Some Kinky, Masturbatory Fun

Hey all!

Seems like ages since I posted some sexy smut.  Between gearing up for a new book launch, editing, writing, and the daily grind of the 9 to 5, I have been busy to say the least.  So today I thought I’d offer a snippet of one of the stories I wrote a few years ago. This story is still in its rough draft, and is just an excerpt, but I hope you enjoy anyways.

Until next month lovelies,

R.

Extorted

feet

Roderick’s face was already blazing as the ginger-haired hostess led us to our table.  The bistro I had chosen served brunch exclusively, and only on Sunday mornings.  The waiting list was a mile long but it was well worth the wait to see the blush creeping up Roderick’s neck, highlighting his cheeks.

“And is this to your liking, gentlemen?” the hostess asked.

It was a table set for two with a bleached linen tablecloth so long it almost touched the floors.  Warm sunlight spilled through the slanted window beside it.  The flame from a single taper candle in the center of the table danced the way I imagined Roderick’s cock would be dancing before long.

“Yes, this will do just fine,” I smiled.

Our hostess nodded, pulling our chairs out for us.  Roderick sat first, looking around nervously.  The bistro was an informal place, but Roderick had chosen a suit and tie anyway.  Armani, by the looks of it.  He looked dashing, if a little stiff around the collar.  I, on the other hand, had chosen something a little more breezy—short sleeve Polo, khaki shorts, and a pair of open-toed sandals over sockless, feet.

“Jonathan will be your server this afternoon,” our hostess said, handing us our menus.  “Enjoy your brunch.”

“Thank you.”

The hostess left us alone but I was too distracted to read the day’s specials.  I sensed Roderick’s rising anxiety across the table.  The way he refused to look at me.  How his fingers thrummed the sides of his menu.  I allowed the din of the bistro to grow in our silence.  The scraping of silverware as people ate.  The oblivious idle chatter around us.

“Have you decided?” I finally asked.

Roderick shook his head that he hadn’t.

“Then might I suggest the Shitake Sunrise,” I said.  “It is phenomenal here.”

“Excellent choice!” a new voice chimed.

It belonged to a smiling college-aged boy with a ruddy face and a mop of curly blonde hair.  In one hand he held a pair of empty wine glasses, the bottle of chateau noir I’d ordered with our reservations in the other.

“I’m Jonathan, and I’ll be taking care of you gentlemen,” Jonathan said.  “Am I to assume you have dined with us before?”

Jonathan was handsome and gay, everything I looked for in a man.  That boyish smile belonged on the cover of every GQ and Vanity Fair magazine cover ever made.  I let my eyes cascade over the broad chest stretching Jonathan’s white button up, the mounds of the bubble ass packed in the back of his black dress pants.

“Best brunch in the city,” I smiled.

Jonathan twisted the cork from the throat of the wine and held it out for me.  I inhaled the fragrant hints of forest floor, mushroom, and chocolate.  It smelled divine.  I watched him pour two glasses, offering me mine first.

“May I begin you gentlemen with some fresh fruit?”

“That sounds lovely, Jonathan.” I said.  “And my friend and I will be having the Shitake Sunrise together.”

“Very good, sir,” Jonathan said.

I smiled at the way the word “Sir” sounded on his pretty lips, wondering if it would be untoward to give another man my number while out with a client.  When he walked away, I caught myself checking out his ass again, wondering what those fleshy cheeks might look like after an hour or so alone with me.

The thought made me hard.

Roderick was still pensively lost in his menu.  I watched him, swirling my wine in my glass and wondering if Roderick’s cock was already hard from the anticipation.  I sipped my wine.

“Delicious!” I declared.  “Have a glass, Roderick.”

“No, thank you.”

His voice was a shaky whisper.

I nodded.  Setting the glass aside I fixed Roderick with a hard look until the other man met my stare.

“Say the word and we call this all off and go back to the hotel.”

“N-No,” Roderick stuttered, almost panicky.  “It’s just this is all so…so public.”

I allowed a smile to touch my lips, a hint of my wickedness.  “That’s the point, Mr. Senator, of public humiliation.”

Worry flashed in Roderick’s blue eyes.  The youngest man elected to the state senate, he hadn’t quite gotten used to being under the public’s microscope.  Sure, in every other facet of his life Roderick certainly seemed conservative enough—Masters in Political Science; family man; staunch republican.  There was just this one little thing.

A secret he was willing to pay dearly to keep.

Thankfully the young Senator found me when he did.  Roderick wasn’t my first time dealing in political anonymity.  I went to great lengths securing the meetings of each of my clients, at times placing entire continents between them and anyone they might know.  It was part of my price, along with their submission.  Roderick had to learn to trust me.

