Category: Sandra Claire

Airport Hook-up

Dale just got off a long-haul flight and he’s horny.

He has mere minutes to get his needs met before he has to board his next plane, so he does what men must do. He ventures to a lonely washroom at the far end of the airport and waits for other men like him to come his way, men who also have that itch that needs scratching.

Uncertainty, nervous glances, secret signals, all fuelled by intense and overwhelming horniness, lead to Dale making risky moves. But the greater the risk, the greater the reward.

Especially when it comes to anonymous gay sex.

Airport Hook-Up is a 3,900-word short story.

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God, I’m so fucking horny.

The flight from New York to Delhi was so exhaustingly long and stiflingly cramped. I rarely went twelve hours without jerking off, but right now I was going on close to forty-eight. I had tried quietly going to the airplane lavatory to have a quick jerk mid-flight, but the person before me had dumped the smelliest shit I’ve ever come across and so I was in no mood to beat my meat.

So now here I was in the New Delhi airport, with a few hours to kill before my next flight, fucking horny and running on coffee and adrenaline.

I’d been through New Deli before back in my younger years and had discovered which washroom was the cruisey one. But I was no longer a twink of nineteen on a foolish backpacking trip and getting as much dick along the way as I could. I was now a mid-thirties hairy otter on a business trip and a desire to be much more discreet. Plus, I didn’t know the current status of homosexuality in India, but even if it was legal, it was surely frowned up and dangerous to do in public.

But right now I didn’t fucking care about legalities or danger—I needed to get my rocks off. My balls ached with a pent-up need for release. Already my dick was rock hard as I power-walked through the terminal, my little wheeled carry-on rolling along behind me.

I passed dozens of people en route to the men’s room at the far end. Some of the swarthy men looked at me in a way that made me wonder if they were similarly cruising for dick, like they were sizing me up and then waiting to see if I went to that one specific washroom. God, I normally found Indian men hot, but in my current state of horniness, I found them so hot they were almost on fire. My asshole twitched and I was suddenly aware of it and how desperate I was to get fucked. It’d been far too long. I’d wanted to get fucked before heading on this trip, but my Grindr hookup bailed on me at the last minute, leaving me with just my hand and a couple of toys.

The crowd petered out as I neared the far end of the terminal. In a that state of unsatisfied horniness after getting off with a dildo before this flight, I’d gone online to look up this washroom to see if it was still here and still used as a cruising ground. It was and it was apparently very active. With it being really out of the way as to almost be unnoticeable unless you were directly in front of it and with it being one of the few washrooms that hadn’t yet been renovated with the airport’s remodelling, it made it a less desirable washroom for the men that genuinely needed to take a dump, leaving it as a perfect place to get stuffed with cock.

I stepped around the little privacy wall in front of the washroom door—a privacy wall that had no signage that a washroom was right behind it—and came to a stop as soon as I was in the room. I scoped it out for cruising potential. It was currently empty, but there was ripe opportunity. The line of urinals had little divider walls that one could easily look over to see what the other guy was packing, and those urinals ran around the corner, behind the far stall. And the stalls, they had those walls that went almost down to the floor. I had to really crouch down to verify that there were no feet on the floor. The accessible washroom at the end had enough room for two—three if you really crammed in there.

It had been years since I’d done this kind of cruising, where it relies on signals and glances and discreet foot tapping, so I had to run through some scenarios in my head like I was planning a series of chess moves. Set on a course of action, I grabbed the handle of my little wheeled luggage and headed for one of the urinals around the bend of that last stall, out of sight from the entrance, giving me and the potential other guy enough time to separate if we heard footsteps come in.

As I rounded the bend, I felt more and more confident about this course of action. I set up my luggage a foot or two behind me, approached the urinal, unzipped, and let my rock-hard cock spring free. I stroked it lightly and slowly, teasing myself. I didn’t want to stroke too hard and risk coming, because it would be an unsatisfactory cum when I knew what I needed more than anything was a cock in me—didn’t matter if it was my mouth or my ass, I just needed a cock in me.

