and the source of her heartbreak. Four years ago Elodie Hamilton savagely broke her heart, and Flick has no intention of letting her pretty ex get back under her skin. As far as she’s concerned, she and Elodie never happened.

But Elodie has other ideas.

Afraid to come out, Elodie chose to destroy her relationship with Flick rather than let her family know who she was. But now she wants to right the wrong she did—if she can only find the nerve, and if she can convince Flick to see past the pain she caused.

6–What’s your next writing project(s)?

I’m working on a paranormal novella for Totally Bound and planning out a possible entry for a Sex in Space anthology.

iwishidnevermetyou_800 (1)

Excerpt

‘You know what I love about you? You always drink your coffee too hot.’

It had been their final year of school when Flick and Elodie had really noticed each other.

Both avoiding gym class—Flick with a wrenched ankle, Elodie with a broken finger—they had sat together behind a hedge on the school grounds, sunlight warming the grass, comparing notes on that hideous essay their literature teacher had set. Flick had glanced across at Elodie and desire had flushed through her, igniting her nerves. She had longed just to reach over and brush that blonde forelock out of Elodie’s blue eyes.

She had known for some months that she had no interest in boys, but had told no one, nor had she planned to.

It had all happened so suddenly. As she’d leaned closer, Elodie’s hand had landed on top of hers, and when Flick had turned to look at her, their faces had been too close to resist. She would have pulled away and apologized, except that Elodie had been kissing her back with such force that she had fallen back on the grass, feeling Elodie’s soft weight roll on top of her.

‘You know what I love about you? You always play your music too loud.’

Elodie had been cute, pixieish, her short blonde hair in a messy cap pushed back from her clear-skinned face. She’d had a way of tilting her head to one side that came over as thoughtful and curious at the same time. And she had been fascinated with psychology, always analyzing what people were thinking, reading their body language.

‘You know what I love about you? You always pick the weirdest meal in a restaurant.’

“Why do you love that about me?” Flick had asked.

Elodie had given her a sweet smile. “Because you do everything like it’s the last day of your life. You take chances, you take risks. You enjoy everything to the max.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No.” Elodie had looked down into her cappuccino, mouth turning down. “I don’t. My mom would disown me if I did anything she didn’t like.”

You mean like coming out? Flick hadn’t asked the question—she’d known the answer already. Rightly or wrongly, Elodie had been terrified of coming out. Hell, Flick had been nervous about the idea of coming out herself. It was much simpler to play at being friends, friends who read poetry together and practiced their music and hung out, snatching moments under the bleachers and under the bedclothes when no one was around.

Oh, Elodie. So sweet, so adorable, so good with her hands. So able with her fingertips—able to torment every spot, dipping her moist fingers between Flick’s folds until Flick was biting down on her wrist to hold back her cries. So pretty when she came, gasping and moaning as she’d writhed on Flick’s tongue.

So easy to love.

Right up until the end of summer, the day before Flick left for college.

The day that text had broken Flick’s heart.

 Buy Links

Submissions Call–Hope for Pulse Hate Will Never Win

Hope for Pulse – Hate Will Never Win

From the ashes of tragedy, hope will survive. When faced with hate, love
will survive. The constant balance of positive and negative is something
that lives in all of us. Help us focus on the positive and not the
negative; put aside politics and focus on the people; give strength and
hope to those that remain.

Submissions:

– All stories should all have hope and love as the focus of the story;
stories should be GLBT pairings

– Should be a minimum of 5k, maximum of 10k – stories will be combined into a one
volume anthology

– Any subgenre is welcome and all prohibitive guidelines are observed

– Submissions should be sent to special_submissions@mlrpress.com

SUBMISSION DEADLINE:
June 25, 2016, anthology will release July 22, 2016

All proceeds will be donated to Equality Florida’s fund for the victims
and families of the Pulse Shooting

Any questions can be sent to Kris Jacen at KrisJacen@mlrpress.com

Pinky Elizabeth Buster

13450253_1099476713446405_1884816962199523412_n

Because I was too sick to attend PinkDot 2016, my daughters bought me a stuffed Pink Dot to keep me company in my hospital room. (Until they got into a fight over it and somehow took it home with them so they could take turns sleeping with it).

I suggested they name it for me.

Everyone–this is Pinky Elizabeth Buster.

**apologies if yesterday’s post was garbled. I originally was just going to leave that post on fb, but when the shooting occurred, I felt like I should share them here as well. Unfortunately, I’m so blur (to use the Singlish) that I’m just not capable of making sense about much of anything right now.***

Just a Kiss

13393945_10153563036537371_6519726233232506565_n

A few days ago, I posted the following on my Delilah Night Facebook page

If you follow me, you know I live in Singapore. Singapore is a very complex country often reduced to caning or banning chewing gum in the media.