“You are safe with me, Roderick,” I said, the command in my voice snagging Roderick out of his whirling thoughts.  “If at any time you feel like you cannot go on, you know what to say.”

Color slashed across Roderick’s face all over again.  “Artichoke,” he whispered, looking at his clenched fists.

I smiled at his capitulation.  “Good boy.”

Jonathan was back with our fruit—a summer medley of grapes, strawberries, kiwi, and various melons is a sweet sauce.  Setting the bowls in front of us, I noticed the way our waiter’s eyes flashed between us as if sensing Roderick’s unease.  He looked down at me and I could almost see the boy’s runner’s body strung up in my dungeon.

“I took the liberty of putting in your omelets,” Jonathan said.  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

There was that word again.

“No, Jonathan, that will be all.”

I watched our waiter’s ass as he walked away, imagining the way it might feel beneath my open palm.  When I looked at Roderick he was watching me, the need in his blue eyes reaching across the table.

It was time.

Beneath the table, hidden by the long tablecloth, I slipped out of one of my sandals.   The warmth of the day, coupled by the walk to the bistro had made my size 14s damp with sweat.  I stroked my foot down the senator’s calf, hooking one long toe beneath the open mouth of his pants leg.  Roderick’s eyes went wide, his body stiff as I imagined his dick must be.

I allowed a satisfied chuckle and withdrew my foot.  Roderick loved it when I laughed at him.  I loved the way he squirmed for me.  Sitting back I chose a fat chunk of melon and popped it in my mouth, chewing slowly, savoring the juices bursting across my pallet.

“Take out your cock, Roderick.”

Roderick’s eyes popped wide.  “N-Now?”

I leveled him with a threatening stare.  I hated repeating myself.  “Reach under the table, unzip those expensive pants you’re wearing, and take out your dick…now.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe out of water.  I stroked my bare foot up his leg, coaxing Roderick to do as I bid.  He looked defeated as he reached under the table cloth.  I smiled when I heard the tinkle of his belt buckle being splayed across his lap, the distinctive sound of his zipper.  I trailed my foot up his leg, dipping across his thigh until I felt Roderick’s cock.

I was right; he was hard

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Revolution

revoution

It was a time of revolution, and so we holed ourselves up.  Bodies crushed together.  Naked flesh knitted to naked flesh like a finely stitched mesh.  We made love in that darkness until sweat wept from us.  Until the body was weak and we cried out from exhaustion.

The world could have ended beyond us, yet we were still here.

“I must fight now.”

“I know.”

“Think of me?”

“Always, my love.”

I hoisted my weapon as the skies lit up, not knowing when or where we should meet each other again.

Cuck’d for Christmas: A Preview

It’s live!  My new erotic short story Cuck’d for Christmas is available for purchase on Amazon, and to celebrate here is a sexy little excerpt.  Enjoy!

cuckedforchristmas

Marissa gazed down at her husband’s head tucked neatly between her silken thighs, spread just enough on the bed to allow Thom access to her hungry pussy.  Thom’s brow wrinkled beneath the beads of sweat forming there, nose nestled in Marissa’s smooth mound.  His committed tongue stroked little starbursts of pleasure across her clit, eliciting tiny whimpers from Marissa’s throat that begged for more…more…

…far more than Thom could give her.

More than once Marissa found her gaze drifting back to the TV Thom insisted on always keeping on in their bedroom.  The Weather Channel had promised a white Christmas and they had delivered on that promise a day early.  Christmas Eve, and the moving storm front, promised to stall holiday traffic across the county.

“You okay, babe?”

Marissa gave a little start when she realized Thom was watching her beneath heavy-lidded blue eyes.  She found herself looking him over as she so often did these days—his sandy blond hair swept sweatily to the side of his clean-shaven, almost boyish face, his broad shoulders and lean, ropey muscles that rippled as he pawed hungrily at the insignificant organ between his legs.

Thom waited on bended knee like a puppy waiting for a command, forever concerned about her pleasure.  Ordinarily he did wonders with his tongue and mouth and fingers, making Marissa cum until she trembled in orgasm before satisfying himself with her cunt.  How could she tell him that tonight he simply wasn’t enough?

“Babe…?”

“I’m fine,” Marissa said, grateful for the excuse of a police siren that lilted distantly on the icy night outside.  “I just can’t remember if I locked the door or not.  Could you run down and check for me?”

She wondered if her husband put voice to the lie, if he sensed the undulating need swelling in the pit of her belly.  But in typical Thom fashion he just sighed and rose naked from the bed.

“Sure, be right back.”

Good old, predictable Thom—non-confrontational, non-aggressive, a pacifist in every aspect of his life, including the bedroom.