After a few moments of standing there, I heard some light footsteps come into the men’s room. They were unhurried and they paused shortly after entering; hopefully this meant they were cruising and they weren’t here for a quick piss before rushing to their terminal.

Those footsteps resumed again and they got louder as the guy came nearer to me. When he cleared the edge of the stall, I could almost feel his presence behind me. He paused for a moment. I glanced over my shoulder in a way that to a straight guy could be me just seeing who’s there, but to a gay guy was clearly an act of me checking him out.


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MILF Sex Bundle

Many young men fantasize about older women, MILFs that they wish they could bang, but few get to sleep with the ones they desire most. In this sexy 5-pack bundle of MILF stories, five young men will have their wildest fantasies realized with sexy, mature, experienced women who are driven mad with lust.

Included in this volume are:

THE POOL BOY AND THE MILF: Tommy has a thing for MILFs — and Mrs. Williams is going to show him just how hot MILFs can be!

THE DELIVERY BOY AND THE MILF: Bicycle courier Geoffrey is called into Cassandra’s office to talk about just how he can satisfy the MILF’s every need.

THE FRAT BOY AND THE MILF: Jason is a frat boy obsessed with MILFs. Jane is a MILF who gets no sexual satisfaction in her marriage. What starts as an innocent photoshoot soon turns into an experience giving them both what they so desperately crave.

THE PAPERBOY AND THE MILF: What starts as the usual flirting soon escalates into tearing off clothes and Mrs. Miller showing eighteen-year-old Ryan just how phenomenal a bored housewife can be in bed.

THE CABANA BOY AND THE MILF: Eli works at a Mexican beach resort and has only one thing on his mind — banging a hot MILF vacationing without her husband — but his slimy boss seems determined to get in his way.

MILF Sex Bundle is a 22,600 word collection of previously published MILF erotica stories.

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The sound of the back door turns my attention back to the house. Mrs. Williams is walking toward me with a tray containing a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

“You’re looking a little hot, Tommy,” she says, with a warm smile. “Thought you might need a drink to cool you down.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Williams, I definitely do.” I lay the net down on the deck and join her at the poolside table. She places the tray down and pours lemonade into the glasses. When she hands me my glass, our fingers touch and I get a sudden jolt to my dick. It was a passing touch, harmless, but with where my mind is right now, it’s an incredible turn on.

I chug back half the glass, hoping the cold lemonade will cool the inferno of my building lust. Then I watch her take a dainty sip from her glass and then follow a bead of perspiration as it rolls down her neck and into the hollow of her cleavage.

She’s got a tight, white T-shirt on, with what looks like a floral bikini top beneath. Her outfit is finished off with cut-off jeans that ride high on her tanned thighs.

The lemonade is doing nothing to cool me down. My cock is at full attention, surely tenting my shorts if I would dare to look down.

Mrs. Williams quickly eyes me up and down and lets out a soft chuckle. My cheeks warm with a blush of embarrassment — I know she saw my boner tenting my shorts.

“Call me Sharon,” she says, as she puts her glass down on the tray. She takes a moment to stretch, thrusting her chest toward me. My eyes lock on her tits and my mind empties.


She chuckles again and says, “You don’t need to call me Mrs. Williams. Sharon is nicer. It’s more … intimate.”

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The Cabana Boy and The MILF

Following advice from his buddy, Eli gets a job at a Mexican beach resort so he can spend his summer enjoying the eye candy. But for Eli, simple eye candy isn’t enough.

While there’s plenty of sorority girls partying on the beach that would probably love a lay from a fit frat boy like himself, Eli has his horny attentions on the MILFs vacationing without their husbands. When he sees the woman of his wet dreams, he shoots his shot and goes all in — but his slimy boss seems to always be right there, getting in his way.

Will he make this MILF scream out his name? Or will he get fired for fooling around on the job?

The Cabana Boy and the MILF is a 5,300 word short story.

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When my buddy Brett told me about this sweet summer gig and all the chicks I’d get to watch—and hopefully bang—he definitely wasn’t kidding. We’d picked up some work at a resort in Playa del Carmen, but where he got stuck with a job as a busboy in one of the resort restaurants, I got the sweetest gig of them all. Cabana boy.