We are also a country with anti-sodomy laws on the books (377a), where progresses in the quest for equality for the LGBTQA community is stymied at every turn by “traditional /Asian values”(while being advised by American advocacy group Focus on the Family and American based /American style Christian Fundamentalist Churches). Singapore is a country where coming out often means being estranged from your family, and thus many choose to stay closeted.

Singapore had one park –one —where you can “protest.” Assuming your event gets the proper permits. In 2008, an event called Pink Dot was launched with around 2,000 citizens and permanent residents forming a pink dot to physically demonstrate that there are people in Singapore who support the right to love. In 2015, over 29,000 individuals participated. 2015 also marked the beginning of the counter movement “Wear White” to support “traditional Asian values”–jointly organized between a cleric and the fundamentalist Christian preacher who eventually took all the media attention. This year they didn’t release numbers, but there was a lot of backlash against foreign companies co-sponsored the event, such as Goldman Sachs and Google, despite those companies having local headquarters. I’m told there was a lot of minor hassling —this square meter isn’t technically part of the park so you can’t stand here, etc. So despite this one event, a stationary event in a small park, there are many who use the rhetoric of “forcing values down our throats.”

Enter a production of Les Misérables, on tour from Australia.

I happened to see the “kiss” that caused this kerfuffle, which playwright Alfian Sa’at breaks down FAR better than I do. I can tell you that the audience physically flinched and audible gasped. It was if the weight of their horrified shock pushed everyone in the theater back against their seat.

What do people do? Call the police. Call the Media Development Association, the board that allows or bans movies (or “edits” them). Post on hate groups like “WeAreAgainstPinkDot.”

What is the outcome? The MDA claims the kiss was not in their script and was not approved, and therefore must be removed.

I found a great deal objectionable about the production as a superfan of Les Mis. The staging choices, the over-reliance on projected video backgrounds, the lack of the rotating stage, and some truly miscast actors. It was a mediocre performance.

The kiss was not the objectionable part, and I say that as someone who was accompanied by her seven year old.

526060_10150624667842371_640365592_n

The playwright I referred to is Singaporean Alfian Sa’at.

Here is the text of his FB post

In a Straits Times report, it was mentioned that MDA removed a a ‘same-sex kissing scene’ from the musical Les Miserables because of complaints from ‘members of the public’.

The report stated that “Facebook user Alvin Ng posted in a Facebook group that he wrote to MDA to complain about the scene”. It failed to mention that the group was ‘We Are Against Pink Dot in Singapore’. The poster, Alvin Ng, has removed his posts from the group. But why be scared of media attention if you believe in standing up for whatever you think you stand for?

Anyway, the operative term is ‘same-sex kissing’, not ‘gay kissing’. I know some LGBT people were upset when the news first broke, wondering whether it’s another instance of the MDA erasing any representation of queer people from the media—and thus rendering them invisible. But let’s put the kissing scene into context. Deep breath…

Hi Alvin Ng! (And friends.) You watched ‘Les Miserables’ the musical. Good on you! A musical, as you’d already realised, is not a 30-track CD that’s performed live by people in nice costumes moving around on stage. Usually a musical has a story, and a story has characters. And one of the characters in ‘Les Miserables’ is Monsieur Thénardier. In the musical, he is a comic secondary antagonist…

You know, what, never mind. Thénardier is a Very Bad Man. Of course the musical is a lot more complex than that, and part of what makes Victor Hugo’s novel a great work of literature is that there is moral ambiguity: Jean Valjean the convict and Fantine the prostitute are Good People, while Javert the policeman is a Bad Man. But that’s confusing! So back to Thénardier: he swindles customers at his inn, beats his servant Cosette and has Very Bad Manners.

At the end of the musical, Thénardier crashes the wedding of Cosette and Marius. He sings the song ‘Beggars at the Feast’, where he shows himself to be an unrepentant boor. He starts insulting the weddings guests:

Ain’t it a laugh?
Ain’t it a treat?
Hob-nobbin’ here
Among the elite?
Here comes a prince
There goes a Jew.
This one’s a queer
But what can you do?

And then he gives the guy who he claims is ‘queer’ a peck on the lips. Now Alvin, let’s just think about this kiss for a while. Not all lip-kissing is romantic, or erotic. In some cultures same-sex people even peck lips as a form of greeting. Drunken straight fratboys may do it as a stunt, often followed by sexuality-affirming gross-outs. Bullies do it too, because they think the ones they kiss will feel humiliated.