When she was alone Marissa threw herself back on their bed.  What the hell’s wrong with me?  She told herself it was the stress of the holidays that kept her from focusing on their play, but Marissa knew it was much more than that.  Five years or marriage and Thom had never made her come, at least not with that puny thing between his legs—more veins and head than any real meat.

Thom knew it, too, and that only seemed to make it worse, to add to his masculine shame.  Sure he stepped it up other ways sexually, but in the end Marissa was never quite sated.  And tonight all of that pent up need seemed to pool in the pit of her belly like overflow from a flood.  If Thom ever asked her what she wanted for Christmas Marissa might have said, “The most mind-blowing fuck of my life!”

But Thom never asked, and Marissa could never bring herself to tell.

Marissa looked down at her naked, thirty year-old body, her tits heavy and flushed with the need burning her from the inside out.  Long black hair curled in ringlets around her breasts and she gave one of the silver rings spearing her nipples a harsh tug she felt deep in the folds of her cunt.  Her back arched.  Reaching between her legs she found her slit, still wet with Thom’s saliva, excruciatingly empty.  Not for the first time Marissa imagined someone other than Thom filling that void.

A strange scuffling noise downstairs pulled her from her fantasies of bigger cock.

“Thom?”

When he didn’t answer Marissa reached for her discarded robe on the floor, too aware of the sticky dampness coating her thighs.

“Thom, I swear to baby Christ you’d better not be fucking with me.”

What am I talking about?  Thom never fucks with anyone.

Marissa padded barefoot down the hall, robe swinging open behind her as she descended the stairs.  She always went all out for Christmas—garland, lights, presents, and, the show-stopper, the fresh cut Christmas tree she and Thom had picked out together a few nights before, fully loaded with ornaments, ribbon, twinkling lights, and displayed in full-view in front of the bay window.  The smell of pine needles and fresh-baked gingerbread cookies still cooling on the kitchen counter filled her nose when she rounded the corner.

Marissa froze.

Standing in their living room near the fireplace was a man.  Firelight twinkled in his dark eyes as he drew Marissa in with his gaze.  He looked Latino, a head taller than her husband and thick with muscle that bulged beneath the orange jumpsuit he wore.  One powerful arm hooked around his throat held Thom’s naked body at bay.

“No sudden moves lady or I’ll snap this vato’s neck right here.”

Marissa couldn’t move if she wanted.  Panic threatened to cripple her right there in the living room.  Danger crackled on the air like electricity, sending a cold chill rippling through her.

“Take anything you want.”  She struggled to keep her voice level.  “Just don’t hurt him.”

“Fresh clothes,” the stranger growled, his voice tinged with an accent.  “Rapita chica!  Go!”

Marissa raced back upstairs, arousal replaced by adrenaline as she tore through the dresser drawers looking for something that might fit the intruder.  He was so much bigger than Thom, especially through his chest.  None of Thom’s shirts would fit.  In the end she settled on a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else.

A flash from the television caught her attention.  Clutching Thom’s sweats to her chest, Marissa eyed the words emblazoned across the bottom of the screen.

Manhunt Underway for Escaped Inmate

 

Holiday Greetings, Some Catching Up, and a Little Flash Fic…

It’s been a rushed few months for me.  The holidays usually are.  Between work, cramming for tests, and rushing to get a short story published by Christmas it has been a busy few months.  So I wanted to drop in to say I haven’t forgotten about you few loyal readers who grace my little blog, and wanted to leave you something that will leave you feeling full until next month when I give you a little snippet of my new short story.  Until then, happy holidays!

face-to-face

Face to Face

R. F. Lange

Is there a better way for two men to bond?

Face to face, sitting in two opposite chairs so close our splayed knees touch, our hairy male genitals on display for the other to see?

I can feel you examining my maleness and I chance a look between your legs, too. What I see shoots straight to my already erect penis and makes me masturbate faster.  You are already hard, your thick column of vascular flesh with its pronounced mushroom cap leaking fluids like honey from a comb.  Your testes hang like ripened fruits that bounce against the ring of your hairy anus with each stroke of your pumping fist.

Another part of your anatomy that fuels my cock.

I lean forward and stroke the puckered flesh beneath your balls with a single finger. You say nothing even as that private patch of male flesh responds to my touch.  You are the man I’ve ever felt comfortable to touch this way, yet another way for us to bond.

I am suddenly kneeling in front of you.  I don’t remember moving, and yet there I am, eyes transfixed on your penis as I stimulate the most intimate part of your body.  My face is so close I can smell the male musk clinging to you.  I know you are watching me, eyes riveted, awaiting my next move.  You know what I want, what I need when we are together like this—separated from the rest of the world by a slab of wood and a deadbolt. You are always willing to accommodate those private urges of mine.  As if anticipating them, your legs spread and I watch as your male trench opens to give me more intimate access to you.