My job was to hang out on the beach, give towels to people, and ensure the area was neat and tidy. The cabana is my workstation, with buckets of towels and various other amenities that our guests might ask for close at hand, like suntan lotion and bottle of water. When it was slow—and it often was, since most folks already had what they needed and didn’t need to visit me—I got to just lay in the sun. And with my dark shades I got to do my favorite activity: watching chicks.

From sorority girls with barely-there bikinis and older ladies with quite a bit more coverage, this beach had it all. I was thankful, as always, that the swim shorts provided by the hotel that identify me as staff were a little baggy. Because I had a full-on chub watching all these fine women.

“I think you’re enjoying yourself a little too much,” said a slimy voice in my ear.

I jolted, startled by his voice. Marvin. My boss. The biggest cockblock I’ve ever met. “Just doing my job,” I said as I stood up from the lounger I had sat down in. I picked up some towels from the shelf in the cabana and started folding them, holding them in front of my bulging crotch.

Marvin had a bad combover and always looked…greasy. He sneered and looked to where I’d been looking, at the half dozen sorority girls splashing each other among the waves. He stepped close to me, his hot, oniony breath rolling over me in putrid waves. He reached between the towels and my body, wrapping his hand firmly around my hard dick.

“Fuck off, man,” I said, taking a step back and trying to shove him away, but this only made him tighten his grip on my cock.

“You keep this fucking thing in your shorts, Eli. If I find you getting this wet by dipping it in one of those sluts, not only will I have you packing and sent back to whatever shithole fraternity you come from, but I’ll have your balls in a jar.” He squeezed me painfully hard, making me yelp. “Understood?”

“Understood,” I said hurriedly.

Mercifully, he let go of my cock. I pressed the pile of towels I was holding against it, partly in an effort to make the hurt go away, but also partly to protect myself from him grabbing it again.

He sneered at me one more time and then stomped away to wherever it was that he hung out all day when he wasn’t harassing me. Likely some cave somewhere, given how much of a troll he was.

With him gone and out of sight—and unlikely to return anytime soon—I put the folded towels on the counter of my little station and sat back down in the lounger. Those sorority girls were still splashing each other, getting their tiny bikinis wet.

I clasped my hands together and laid them on my lap, over my bulge. Partly to hide it, but also partly to discreetly play with it. Those chicks got more aggressive as one of them leapt across the distance between them and tackled another, her face landing fully in the other chick’s tits as they both collapsed down into the water. I firmly pressed the heel of my palm into my hardening shaft as I imagined that first girl biting down on the second girl’s nipples.

And then she caught my eye.

With half the sorority sisters out of the way, I could see the banging MILF behind them, making her way to the shore. Every step she took revealed more of her amazing body as she ascended from the depths of the water.

First were her tits, full and round. The skin tone matched that of her face—lightly sun-kissed with a bit of a tan. Those tits, which had to be a solid 32DD, were perfect as far as I was concerned.

As she got closer, and as she rose more out of the water like some sort of marine goddess, I started to get a better sense of her age. Likely in her forties, maybe her fifties. If I had to guess, her kids had either just left home recently or they were finally old enough that she could leave them at home and go on vacation.

Her stomach was taut and toned. This was a MILF who took care of herself. And her bikini bottom was skimpy, just a narrow strip of fabric between her legs.

As I watched her, my thoughts went dirty. I couldn’t help but picture her here on this lounger as I slid that strip of fabric aside and buried my face between her legs. I’d eat her out until she was so fucking wet and desperate for me to stick my cock in her and fuck her senseless.

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The Paperboy and The MILF

It’s eighteen-year-old Ryan’s last day as paperboy and he’s collecting dues and saying goodbye to all of his clients—and he’s saved his favorite for last.

Mrs. Miller is a MILF with an often-absent husband and two rowdy teenage boys. Whenever he comes to collect dues, she inevitably flirts with him. It’s harmless and never goes anywhere, but it gives Ryan a nice ego boost and some mental fun for his spank bank.

Today is different, though.