And Thénardier, being a Very Bad Man, is such a bully. The kiss he planted on the guest is not a mutual kiss. And a non-mutual kiss is assault. Come on, Alvin, the character is married to Madame Thénardier and they have a daughter! Were you even paying attention? But because you’ve been so inflamed by the daily moral panics at the WAAPD page, you have to take a same-sex kiss from a musical completely out of context and flag it as some kind of insidious homosexual propaganda.

You might think that canceling the kiss represents some kind of victory over LGBT’s and liberals, but honestly Alvin, it is nothing more than a triumph of ignorance and hysteria over common sense and sober reflection. And with the MDA being dragged in, wearing a T-shirt saying ‘I’m With Stupid’, it is also a triumph of bureaucracy over literature.

There is a line to be drawn between wanting to tell the world that Singaporeans are conservative and wanting to brag about what backwater philistines we are. Unfortunately you’ve crossed that line to the latter. Thénardier, recognising a kindred spirit, would have been so proud of you that he would have given you a kiss.

orlando
Until this weekend, I thought that the Les Mis kiss was going to the most controversial kiss I’d be talking about.
Today we are coping with the worst mass shooting in American history, a shooting the murderer blamed on seeing gay men kissing.
My heart is shattered that this keeps happening over and over and over and over.
I’m going to hand it over to Lin-Manuel Miranda’s sonnet that discusses Orlando as part of his Tony acceptance speech.

Speechless by Tamsin Flowers

I’m so honored to host Tamsin Flowers today!  Tamsin is a dear friend and one of the most talented erotica authors out there. If you’re not familiar with her work, you should be! I had the privilege of beta-reading her BDSM-themed serial Alchemy XII. We have also shared paged in several anthologies, including Summer Loving. When I asked her if she wanted to guest post while I was in the hospital, I was so excited when she offered me a previously unpublished story!!

3049179_l(1)

Speechless

Tamsin Flowers

 

His mother had christened him Bartholomew, his friends called him Barty, but Leonard had called him Batman from the very first day they met. And that was so many years ago now that neither of them could remember why. It might have started as ‘Bart, man’, but now it was Batman and it didn’t really matter why. That’s just how it was.

Barty lay in bed, pretending he was still asleep. He could sense Leonard fidgeting next to him and then he felt mattress shift as Leonard got out of bed. Bare feet on the wooden floor boards, crossing towards the window.

“Hey, would you look at that? The Petersens have got a new car.”

Barty pulled the covers up to shield his ear.

“I don’t know what they were thinking, with that color. It’s yellow, Batman, bright yellow. What were they thinking? It’s really not a good color when you need to resell a car. Is it? Would you ever by a yellow car? Geez, I don’t think that guy’s too bright. A yellow car.”

Even with his eyes shut Barty could see Leonard shaking his head.

“But it’s a nice day. Haven’t seen the sun like that all week. We should go out somewhere, maybe. Do something. But you know what I’d like first, Batman? I’d like you to screw me six ways to Sunday and then all the way back again. You know, fuck me proper, just how I like it. Just how you like it. What d’you say, Batman? Are you awake? Are you even awake yet?”

Barty raised a hand from beneath the quilt in quiet surrender.

“Okay, okay. I know it—you need coffee. A nice big coffee to get your motor running. Say, what did you think of those new beans I got? The first cup, I thought was good…”

Barty’s cock hardened under the covers. He didn’t need coffee to fuck Leonard. But he sure as hell would like one.

“…but the second tasted a little bitter to me. What did you think? Did you even have two cups?”

“Coffee,” said Barty.

“Coffee, right, I’ll go make some. Coming right up, coming right up.”

Barty could still hear Leonard talking in the kitchen even if he couldn’t make out what he was saying. Leonard came back with a tray holding two mugs.

“Here we go, coffee for the sleepy head. Did you just go back to sleep, Batman? Are you awake now?”

Barty sat up in bed with a groan. He reached across and opened the drawer of his bedside cabinet.

“What are you after, Batman? I’ll get it. Here, let me.”

Leonard came round to Barty’s side of the bed and put one of the mugs of coffee down on the cabinet.

“What have you got there?” he said, as Barty found what he wanted and pulled it out of the drawer.

He held up a ball gag.

Leonard’s eyebrows shot up.

“No, no, no. Not that, please, not the gag. Not today, Barty.” He only ever used ‘Barty’ when he was afraid. “Come on, it’s a nice day. We could have a nice fuck. You don’t need to gag me. I promise I’ll be quiet. Really. I will. Just don’t use the gag, hey?”

Leonard wasn’t scared of what Barty was going to do to him. He was just terrified at the prospect of not being able to articulate every single fucking thought that went through his mind.