There is something about the secrecy of our relationship, the closeness of it all that makes me feel closer to you than any other person in my life, including my wife.  Ours is a bond that surpasses most peoples’ understanding, which is why it remains between just us to.  Two heterosexual men lost in each other, celebrating male need.  It is the reason I say little and do so much, my friend…because what I need is you.

I feel the shudder that races through your body when my nose teases your sphincter.  My tongue darts out to taste you, stroking wet bursts of pleasure into you anus.  Your fist, like my own pumping hand, never stops stroking as you watch me lick your clean hole from the inside out, giving it deep, wet kisses like it’s your mouth.

You say nothing when you feel my pronounced tip at your tight opening.  You understand what I need. You need it too.  For you, your anus acts as another sexual organ to be stimulated, much the way you are stimulating your cock now.  I still remember the way you drenched us in male fluids the first night our bodies locked together, coming without ever touching yourself as my penis stroked you from the inside out.  You still get that same look on your face whenever I am about to penetrate you.  Your eyes lose focus.  Your mouth grows slack.  It’s as if your entire consciousness is consumed by the maleness filling your body.

You tense when I press myself into you, my engorged head stretching the ring of your anus around its pronounced ridge, making your own penis spit up a fresh puddle of fluid on the flat of your belly.  I lean forward, tongue dipping into your shallow navel to taste the salty syrup I’ve just caused you to produce. Your taste surges through me, makes me throb inside of you.

My face looms over yours and I dip my tongue between your sweet, cherry lips, offering you a taste of your own body.

It is all so very…natural.

I feel you relax beneath my masculine weight and I gather you in my strong arms, easing myself into you inch by agonizing, erect inch until all you can feel is the fullness inside you.  Your legs—so strong, so masculine—wrap around my waist as if you cannot fathom the idea of my sex ever leaving your body.  I feel your heartbeat against my chest as if it was my own heart pounding out my need.  Our eyes meet and I cannot help but kiss you again, invading your lips, suckling your wet tongue, tasting you.  No female has ever kissed me with so much passion.

You moan into my mouth as our hips begin to rock in tandem with one another.  Your hole is so wet, like a woman’s cunt, stroking smoothly up and down my thick shaft.  I pull away from our male kiss to look into your eyes…that beautiful face.

You have barely touched yourself since I entered you, and yet your cock feels wet as it wedges between our sweaty bodies.  Your hole flexes like a puckered little mouth sucking at me.

You are close.

You don’t have to say it. In fact, we exchange precious few words when we are together this way. It’s as if our proximity to one another speaks the volumes we never feel like we can say out loud.  But I know you and you know me and our bodies just respond to each other.  I can feel the muscle in your thighs trembling as they clamp around my waist, pulling me deeper inside of you.  My big hands slip to the small of your back as it arches off the chair, my cock stroking sharp breaths from your lips that lick at my face like the heat of a fire.

You come without touching yourself, flooding our chests with your warm seed.  Your hole twitches and convulses around my cock as you begin slamming it around me, milking me, throwing me over the edge.  My mouth crushes to yours, pulling your bottom lip between my teeth as an animalistic growl erupts from my throat.  My cock swells and pulses inside you, your hole working each spurt of my semen out of me and into you.

We lay there a long while in sweat and cum, the hairy erection still locked inside you unwilling to let you go.  You stroke my back softly, kissing my shoulder, rocking yourself gently back and forth on me.

I love you.

We never say it, at least not out loud, but I know we both feel it.  How could we not?  My lips close over yours, pulling you into my mouth again, feeling the way your anus responds around my cock.  I have to go but I don’t want to.  Not yet.  Life could wait as long as we were locked within these four walls.

“One more time?” you breathe, the words hot against my face.

You look utterly spent, and yet I recognize that need in your eyes.  I smile, kissing you roughly as I feel your fingers curl into the mounds of my ass, and I begin to stimulate myself all over again with your male body.

Is there any other way to bond?

 

Under Lock and Key

lock and key

Under Lock and Key

R. F. Lange

The key glinted with the flickering candlelight.  Laced at her waistline by a thin gold chain, the tiny silver key bejeweled her mound like a diamond.

His freedom.

The cage hugging his crotch grew more uncomfortable. It had been weeks since Teta had allowed him to come, longer since she’d utilized the maleness between his legs.  Instead, Hunter’s services had been used to service her.  Kissing and sucking on her pussy.  Fingering and toying at her delicious cunt until her head flailed back and she painted her orgasm across his face.