The first difference is that her teenage boys are out of town with her husband. The second difference is that she doesn’t seem to be satisfied with harmless flirting today.

What starts as the usual flirting soon escalates into tearing off clothes and Mrs. Miller showing Ryan just how phenomenal a bored housewife can be in bed.

The Paperboy and the MILF is a 5,000 word short story.

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It was my final day as a paperboy. Tomorrow I’d be packing up the car with Dad and driving to Minneapolis for college.

There were still a few accounts that paid cash or check monthly, rather than having it drawn out from their bank account or their credit card, so for those customers, I was doing my rounds and collecting fees—and also saying goodbye. I’d been their paperboy since I was thirteen, so now five years later at eighteen and about to move off for college, it was a big change, both for me and for them.

I saved my favorite client for the end. Mrs. Miller. She was a banging married MILF whose husband was always on long haul trucking jobs—and I guess as part of her way to keep herself occupied, she often flirted with me. We’d never done anything beyond flirt, though I would sink my dick into her at a moment’s notice if she ever felt like actually cheating on her husband.

More than once I’d gone straight home from chatting with Mrs. Miller to beat off into my cum sock. She’s fuelled many fantasies for me over the years.

As I walked up to her door, I tugged at the bottom of my T-shirt, straightening it, but also making sure it hung nicely over my pecs. I’d been working out the last several months and my body was starting to show for the effort.

At the top step, I rang the bell and waited. I didn’t hear the usual clamor of her teenage boys that had always been the backdrop noise to our little flirting game. A few moments later the door opened and Mrs. Miller smiled when she saw it was me.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Miller,” I said.

“Good afternoon, Ryan. I told you to call me Linda,” she said, gently chastising me.

I smiled and I think I blushed a bit. “Sorry...good afternoon, Linda.” I fumbled with pulling my little receipt book out of my back pocket. “I’m here to collect your monthly dues.”

“Of course,” she said, holding the door open wide, “come in and I’ll go get my purse.”

With the door fully open, I finally got a good look at what Mrs. Miller—Linda—had on today. She always dressed super nice. Today she had a short black skirt and a black and gray shirt that seemed to wrap around her body and really accentuate her full breasts. And it was low-cut, giving me ample view of her cleavage.

I stepped past her to enter her house, and I tried to tame my boner when my shoulder brushed up against her tits. She made a satisfied little humming sound when I did that and I had to struggle to not read too much into it. This was just another case of harmless flirting that wasn’t going to go anywhere.

She closed the door behind me. “Wait right here,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder before hurrying off down the hall. A few moments later, she came back down the hall with her purse in hand.

“Quiet today,” I said.

She put her purse on the little table just past the entryway and dug through it. “Yes, the boys went with my husband on his route. Sort of a last minute summer getaway before school starts up again next week.” She pulled her checkbook out of her purse. “Speaking of school, I hear this is the last time you’re coming by?”

I watched as she flipped open the checkbook and bent over to write out the check. Her ass, perfect and round, stuck out behind her. My eyes locked on it and wouldn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I said, managing to form full words and not drool. “Going to college in Minneapolis. I’ll be back for the holidays and next summer, but I won’t be your paperboy anymore, I guess.”

She tore off the check, stood upright, and turned around with a small pout on her face. “I’m happy for you, but I’m going to miss our little visits and chats.”

“Me too,” I said. 

She stepped closer, holding the check out, but then she stopped when her eyes landed on my chest. “Have you been working out?”

I grinned stupidly. “Yes, I have. I think it’s paying off.” I ran my hands down from my chest to my waist, smoothing out the shirt again.

She shook her head. “Can you...take off your shirt? I can’t really get a sense of anything through the shirt.”

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The Frat Boy And The MILF

Jason is a frat boy with a thing for older women.

He prefers the experience and maturity these women bring—they’re so much better in bed than the sorority girls he typically hooks up with. Only a MILF can truly satisfy him. So when Jane stops by his frat house to take some photos for an upcoming college life promotional campaign, he can’t help but be captivated by this gorgeous MILF. From the size of her tits to the huskiness of her voice, she’s got it all—and he’s got it bad.