“Leonard,” said Barty.

It was all he had to say. Leonard submitted himself to Barty’s possession and two minutes later he was spread-eagled on the bed, cuffed at the wrists, with the ball gag snugly in his mouth. Barty stood at the end of the bed looking down at him. Leonard was naked but Barty still wore his pajama pants and his cock tented out against the thin, striped cotton. He slipped his hand under the waistband and stroked himself, watching as Leonard’s eyes widened.

“You’re quiet,” said Barty.

Leonard grunted at the back of his throat and frowned. Barty laughed and discarded his trousers. He knelt on the bed, between Leonard’s legs. Leonard’s cock danced in front of him, but Barty didn’t reach out for it.

“Ah,” he said slowly. “There’s something I wanted to say and now I’ve got the chance.”

But he stopped talking and picked up a tube of lube from the cabinet. He tenderly spread Leonard’s legs and bent them up at the knee, and then applied a generous slick of lube to his ass crack. Barty’s hands were strong and sensitive from years as a sculptor—he worked and molded Leonard’s ass cheeks until the other man moaned with pleasure behind the gag. One finger, then two, prepared the way for him and then he pushed his dick hard into Leonard’s sweet, tight little ass. And no matter how many times he did it, it always felt the same. Always felt so good, like coming home. He pulled back and then rammed it home again. Leonard’s hips jumped and he pulled at the cuffs that secured him to the bed frame.

Barty glanced down at Leonard’s cock, dripping pre-cum across his stomach as it bucked which each one of Barty’s thrusts. That he loved. Watching Leonard come, watching his white spunk spurting across his soft belly.

But it would have to wait. He was on a mission today.

“Yeah, that thing,” he said, stopping with his cock deep inside Leonard.

Leonard moaned and shook his head. He hated being talked at when he couldn’t reply. Barty stroked his leg in consolation.

“Len?”

Leonard shook his head frantically.

“We’ve been together quite a time. It’s been a few years.” He paused and looked up at the ceiling, then over at the window. He looked back down at Leonard. “Would you marry me?”

In front of him on the bed, there was an explosion of emotion. Leonard couldn’t speak so he did everything but. He spluttered out bubbles at the edge of the ball gag, as muffled squeals died in the back of his throat. His arms thrashed against their restraints and his legs flapped about like fish out of water.

“Huh? You wanna say something?” said Barty. He resumed fucking him, slowly, easily, gliding in and out. “It can wait. Can’t you see I’m kind of busy.”

But he eventually took pity on Leonard and grabbed his cock. He worked his hand up and down it in the same rhythm, speeding up as his fucking gained pace. Harder and faster until he came with gruff moan, and seconds later Leonard came in his hand, choking against the gag and still just as frenzied.

Barty slumped forward against him, not caring that Leonard’s cum smeared his chest and gut.

“You okay, Len?” he said.

Leonard snarled as far as he was able. Barty pulled out of him and undid the gag. Leonard sat up, choking and coughing. His mouth was working but no words came out.

“Len?” said Barty.

One word.

“Speechless,” spluttered Len. His mouth moved some more but there were no other words.

So Barty fucked him six ways to Sunday, until finally Leonard found his voice again. But by that time they’d both forgotten the question.

“Yellow,” muttered Leonard. “Such a shit color for a car.”

 

Want more of Tamsin’s M/M stories? Check out Doing it for the Coach

doingitforthecoach_800Private Jimmy Jackson wants to make it onto the squad boxing team—and when he meets Coach Perry, he realises that’s not all he wants…

Private Jimmy Jackson joined the army for one reason—for the chance it would give him to box on the All Army Team and turn professional. But as a gay soldier, he sometimes needs to use his fists for other reasons, so when he arrives at his new unit at Fort Sandbridge, his main aim is to keep his head down, work hard and impress the coach. What he hadn’t bargained for was the sheer animal attraction that springs up between himself and Coach Virgil Perry the moment they meet. All Jimmy can think of is taking their momentary locker-room encounter further, and his fantasies are fuelled by dreams of what they could get up to alone together.

Luckily, Jimmy impresses Coach Perry enough with his boxing to be included in the training squad and, with his roommate and sparring partner, Moreno, he begins to prepare for the All Army Championships. A steamy off-camp incident with Coach Perry raises the stakes even higher. Perry makes it clear that if Jimmy wins his championship, he’ll make it onto the All Army Team with the opportunity of some one-on-one training. If he loses, he’ll be off the squad and his dreams of Coach Perry will be shattered.

The competition arrives and just three rounds stand between Jimmy and his dreams…