The Shaving Lesson

To meet the husband of you lover is a strange thing. To realize he was flirting with you was quite another. Henry, poked at his eggs and smiled nervously as Adam and Kay whispered to each other, both pairs of their pretty eyes sparkling at him as they conspired.

Henry squirmed under their eyes and attention. The whole thing wasn’t going the way he had planned at all. He had expected brunch to be something formal, like meeting your girlfriend’s parents, but he should have known any man who would have the balls to marry Kay would have to be an interesting character himself.

When they asked him back to their apartment, Henry choked on his cold brew. Still, it was put so innocently, he had to say yes.
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Impeccable Service

There was a peace in the courtyard of the hotel that he thought was gone from the world. A good strong pot of coffee wordlessly placed on his table, fresh fruit and fresh croissants, pristine white tablecloths under wide cerulean umbrellas which were in turn under a wide and cloudless azure sky.

He took his breakfast there every morning and between sips of coffee closed his eyes and listened for the not too distant sounds of the river. Waves lapping ancient stone bridges, the lonely cries of sea birds.
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Wake Up

Somewhere in between dreams I heard the shower start.

Opening my eyes some time later I found myself bathed in gray light coming through white linen curtains. Then I watched the naked legs of a woman in a towel walking back and forth in front of me as I laid on my side trying to decide whether I was awake or not. Occasionally those legs were followed by a nervous black cat who batted at the towel.

There were the distant smells of soap, shampoo, perfume, and all those sweet feminine scents I associated with her.

For a few moments sleep took me again, like an undertow dragging me into the waves.

Seconds or minutes or hours later I awoke with a start and sensed her near. She was far less nervous than the cat. Continue reading

The Valet: Three Erotic Novellas

the-valet-three-erotic-novellasThe Valet is a collection of three inspired and exciting erotic novellas. The first is the tale of a dedicated valet doing his best to attend to the needs of his employer’s guest. In the Park is the story of a young woman’s fascination with a Frenchmen she meets in the park. Let Go is about two coworkers who find a cure for the tension of a rough day in the office.

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Available FOR FREE at Smashwords for all ebook readers
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Rent a Teenage Daughter 1: Attitude

rent-a-teenage-daughter-part-1-attitudeMark had been watching the girl from the mall for weeks. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, with her huge eyes, goth outfits and fake cat ears poking up from her black hair. When he found out she was in financial trouble he did what any nice man would do, he offers her money for sex. Will the young girl give in to his twisted bargain? Will she role play his dirty daughter for him?

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Available at Smashwords for all ebook readers
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Excerpt: Continue reading

Excerpt – The Valet

The dry cleaner (a lovely woman from Belarus, I believe) had my order hanging near the cash register, waiting for me. She tried to brush away my tip, but as always she eventually conceded with a smile and daintily shoved the few extra dollars (as daintily as someone can shove something) into her vast brassiere.

Usually by 8:30, which my pocketwatch told me it had just struck, I’d be making coffee, but since my employer was “with guest” and the various grinding of beans and screaming of espresso making apparati would, I’m sure, be a less than ideal wake up call, I was out running the errands which I usually saved for later in the day.

The mornings when my employer had an overnight guest (or guests, as sometimes happens) were some of the most challenging in my professional life, I assure you. Still, in their own way, they were some of the most rewarding.

Most mornings my employer, Mr Leinhardt, and I would share some light banter on topics both political and scandalous while I gave him a shave, dressed him and attend to his breakfast. On mornings where Mr Leinhardt was entertaining I instead had to focus on the detailed movements and well thought out strategies of readying food, newspapers, clothing, and other essentials whilst not disturbing he nor his scantily clad (if that) visitor. I assure you this is no small feat and it takes all of my not unconsiderable skills.

After procuring the provisions for the day I made my way through the servants entrance and through the house, cleaning up a spilled cocktail and a pair of stockings in the hallway. I then entered the master bedroom silently and attempted to take the least amount of time possible picking up the scattered clothes and various detritus of my employer’s nocturnal activities, which by the look of things were both violent and sordid. It’s hard, I admit, not to steal glances at his guests. That morning specifically it was impossible not to notice the shapely legs of my employer’s acquaintance. The curve of her bottom, which seemed to my keen eyes to have earned a bruise or two, though one never knows if those bruises were collected in the scuffle and decadence of the evening before or, like so many objet d’art one picks up in one’s travels, she simply came that way.