The photoshoot starts innocently enough with Jane just taking pictures of the living space of the frat house, but then it gets playful when she asks him to pose for a few photos.

Through it all, Jason can’t tell if she’s as interested in him as he is in her, or if her turning him into her model is all just for the benefit of the photoshoot. But then she finds out he’s a football player with the body that goes along with it—and she asks him to strip down to his underwear.

Jason’s horniest fantasy is about to come true.

The Frat Boy And The MILF is a 5,000 word short story.

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I held the football in the crook of my arm and just stood there, trying to give her my best smile. She walked around me, snapping pics from different angles and different heights. I noticed that she made sure not to capture the corner of the room in the any of the pics, the corner where my mirror hung on the wall, and Playboy centerfolds were posted all around it. In between pics, I side-eyed the mirror to ensure there weren’t any dried cum streaks on it. That was my masturbation corner.

“Huh,” she said as she flipped through the photos.

“What’s wrong?” I tried to crane my neck to see over the top of the camera, to se what was setting that unpleasant look on her face.

But then she looked up at me with a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “That shirt isn’t really making you look athletic. Um...would you mind taking it off?” She glanced away when she asked the question, like she was embarrassed or turned on. Hopefully it’s because she was turned on.

“No problem,” I said as I lifted my shirt over my head. I wanted to rip it right off, but I had to play it cool.
I think she thought I wasn’t looking her way, but I caught her eyeing my chest and her eyes flaring open. I think she also made a mmm sound.

But as soon as I tossed my shirt on top of the laundry basket and looked back her way, she was all professional again. I picked up the football again and she took some more pics. Eventually, she got down on her knees in front of me to take photos from that low vantage point.

“Perfect,” she murmured as she paused to look through a couple photos. She was still on the floor, sitting on her heels.

It didn’t escape my attention that her face was at the level of my dick. When she looked up at me, my now prominent bulge was in our direct line of sight. She didn’t notice it, or at least did a damn good job of ignoring it. I didn’t know if I should take that as a good sign or not; it at least didn’t make her uncomfortable. Maybe she was just a tease?

“One more pose,” she said as she stood up. As she got to her feet, her shoulder brushed along the length of my shaft in a way that I could only describe as being fully on purpose. She pointed at my bed. “Sit there, leaning against the wall.”

I did as ordered. My bed squeaked when I got on it, but quieted down as soon as I was seated and leaning my back against the wall. It was then that I realized I’d left the football on the floor and out of reach.

“Can you pass me that?” I asked, pointing to it.

“No need,” she said, stepping closer. She got down on her knees and rested her elbows on the bed and snapped a few pictures. She looked at the display and smiled. “Perfect.” She snapped a few more. “Would you, uh, be open to taking off your pants? I mean, you’re wearing underwear, right?”

“My-my pants?”

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The Delivery Boy And The MILF

Geoffrey is nineteen and has taken a summer job as a bike courier, hustling documents from one office to another. Near the end of the day, he makes a stop at his favorite stop — the office where Cassandra works.

Cassandra is a MILF through and through. At least twice Geoffrey’s age, she’s got the maturity and experience he craves in a woman, plus the fact that she has a bangin’ bod only adds to her appeal. He’s had more than one late night one-handed session thinking about her.

Just as he’s dropped off the package and is about to head on to his next stop, Cassandra steps out of her office and beckons to him. It’s almost like something out of one of those late night fantasies — she calls him into her office, closes the door, and talks about how he needs to do better to please her.

But it crosses the line from fantasy to reality when she closes the blinds and sheds her clothes.

Soon, Geoffrey is living out all of his wildest fantasies.

The Delivery Boy And The MILF is a 4,500-word short story.

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I don’t have to look. I know that voice. Cassandra Miller, the office manager here. She is a banging hot MILF but intimidating as fuck. I always get both a boner and a shudder of fear every time we cross paths.

When I slowly turn to face her, I feel my dick grow hard and I struggle to suppress a shudder. Every damn time.

“Yes?” I squeak out. I clear my throat and try to deepen my voice. “Yes, Ms. Miller?”