The thought made Hunter ache for his own release.

Seeing her lying there in their bed didn’t help.  Teta had stripped down to a sheer, black bra concealing her heavy breasts, no panties.  She spread her legs just enough to expose the pink of her lips.  Moisture glistened on her slit, in the soft mound of her dark pubic hair.  Had she already been teasing herself?  Were his services needed again?

“I’m horny, baby,” she purred, dipping a hand between her thighs.

Her voice was soft, laced with her arousal. She tugged on the tiny metal key around her waist, smiling down at the thickness filling Hunter’s cage.  His mouth felt suddenly dry, his tongue heavy.

“Shall I pleasure you, my love?”

Teta gave him a come-hither motion with one finger.  The way she bit her lip always gave her an air of innocence.  At the same time, her dark, almond-shaped eyes shone with mischief, like she enjoyed taunting him.

Like she wanted him to beg.

He’d given the key to her himself the day they were married.  Teta had slipped a silver ring onto his finger with her vows. Hunter had given her a key…

“…to my heart,” he told the questioning faces of family and friends watching the ritual from the church pews.

Only the two of them knew the true meaning behind the key,  that beneath Hunter’s well tailored suit was a stainless steel cage that hugged his cock and balls, making it impossible to touch himself.  Only Teta had access to him; Hunter preferred it that way.

Hunter crawled onto their bed on all fours like an tiger on the prowl. The chastity device made his sex feel overwhelmingly heavy. It laced around his thighs like a jock strap, exposing the round globes of his smooth ass.  Teta reached for one exposed mound and gave it a healthy slap that made Hunter’s fair skin blaze red.  Hunter’s cock pulsed in its too-small cage.

“I love your ass baby,” Teta said, grabbing the cheek she’d just slapped and squeezing tight.  “Remember when I made you come just by playing with it?”

How could he forget?

It was the last time Hunter was allowed to come.

Teta had teased at the starburst of his anus before slipping one long, lubricated finger inside him, stroking his prostate until Hunter’s long cock jerked and spasmed thick ropes of semen across Teta’s new silk bed sheets.  He’d felt like he was pissing his load everywhere.  Teta had not been impressed.

She hadn’t let him come since.

His cock felt like it might burst from its cage by the time his nose nuzzled against the tiny key so close to her cunt. Tonguing her pussy, Hunter traced Teta’s slit until he found the nub of her clit hot and swollen, teasing and sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves until Teta squirmed against his face.

“Mmm baby,” Teta moaned. “That feels good.”

Hunter bowed his head to continue but Teta’s fingers coiled in a fistful of his blonde hair, forcing Hunter to peer up at her from between her smooth thighs.

“What are you doing?” Teta said, her tone sharp.

“Pleasing you, my love,” Hunter said, worried he had done something wrong.

A smile teased at Teta’s lips.  “And you will,” she promised, stoking his cheek.  “But I need to feel you tonight.”  She fingered the key.  “All of you.”

Hunter’s cock gave an impulsive lurch in its cage.  The thing felt impossibly small, his sex contorted inside.  Hung as he was, Teta had purposely caged him in something a shade smaller. She wanted Hunter to be uncomfortable, to watch him squirm.  She wanted him to know he was hers.

“Kneel up, baby.”

Rising to his knees on the bed, Hunter presented her with the cage between his strong thighs.  His heart thundered in his chest as he watched Teta pluck the little silver key from its chain.  She was almost cruelly methodical in the slow deliberate way she took the lock fixed beneath his navel, cradling it tenderly in her open palm before slipping the key inside, turning it…

Click

The cage fell away, nine inches of thick male sex finally freed from its prison.

Hunter took charge then, scooping Teta up bodily and slamming her back on the bed. Forcing her knees apart he sunk himself wholly inside her silken cunt.  Teta gave a sharp gasp at the sudden fullness of him, clawing at his shoulders, his ass, her hips rocketing greedily to meet each wild thrust Hunter delivered.

“Mmm, god baby,” Teta moaned.

Hunter kissed her, filling her mouth with his tongue and tasting the whimpering cries of pleasure vibrating against his lips.  He found the small of her throat with one hand, fingers clasping tight around Teta’s long neck.  Hunter reveled in the small, startled gasp that skipped from Teta’s lips, how her eyes glazed over with lust as he drove harder into her, choking her…fucking her.

He sensed Teta about to come, her pussy practically drooling around him.  But Hunter wasn’t finished with her yet. Not after making him wait so long.  Hunter wanted to make this last as long as he could, to give her just a taste of the exquisite torture she’d put him through these last weeks.