There was a single breast exposed by the tangled limbs and wrinkled sheets of their morning tableau. It was pert, economic even, not the full hand heavy bosom I am fond of, but a perfect example of a flavor that is not my favorite, yet so lovely it gave me cause to question my preference.

I only paused a moment to take in the sight, feeling a bit foolish standing there holding a handful of her silk under things and a feather duster.

It was half past nine and by my employer’s orders he was to be up by ten even in the most extreme of cases. I started some bacon, I washed fruit. I did it all quietly, but banged and bumped around just enough to let them know someone was in the kitchen.

I had already steamed the young lady’s fetching silk dress (last season’s Givenchy?) and laid out her shoes (thankfully not Louboutin) and undergarments when I heard shower start. Mr Leinhardt did not like to dine until he was clean and fresh. As well, when having company, he often enjoyed entertaining his guest in his large, almost cavernous, shower. That, I’m sure, was a sight.

Since they were up I could grind the coffee beans, prep steamed milk and warm the cups. I had soy milk on hand in case his guest was vegan. One never knows these days. The table was laid out with plates and silverware, cloth napkins quickly twisted and folded into the shapes of roses, croissants, fruit, a variety of jams, all of the various the accoutrements.

This story and two others are available in my collection, The Valet, through Amazon.

Barista

Jack was addicted. It was something he needed to admit to himself. It was something he needed help with. It was something that was part of him.

“Gimme a quad shot cappuccino, very dry, non-fat milk.”

He stood at the counter digging deep into the pockets of his jeans trying to get another fifty cents. It was a costly habit, four shots of espresso with a little steamed milk was five bucks.

Behind him a line of well dressed people tried to summon the psychic power needed to destroy him. He was holding up the line, therefor holding up their caffeine intake. This was a dangerous thing.

“Don’t worry, you come in every day like three times. I think I can overlook fifty cents.” the girl with the thick glasses and the tight shirt behind the counter said with a smile.

Blond, bright green eyes, a nose ring. She was very cute, but a little to skinny and bubbly for Jack’s taste. He smiled and handed her his deficient funds.

“Quad non fat cap, dry!” she barked over to the barista.

There were many coffee houses in Jack’s neighborhood. Among them roughly half were of the corporate chain variety, whose coffee and politics left bad tastes in his mouth. A few of the privately owned ones were run by hippy scenester types and tended to be heavy on ambiance and light on coffee brewing know how. Then there was The Coffee House. It was a little out of the way, but it was hard core. There were only a few tables and there was no internet access or jazz music. They served coffee here, hot and strong and good. This wasn’t some diner brew, this was deep rich earthy Columbians and Sumatras and powerful orgasmic Blue Mountains along with their very own extremely potent espresso blend which Jack had been slowly replacing his body’s water supply with. Though, there was another reason he came to this particular place.

As he walked away from the cashier and passed the small stack of burlap bags that held rich-smelling beautifully oily beans he saw the two towers of silvery coppery power that made the brew. Behind one of these steaming whistling machines was a woman.

Her hair was a short jet black bob, pulled back severely into a pony tail. She wore dark rimmed glasses and dark matte red lipstick. Her lips were huge, so big and pouting the they almost made the scowl she gave everyone sexual just because of their lusciousness. Her hands were large and strong. She worked those machines. She owned them.

As Jack watched she wiped one metal nozzle with a damp cloth while pounding a large metal handled portafilter against the counter. She moved fast, her fingers adept and economic in their movements. She tapped out the used grounds, wiped the filter and then brought it up to a huge grinder which whirled and roared and then filled her filter with exactly enough coffee. She pressed the fine as powder grounds into the metal filter with the bumper and then twisted the filter into the giant espresso machine.

She wore an argyle sweater of dark green and burgundy. It was a low v cut sweater that showed her whole-milk colored cleavage which was sprinkled with freckles like a dusting of cinnamon on a foamy drink.

She sloshed some milk into a large metal cup and then slipped the steam nozzle into the cold milk. The steam screamed as it hit the cold milk. Beads of moisture condensed on her cleavage. Jack was erect as he watched it.

The espresso came in spurts, thick rich crema dark against the white porcelain shot glass. She worked both machines now. Two shot from one, two shots from the other, then all of them into a huge bowl-like latte mug. She followed it with the steamed milk and topped it off with a large helping of foam.

“Skin quad cap.” she shouted, thinking the owner of said drink was waiting at a table. She was shouting the drink order right into Jack’s face.