She puts her hand on her hips, a position that makes the open neck of her button-up shirt stretch open just a little more, giving just a hint of the fullness of her cleavage. She’s absolutely gorgeous. Blonde hair cut just at her shoulders, smooth face, banging body, full boobs, and a hot hourglass figure.

I’ve jacked off many times while thinking about her.

“Come with me,” she says and turns on her heel, sashaying to her office door just around the corner from the reception desk. I watch her ass swing side to side in that tight black skirt of hers.

I try to look casual and hold the clipboard in front of my crotch and then hurry after her. When I round the corner to her office door, I find her waiting for me. I squeeze past her and she shuts her door. This is how some of my masturbatory fantasies have started — so it’s not helping me control my boner.

“Sit down,” she says in a tone of voice that clearly says don’t fuck with me, boy.

I obediently sit, secretly thankful for the momentary excuse to legitimately put the clipboard over my straining dick.

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The Pool Boy and The MILF

Tommy has a thing for MILFs. One MILF in particular — Mrs. Williams — has caught his eye and he secretly lusts after her while he cleans her pool. One on particularly hot summer day, Mrs. Williams comes out with a pitcher of lemonade to help him cool down… but things soon get scorching hot… and Tommy’s wildest MILF fantasy comes true…

The Pool Boy And The MILF is a 3,600-word short story.

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The sound of the back door turns my attention back to the house. Mrs. Williams is walking toward me with a tray containing a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

“You’re looking a little hot, Tommy,” she says, with a warm smile. “Thought you might need a drink to cool you down.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Williams, I definitely do.” I lay the net down on the deck and join her at the poolside table. She places the tray down and pours lemonade into the glasses. When she hands me my glass, our fingers touch and I get a sudden jolt to my dick. It was a passing touch, harmless, but with where my mind is right now, it’s an incredible turn on.

I chug back half the glass, hoping the cold lemonade will cool the inferno of my building lust. Then I watch her take a dainty sip from her glass and then follow a bead of perspiration as it rolls down her neck and into the hollow of her cleavage.

She’s got a tight, white T-shirt on, with what looks like a floral bikini top beneath. Her outfit is finished off with cut-off jeans that ride high on her tanned thighs.

The lemonade is doing nothing to cool me down. My cock is at full attention, surely tenting my shorts if I would dare to look down.

Mrs. Williams quickly eyes me up and down and lets out a soft chuckle. My cheeks warm with a blush of embarrassment — I know she saw my boner tenting my shorts.

“Call me Sharon,” she says, as she puts her glass down on the tray. She takes a moment to stretch, thrusting her chest toward me. My eyes lock on her tits and my mind empties.


She chuckles again and says, “You don’t need to call me Mrs. Williams. Sharon is nicer. It’s more … intimate.”

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A Night to Remember

Anna and Trevor are in a rut—like any married couple, their sex life has become monotonous, routine, and dull. But tonight is different.

Anna and Trevor are determined to reignite the burning passion they once had by pretending to be strangers who meet in a hotel bar. It seems like a tame enough activity, but their night of adventure takes an unexpectedly erotic turn when they venture outside for a moonlight stroll.

When they lose their clothes and find themselves trapped outside, under the moonlight, they can’t keep their hands off each other, and soon, all concern about discretion and propriety disappear as their reignited passions take over.

A Night To Remember is a 5,800-word short story.

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Even from across the room, I felt the heat from him when his gaze settled on me. He wove around the tables as he crossed the room. Maybe it was the pretence of the game, or maybe it was the way my dress kept me physically aroused, but I was more turned on by the sight of him than I’d been in a long time.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said as he came up beside me. He laid his hand casually on the small of my back and I felt it slide south, to the top curve of my ass. “Could I keep you company this evening?”

I looked him in the eyes and then let my gaze trail down his body. For my answer, I pulled the cherry out of my drink and placed it between my lips, plucking off the stem, then winked at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. He sat on the stool next to me, facing me, with our knees brushing. He waved over the bartender and ordered a whisky. Our eyes locked and didn’t move as the bartender served up his drink. Trevor put money on the counter and we had our privacy again. “What brings a gorgeous woman like you to a place like this?”