Rising like a Goliath over her, Hunter lifted Teta from the bed and put her onto her knees. With one hand he shoved her face into the pillow, muffling her moans as he slammed himself back into her swollen cunt.  Hunter decided he hated her bra and ripped it from her chest. He’d pay for it later, he was sure.  Teta was particular about her things.  But it was worth it to see her breasts flushed and swaying beneath her with each powerful stroke of his cock.

“Oh baby you’re gonna make me come.”

Her usual commandeering voice was now breathy and raw.  Hunter sensed her hand shift between her legs, stroking her clit and hurtling herself toward climax.

“Oh…babe…oh fuuuck…”

Hunter waited until he felt the first pulse of her orgasm spasm around his cock, for the arch in Teta’s back as it ripped through her.  He pulled out.  Fast.  Teta’s juices dripped from his cock, slicked his thighs.  Hunter slammed himself back inside her, except this time it wasn’t her pussy he was after.

The force of his cock drove a deep grunt from Teta’s lips.  Hunter’s fingers dug into her hips, flesh slapping against hot, flushed flesh as he drove himself deeper inside Teta’s tight pucker, barreling him closer to the brink.  Hunter reached under her to feel her heavy tits, to tug at Teta’s pert little nipples.

“Oh, shit baby!” Teta screamed in shock.  “You’re…going…to make…me come…AGAIN!”

Her hole clenched hungrily around Hunter’s cock when she came, flexing like a little mouth trying to suck him off.  Hunter couldn’t hold it any longer.  With one last thrust he emptied himself inside her—weeks worth of pent up sexual need filling her ass until Hunter finally felt drained.

They collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, basking in the afterglow of some of the best sex Hunter had ever experienced with his wife.  Teta stroked his chest sleepily while he played with her hair. A fine sheen of sweat covered them both.  After awhile, Hunter drifted into a sated sleep, Teta’s head resting on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open when he felt himself stuffed back into the cage.

Teta was straddling him, peering down at him with a coy little half smile, already clicking the lock back into place.

It felt like home.

“It would seem you can’t be trusted, baby,” Teta said, giving one of his nipples a rough little pinch.  “For now I think it best to put my toy back where it belongs.  It’s safer under lock and key, don’t you think?”

Hunter could only nod.  He watched as Teta picked her ripped bra off their bed, eyeing it with a frown.  Hunter knew there’d be consequences for being so rough, but they were consequences he could deal with.

She was worth it.

Manscaping

Manscaping

Manscaping

R. F. Lange

Vinnie looked himself over in the mirror.

He needed to do something about all that hair.

“So what we doin’ for ya, pal?” the barber asked, eyeing Vinnie’s naked body.

He was a big man, older, with a handlebar mustache and long hair pulled into a ponytail behind his head.  Vinnie felt weird letting another guy look at him like this. It reminded him of all those physicals he had to endure in high school before he could play sports.

But what choice did he have?

Tonight was his first real date with Ziva, and something might happen. Vinnie had been picking up all the right signs up until the night they kissed for the first time. Ziva’s lips had crushed to his. Her tongue making laps around his mouth.  Vinnie knew she could feel his cock swelling against her.  Ziva didn’t seem to mind.  Instead, she began grinding her hips against the growing bulge in Vinnie’s pants, her breath heavy as they kissed.

She seemed as ready to fuck as Vinnie was…until she reached under his shirt and felt the coarse hair dappling his chest.

Ziva hated body hair.

“Want me to leave the two of you alone?” the barber laughed at the way Vinnie looked at himself in the mirror. “What’s it gonna be buddy?  A trim or a shave.”

Vinnie eyed his body hair. The way it spread across his chest, trickled down the flat of his belly, collecting in a tangled black mound around his cock.

“Take it all.”

“You’re the boss,” the barber said.  “Take a seat.”

Vinnie sat in the barber chair, unable to get comfortable despite the chair’s recline.  He shifted on the cool leather beneath him.  The hot towel the barber placed over his chest was a welcome relief.  Vinnie tried to relax.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect going to a place called Manscapes.  His buddy Jon had suggested it to him after Vinnie told him about his misadventure with Ziva.

“You’ve got to check this place out,” Jon said, pulling the lip of his running shorts down to show Vinnie his smooth-shaven crotch.  “I don’t even try to shave my own pubes anymore.  Fuck that.”

Vinnie had tried once to shave his own pubic hair.  Between irritated skin, razor burn, and the itchiness, Vinnie decided never again.

That was before Ziva…

Now that he was here, Vinnie watched as the barber looked over his tools.  He breathed a sigh of relief when the man chose the electric clippers.  The straight razor on the wall looked like something from Sweeny Todd.