“That’s me.” he said, trying desperately not to look at her cleavage and succeeding only because he was hypnotized by her eyes which where chocolate and honey brown, deep and rich like a dark roast.

She scowled at him as he took the drink. Jack knowing she had contempt for most patrons and squirming a little under her powerful gaze. He picked up his coffee and sat in a chair by the window. It was the same thing every day.

*

The art showing was not something Jack particularly wanted to go to, but friends being friends they pushed, and since somehow Proust alone on a Saturday night seemed a little to depressing even for him, Jack went. It was in a somewhat rough part of town in a brownstone in the middle of a long block.

Sometimes these art things were fun and sometimes not so much. The minute Jack entered the brownstone and walked to the open door he knew this was going to be the latter. First of all it was quiet. There was a lot of whispering, a lot of people leaning into each other while holding glasses of whine and whispering. Jack never exactly understood why some showings were boisterous and cheerful and some were reverent and hushed.

Like most recent art school graduate showings it was trying to do a lot of things at the same time and failing at almost all of them. There were mixed media pieces, little televisions showing this or that. A lawnmower sat in the middle of the white walled livingroom. It was painted with zebra stripes and had an arrow sticking out of it.

Jack searched the crowd, looking for his friends and found something he didn’t expect. The barista.

She was dressed in a white button up blouse and a black skirt, looking far more sophisticated than her coffee serving alter ego, but she still wore the same scowl. Jack picked up a glass of red wine and downed it with a gulp and decided it was far too good of a coincidence to waste.

He walked over and stood next to her, looking at the same painting she was gazing at. It was an abstract maze of words and cartoon faces. Those large dark red lips were pouting, though Jack wasn’t sure if it was with scorn or thought.

“You work in the The Coffee House, right?” he said, maintaining his concentration on her.

She looked at him in a way that made him feel small and disgusting.

“Oh.” she said, half to herself, “You’re that guy.” then she looked back at the painting.

“That guy?” he asked with a chuckle.

“That guy who comes in every day and orders the same thing and stares at my tits.”

There are a variety of reactions one could have to this sort of aggressive answer. Jack wasn’t sure what most of them were but his was to basically stand there with his mouth open.

“So what are you doing here?” she said just as casually.

“I… my friends said this might be interesting.” he mumbled. “And I don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked with a smirk.

“Stare at your tits.”

“You’ve never looked at my tits when you got coffee at my shop?” she asked, eyebrows arched as she sort of leaned into the painting, causing him to get drawn into the two open buttons of her shirt.

“I…” he coughed. “I mean, people look at things, it’s not like I was staring, but you are tall and I may have-”

“Shh!” scolded a bald guy with a beard.

Jack felt very out of his element.

“Why do you come in every day, are you stalking me?” she asked in a quiet voice which forced him to walk a little closer.

“No, I live a couple blocks away and it’s a good place to study.” Jack said trying to get some control of the conversation. She was snide and sarcastic and basically all the things he usually was in a conversation. This left him w

eaponless.

“You have quite the ego, don’t you. Thinking I was there looking at you and stalking you. People drink coffee. Your tits aren’t that nice-” his voice went a little louder and he was again chided.

“Hey, sorry.” said a woman holding a tray of glasses. “Do you mind keeping it down in the art area?” pretension and self importance dripping from her thin lips.

The barista walked away from the painting and Jack followed.

They were standing in front of a coat rack covered in christmas lights. She took a red wine off a tray and sipped it, then making a face of disgust, put it back down.

“Do you like art?” he asked half heartedly.

“Not particularly.”

“Are you a student?”

She rolled her eyes. “Perpetually.”

“What do you study?”

“Art.” Her voice was flat.

She turned on him. “Are you trying to pick me up?” she said as if she suddenly realized it and was incensed.

“I… no.. I mean.” Jack was usually a lot better at this, but this girl seemed randomly aggressive.

She scoffed, a smile flickered, a challenging smile.

“Let me guess, you’re a graduate student.” Her tone was flat again and mocking.

“What’s your name?” he tried to turn the conversation.

“Jane.”

“Jack.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No.”

“Yeah, there are no real Jacks.”

“Shh.” said someone in the distance. Jane casually walked out of the apartment into the hallway. Jack followed.

“Did I piss you off or something? Do you not like how I order my drink everyday?”

She eyed him. The hallway was echoey and humid. She walked to the stairs.

“You’re just that guy I see every day who looks at me but never has the balls to say hello. Another lame graduate student. What is it? Let me guess, philosophy?”