“I guess I was just looking for some ... excitement.” I lifted my right leg to cross over my left, but as I did so, I raised my short dress, showing him my cooch. I saw his attention zero in on it, just like I’d intended. I finally crossed my legs and lay my dress over my thighs. When he finally looked up at me again, his cheeks were red with heat and his eyes only held desire. Me being without underwear hadn’t been part of the plan.

“Maybe I — maybe I can provide that excitement,” he said, stumbling over his words. He laid a hand on my bare thigh and my skin burned with heat at the contact, filling me with desire and need.

I leaned forward, giving him an ample view down my top. “What did you have in mind?” I trailed my fingers up one of his legs, from his knee, up his thigh, and then gently across his bulge. He was hard. For me.

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Forbidden Desires: The Complete Series

There are some lines not mean to be crossed ... some desires that are forbidden. But try as one might, some taboos are simply too irresistible to hold sacred.

From a young man hooking up with his best friend’s dad, someone he’s always considered to be like a father, to a priest who engages in carnal sins with a parishioner, to a bombastic American president and his illicit love affair with an illegal Mexican rentboy ... these men explore the forbidden, indulging in their deepest, darkest desires.

Collected in one volume are three such stories — tales of forbidden passions and devious desires.

Forbidden Desires is a 78,000-word bundle that collects Seduced By My Best Friend’s Dad, Erotic Love and Carnal Sins: Confessions of a Priest, and The President And The Rentboy.

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Still not breaking eye contact with Richard, Jay willed his fingers back to life, massaging Richard’s upper thigh. With every squeeze of his fingers, he moved his hand half an inch closer to that patch of ball skin. With every passing moment, he felt the tension build in both of them, like he was waiting for Richard to call him a pervert or Richard was waiting for Jay to burst out laughing at the prank. But then his fingertips brushed against that warm, soft, wrinkled, hairy skin, and the tension deflated from both of them.

“Jay...” Richard said, his voice a mere whisper. It was filled with lust and need, happiness and contentment. He wanted this — needed this.

Jay brushed the skin, rubbing his fingers back and forth, then carefully worked his hand under Richard’s shorts and boxers. Soon he had one meaty ball rolling between his fingers. It was almost plum-sized, firm and round. He squeezed the ball lightly, tugged it gently, and Richard let out a low moan, falling back on his elbows on the rock, head cast back. Jay eased his other hand in the other pant leg and grabbed Richard’s other ball, giving it the same massage treatment. He rubbed both balls, smoothing out the skin, holding them firm in his grasp. The long bulge in the middle of the pile of fabric at Richard’s crotch twitched.

Shifting to grasp both balls in one hand, Jay slid his fingers reverently up the length of Richard’s cock, watching the man’s face for any reaction that this was going too far. But Richard was too far gone, too lost in the heat of the moment to ever say no — Jay knew he had Richard, that the man was putty in his hands, but that he had willingly and knowingly put himself there.

He still didn’t understand it — Richard was straight and married and the very fact that Jay was his son’s best friend should have put up some immediate boundaries, placed him off limits. But those boundaries were obviously being ignored. The almost father-son relationship they’d developed over the years also wasn’t a boundary that could stop them. If anything, that closeness only added to the intimacy of the moment. Jay was giving pleasure to the man he’d looked up to all these years.

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The President And The Rentboy

Newly inaugurated as the President of the United States of America, Daniel Grant has a secret. Despite winning a surprise upset election, built on a campaign filled with raucous rallies and an oft-repeated promise to deport illegal immigrants, Daniel is unhappy. While the media loves to speculate about him and his trophy wife, Melanie, the truth is there is no love in their relationship — moreover, as time goes on, Daniel is coming to understand that he prefers men. Itching for some sexual release, a senator discreetly hands him a phone number for Ricky — a rentboy.

Each sexy encounter with this seductive younger man leaves Daniel panting for more. But while his private sex life amps up, so, too, does his public political life, including increasing pressures from his vice-president to deport all illegal immigrants and bring about religious freedom laws so business can discriminate against LGBT customers.