The barber removed the towel from Vinnie’s chest and laid it flat over his lap, and Vinnie was grateful for the reprieve of modesty.

“So first time letting a guy shave you down, huh?”

He was basting a warm, fragrant shave cream onto Vinnie’s damp chest with broad strokes.

Vinnie shifted in the chair.  “That noticeable?”

The barber laughed. “Relax, pal.  You’re not the first guy to wander in here needing his coin purse trimmed.  That’s why I started this place to begin with.  Women have places they can go to get waxed and shaved for their partners. Men don’t have as many options.  So what brings you in today?”

He wiped his hand on a towel hanging over his shoulder and started the clippers.  Vinnie jumped at the buzz that filled the barber shop.

“There’s this girl…”

The barber barked a laugh.  “Ha!  Isn’t there always?”

Vinnie’s eyes were glued to the clippers as the barber lowered them to his chest.  The vibrations sent goose bumps exploding up and down his arms and legs as the barber sheered a swath of cream from his chest in a thick landing strip.

Another swipe.

Another.

Smooth flesh soon peeked through the remnants of the frothy shave cream where a few moments before his chest hair had stood dark and matted.  As the clippers trailed down his belly, Vinnie gave himself over to the goose bumps, the barber’s steady hands.  He was surprised how relaxing it was to let someone else shave him.

The clippers cut off.

“Can I get you to spread your legs for me, buddy?” the barber asked, hiking the chair higher off the floor.

Vinnie’s face heated.

He’d never let another dude anywhere close to his junk before.

Vinnie’s heart was banging against his chest as he let his legs slide over the sides of the chair to dangle loosely above the floor.  The barber snagged the wet towel from his lap.  Beneath it, the nest of pubic hair below his waist was mangled and damp.  The barber combed his fingers through it.

Vinnie felt himself go rigid, fingers digging in to the arms of the barber chair.

“Relax, pal,” the barber grumbled.  “Don’t need you jerkin’ around when I’m so close to your personables.”

“Right…er…sorry.”

The clippers hummed to life again, tearing through the male hair beneath Vinnie’s waistline.  Vinnie tried not to flinch—to relax, as the barber said—but the barber’s steady fingers were suddenly on his cock.  Feeling it up.  Pushing it this way and that as the clippers mowed off the thickest tufts of hair from Vinnie’s crotch.

Sweat beaded on his forehead when the barber lifted his sack, exposing the hair on Vinnie’s taint.

Vinnie gripped the arms of the chair again.  He’d never felt more vulnerable in his life. All the same, the vibrations from the clippers sent an electric jolt of pleasure through him that surprised him.  Goose bumps rippled across his skin.  Vinnie was mortified to feel himself getting hard in the barber’s hands.  He laid his head back and crushed his eyes shut, trying to will his thickening cock soft again.

The barber worked in silence, saying nothing of the erection between Vinnie’s legs.  When he was finished he stood up to examine his work.

Vinnie opened his eyes, looking down at the hard-on jutting conspicuously between his thighs.  He was surprised by how much bigger it looked.  A thin layer of stubble remained where a mess of male pubic hair had been just a moment before.

“Almost done,” the barber said.

He laid the clippers down, reaching for something that made Vinnie’s adrenaline spike—the straight razor.

The barber eyed the tool, running a thumb carefully along the blade’s edge as if to test the sharpness.  Folding the razor in on itself, the barber set it aside as he applied more shave cream to the stubble between Vinnie’s legs.

Vinnie’s cock was almost throbbing, it was so hard.  He could only watch as the barber tugged down on it like an obscene gear shift, flattening the skin of his pelvis.  A thick drop of fluid pearled at the tip.

“Shit!” Vinnie blurted.  “Sorry man.”

The barber swiped the towel across Vinnie’s wet head and threw the towel back over his shoulder.

“No worries, pal,” he said.  “Lotta fellas don’t know what to expect when they come see me.  Don’t know how good getting a haircut can feel…specially ‘tween the legs.”  He chuckled.  “Least ya didn’t shoot your wad all over my chair.”

Vinnie eyes went wide when the barber opened the straight razor again, the edge gleaming in the light.

“Now let’s finish you up and get you back to that girl you’re trying to impress.”

Vinnie’s hands clamped over the arms of the barber chair, eyes riveted on the barber’s hand as he moved the razor closer to Vinnie’s cock. Visions of mishaps and slip ups danced through his mind. His cock pulsed in the barber’s hands.

The barber ignored it, touching the razor’s edge to the base of Vinnie’s cock and giving the shaving cream one slow, methodical swipe.

The barber was right; Vinnie didn’t know what to expect.