“No.” he said with distain.

“Literature? Literary Theory?”

Jack didn’t say anything.

“Oh god, you’re one of those assholes who sits around mentally masturbating and deconstructing Joyce.”

He didn’t know why or how but suddenly he was kissing her. They were on the stairs and as she spoke someone looked out of the art showing and glared at them for making noise. Jack moved in as Jane whispered her hatred for his life’s work and then the next thing he knew his lips were on those big soft red lips. And it shut her up.

“Well, we can’t all go for hands-on applied science of art history.”

She was stewing, she looked like she might hit him.

“Fuck this. This show is stupid, I shouldn’t have come.” She turned and walked up the stairs. Jack wasn’t sure where she was going but he followed her.

On the second floor there was a narrow hall and two rows of doors. Jane got a set of keys out and opened the old door. 2B.

*

He kissed her against the wall. Her hands on his hips and her knee in his groin.

She bit his bottom lip as he pulled away and cut her eyes at him.

“I don’t like you.” she said as flatly as she could.

Jack smiled, licking his lips. “I don’t mind.”

She untangled herself from him and threw her keys on a coffee table. The apartment was tiny and a mess of books and indian rugs. She sat down on a beat up red couch and didn’t look at him. Jack sat down next to her and kissed her neck. She turned and kissed him once, Jack kissed her deeply and she let herself slip into his kiss before pushing him away again.

“You should go, this wasn’t a good idea.”

He moved in again, his hand on her knee slipping up her skirt as he kissed her neck. She gasped and put her hands on his collar, pushing him away, but holding on to the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said a little breathlessly again his ear, her warm soft lips brushing against it as she spoke.

“I’m trying to fuck you.” he growled, as she clamped her legs shut on his hand.

It was hot there, between her thick thighs. It felt unusual with the softness of her skin and the roughness of the fishnets she was wearing. Jack felt with the tips of his fingers where the stockings ended in lace and were clipped to garters. The image made him groan. Fuck, he liked her style.

The fact that she hadn’t punched him let him know that this was going to go all the way as long as Jack played it right.

Jack kissed her neck and dragged his bottom lip acoss her skin, then he sucked on her earlobe and bit at the flesh.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” she growled into his cheek.

His hand moved further up her leg, he felt heat radiating from between her thighs.

“I know. I’m going to fuck you.” His fingers touched the edge of her panty leg. He traced that elastic edge as he traced his bite marks on her neck with his tongue. As the very tip of his finger slipped under the fabric her breath caught and her grip on his shirt loosened.

“You feel awfully wet for someone who doesn’t like this.”

She was past listening, his words were just little thorns that made the itch his fingers were so close to scratching more deliciously unbearable.

He brushed his lips across her cheek, edging near her full lips. The vivid dark red of her lipstick matte, slightly smudged, perfect. He nearly caught her with a kiss, but she turned her head. His finger moved in, feeling smoothness where there should be coarse hair. Another predilection he had carried out by this girl. Another reason to want her. He rubbed there, never quite in the right place, cupping her sex and petting her but not quite slipping his finger in. It was almost too much and yet just enough to keep her on the edge.

He moved in again, his bottom lip almost catching hers. She moaned into his cheek and the sound made his cock throb painfully.

“Take your panties off for me.” he whispered in her ear.

One finger slid between her wet lips. She was one of those girls who got soaking wet. Sopping wet. He watched the pleasure take over. He edged around her clit, tracing around it, feeling its firmness under the soft folds of her hood.

“Fuck you.” she spat.

The dark laugh came from the very bottom of his stomach and spilled out. He laughed right against her neck as his finger slipped into unbearably tight wetness.

Jack knew that sigh, that moan. Some girls like to have their clit played with for hours, some girls like to have a tongue torturing them for days, but Jane wanted cock. She wanted a big thick cock to fuck her, that was the only thing that would get her off.

Jack pushed her away from him roughly. He flipped her over on the couch and pushed her head down so she was on her hand and knees with her ass in front of him. He pushed up her skirt and then pulled his zipper down and pulled out his cock.

She was groaning and hissing about it, but she wasn’t going anywhere. Jack rubbed his cock against her pantie covered sex, he could feel the split of her lips through the soaking wet satin. She pushed her ass back at him.

“Take your panties off for me.”