Daniel struggles to balance his personal and public lives, to somehow continue seeing Ricky, despite the intense media scrutiny of everything the president does. Forbidden love is never easy, but it becomes near impossible when Daniel learns that Ricky, the young man he loves and desires so much, is an illegal immigrant from Mexico.

The President And The Rentboy is a 20,000-word novella.

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The twink — Ricky — came in. Brad closed the door, leaving just me and the young man in the room.

“I recognize you...” Ricky said, trailing off. My blood suddenly ran cold, but then he added, “But I can’t place it.”

I almost wondered if he was playing me. I was on the news almost every day — I was a huge celebrity — how could someone not know who I was? I eyed him up and down, my gaze lingering just a little too long on his bulge. He didn’t strike me as the type that watched the news, but, still, I was easily the most recognizable person in the United States.

“I hope you’ll understand if I don’t make the connection for you.”

Ricky nodded. No doubt, he had done this before. Ricky was a rentboy — a prostitute — who specialized in catering to the needs of men in positions of great power, men who could be brought down by the mere mention of a gay sex scandal. I didn’t know all of Ricky’s clients, didn’t know if I even wanted that knowledge, but a senator had passed his name and number to me when he had figured out what I was yearning for. That senator said he didn’t use Ricky anymore, but had very fond memories of him.

“Yeah, I understand. You have a first name, though? Something I can moan in the throes of passion?” He unzipped his jacket, revealing a tight red shirt underneath — it hugged his slender frame and emphasized his pecs.

My mind tumbled in panic. If I gave him my name, he’d know who I was, and that would be the first step to the end of everything. But the rational part of my mind broke through — Ricky had signed a nondisclosure agreement and came highly recommended by a man who had almost as much to lose as me.

“Dan,” I finally said, voice barely more than a whisper. Few people called me Dan, most preferring my full name, Daniel. It felt right, though, that I would give Ricky a more intimate form of my name.

Ricky arched his eyebrow again and he looked me up and down. He still seemed to be struggling to make the connection of who I was. Eventually, he seemed to give up. Shrugging the jacket off his shoulders, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

With the jacket off, he seemed even slimmer and younger. The shirt clung tightly to him, leaving nothing to the imagination, but still somehow making him even more tantalizing. The bottom of the shirt seemed to end a half-inch before the top of his jeans, giving me a glimpse of the rich brown skin of his Latin heritage. And his jeans hugged him as tightly as his shirt — I could almost see the outline of his bulge. When he noticed me looking him over, he did a little circle for me, giving me a glimpse of his astounding ass. It looked round and firm, filling out his jeans perfectly. I couldn’t wait to slide my tongue between those cheeks, to make him wet before I pushed my cock in there.

I stood up and crossed the room to him. He was a good six inches shorter than me. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him close and shove my tongue down his throat, to grope him and make him moan, but I was suddenly overcome by nervousness. If only the public could see me now — not only for the supposed moral depravity of the situation, but for my sudden meekness. I wasn’t known as a weak-willed man.

Instead, I walked in a slow circle around Ricky. I could smell him — clean with a hint of scented soap. He was a feast for every sense so far — but I still had to know how he tasted and how his skin felt against mine. Fuck, I was straining in my briefs.

When I came around to the front of him again, he looked up at me through his long eyelashes.

“You like what you see, Dan?”

“I do,” I said, feeling a little more confident. “You’re gorgeous, Ricky.”

He was young, too, but I’d had Brad double-check the kid’s ID. He was in his early twenties, just like he’d said — but with me more than double his age, he just seemed even younger, making this all the more illicit.

“Don’t you want to...” he paused to tilt his head back and lick his lips, making his mouth seem plump and moist, and exposing the length of his slender neck, “kiss me?”

That was all the encouragement I needed. I put one hand behind his head and the other at the small of his back and pressed my lips against his. He kissed me back hungrily and soon our mouths were open and my tongue was brushing against his. Ricky seemed to melt in my hands as he pressed against my body, succumbing entirely to me and my will. I slid my hand down the back of his tight pants, groping his bare ass cheeks. They were smooth — exactly as I expected of him.

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