She scoffed first, but then pushed back against him and made a desperate little squeal of frustration. Her hands came up and back. Her thumbs hooked the sides of her panties. There was a beat, a pause and she pulled them down. Not all the way down but just to her knees. Then she pushed back, trying to impale herself on his hard cock.

Jack rubbed the head of his cock on the same spot now that it was naked. He looked down at obscenely pink lips against his hard reddening cock.

“Ask me to fuck you.”

She turned her head and those eyes were full of hate and want and fire. Her hands flew back and she tried to pull her panties back up but he grabbed her hands and held them behind her back.

“Fuck you. You’re the one who started this. I’m not asking you for anything.” she hissed

, her cheek pressed against the couch.

Jack rocked against her, the head of his cock just barely pushing into her wetness. She let out gasps with each little push.

“Pl… you fucking asshole. Just…” another whine, another gasp, another curse.

“Please what?” his voice was more and more gravelly. The little chuckles darker and darker.

“Just… please…” her voice was quieter, almost inaudible. Then a long sigh.

“Just fuck me.”

It wasn’t really what he wanted. He wanted her to beg, but he knew it was enough and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He spit on his hand and worked his cock up and down, then rubbed it between the wetness of her lips. When he pushed his cock in, finally, it was almost painfully pleasurable. He let out a loud groan.

“Put your hands on my ass.” she said, not even looking back at him.

He did, squeezing both cheeks and starting to fuck her for real.

Sometimes it took time to work up a real rhythm. Sometimes you had to figure the other person out, get the angle right. Jane was wet and just right and Jack sank his fingers into the softness of her big ass and pounded into her. It was a normal fuck, this was hard and fast and the couch was moving.

“Oh holy fucking shit.” she said, letting out a string of curses mixed with moans. Her hands were on the arm of the couch as she was rode harder.

Jack reached up and put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into each thrust. His other hand snaked up into her hair.

“Fuck me harder.” she said looking back with the same fire. “Come on. Is that all you got? Really fuck me.”

He grabbed her hips hard and pounded into her. Hard fast slapping over and over. She let go of the arm of the chair and let out a little howl. He felt her legs tighten, her cunt clenching on him as a moan built into a wail.

She pulled away suddenly and pulled off her panties. Jack grabbed all the pillows on the couch and threw them across the room. They pulled at their shirts, needing more contact. She half ripped off her bra and he was on her, sucking her nipples, biting her neck and finally kissing her plump lips. Their faces were covered in lipstick. And then he was inside of her again, this time on top.

She was three times as wet now. She wrapped her legs around him as he fucked her. Her hands were around him and then her nails were digging into his back. He was thrusting slow and hard, but building.

Suddenly the world was spinning. Jack didn’t know how but he was on the floor and the barista was on top of him, her neat black bob now half sticking to her face.

Her hands on his wrists she turned and twisted her hips trying to get the right angle and then when his cock finally slipped back into her she purred and looked down at him.

“Want to come bad, hm?”

Jack bucked his hips, but she was not a tiny girl. Plus there was the fact that he wanted to see where this was going.

“It’s only fair.” he said low and gravelly.

She moved her hips up and then down a little, sort of bouncing up and down on him. The pleasure was like a punch it was so potent. Jack tried to maintain control at least enough to watch her bit her own lip and moan.

Jane opened her shirt completely, button by button. She continued to flex her legs causing her to go up and down on him with a slow steady rhythm. She pulled off her shirt and the bra which was hanging off her waist. She locked her eyes with him as she cupped her breasts and let her fingers pull at her own nipples which were surprisingly dark for her pale skin and large with fat nipples that were hard points.

Jack put his hands on her hips and bucked his hips again. She wasn’t stopping him now. Her eyes closed and she moved up and down a little faster, with Jack bucking up to meet her. She pulled roughly on one nipple which her other hand went down to her wet pussy. Jack could dully feel her rubbing her self as he slipped again and again into her. Suddenly she was gasping and her fucking lost its momentum. Jack took hold of her hips and kept fucking her from underneath her. She was lost as her fingers moved on her clit and nipple. Jack watched, feeling his orgasm building faster and faster.

She was going crazy on top of him, whimpering and rolling her hips. He tried desperately to keep fucking, keep the rhythm.

“Come. Come on. Fucking come inside of me.” she was practically yelling.

And then the building for so long finally hit its end and Jack exploded. He wasn’t sure what he said, but it was loud. She rode him through it and kept on riding him until he was limp and weak and then she fell on top of him, her hair clinging to his face and her lips on his as they panted.