Fireworks exploded all over his skin, his cock suddenly rigid.  Somehow, the razor felt better than the clippers.  The barber shaved another swath of stubble.

“Mm.”

The sound came from somewhere deep in Vinnie’s throat.  His fingers loosened on the arms of the chair.

“Told ya,” the barber smiled.  “Feels good.”

Vinnie relaxed then, more so than he felt he’d relaxed in weeks.  Nestling back in the barber’s chair, he watched the other man work.  The soft, sure fist closing around his thick shaft.  The scrape of the razor as the barber shaved him, working it down his pubis with long, steady strokes.

Vinnie felt a flutter in his groin at the barber’s hot hand on his cock.  His own arousal by it all had startled and excited him at first.  Now, for the first time in his life, Vinnie wondered if he could ever do it with another man.  He closed his eyes and imagined holding the barber’s cock the way he held Vinnie’s.  Stroking it.  Opening his mouth and taking it down his…

“All done.”

Vinnie opened his eyes. The barber was cleaning the razor, returning it to its pristine sheen before hanging it back on the wall.  He squirted some sort of masculine-smelling ointment on his hands and began massaging it into Vinnie’s chest, his stomach.  Vinnie’s cock gave another awkward twitch when the barber reached between his legs again, massaging his newly smooth pubis.

“So what do ya think?” the barber asked, washing his hands.  “Think that girl of yours’ll approve?”

Vinnie stood up. His knees felt weak, like he’d been sitting there for hours.  Thankfully, his cock was going soft by the time he turned to look himself over in the mirror.  He checked out his body, smooth and glistening.  He looked more defined, somehow, his lean physique more muscular.

Vinnie smiled at himself in the mirror.

“I think so,” Vinnie said.  “But even if she doesn’t, I feel great.  Isn’t that what matters?”

The barber barked another laugh and slapped Vinnie on the shoulders.  “Ha!  Nothing else matters in the world, my friend.”

 

 

First blog post

Hey all!

Welcome to my new erotic blog.  I hope everybody is at least 18 and has at least one free hand to scroll down.

My name is R.F. Lange and I am an author and sex enthusiast just trying to carve out my own little niche of the interwebs.  I write erotica because I believe sexuality is ingrained in everything involved in being human; whether implicitly or explicitly, sex is a very real driving force of the human condition.  I write erotica to show that, and to give readers a safe way to fantasize about those little sexy things we never talk about but that always gets us there.

Almost anything can be erotic, whether it be for us or someone else.  Somebody someplace on this vast earth is into that very thing that might make our genitals recoil.

That is why I do what I do!  I have made it my mission to bring some of those fetishes and fantasies to life in the mind’s eye.  Some of the things I write are things I would never do if I were in that situation.  Others come straight from my own perverted mind.

This blog is a place to catch up with the things I write commercially, as well as a place for me to share those stories I’m not quite sure what to do with yet.  It is all for you, dear reader, and any comments are more than welcome.  After all, we writers live and breath for our readers.  It’s how we grow!

To kick things off, I’m providing an excerpt of my first self-published short Z.  It is part of a string of books I am writing about a group of survivors searching for their safe haven in a world overrun by zombies.  It’s available on Amazon.  From the blurb:

Three years after the zombie apocalypse a ragtag band of survivors are finally nearing their promised fortress.  Jacobi Jameson is an arrogant, mouthy bastard whose only goal in the apocalypse is to have as much sex with as many people as possible.  When he is separated from his group, he must find a way to navigate his budding feelings for another man while trying to get back to his group…and his ex-wife.

Enjoy!

Jacobi

“Fuck me Jason!” the kid moaned from the end of my cock.

My name isn’t Jason, by the way.  That’s just the name I gave him when I found the farmboy alone in the barn, shirtless and sweaty, tossing hay onto the loft above.  His name is Kyler, I think.  Or Kyle.  Sky, maybe?

Hell, I can’t remember.

These days you don’t get much in the way of backstory from people.  Poor son of a bitch will probably be dead by nightfall anyway.

I drove my cock deeper into his tight, smooth ass.

“Mmm…mmm…MMM!” the kid moaned into the bale of hay he was bent over.  “Fuck…me…”

He was younger than me, late teens or early twenties.  Tow-headed and ruddy-faced with a dark tan that covered his toned upper body and left everything below his waist pasty and pale.  His tight ass worked back on me with every thrust of my steely cock.

I’m the sandy-haired, scruffy guy behind him.  The one with the plaid shirt laid open over his hairy chest, dirty jeans crammed down to his ankles, and cock buried balls deep in farmboy’s sweet hole.

For now, just call me Jason.

After finding the old farmhouse on the edge of town, me and the others decided splitting up was our best chance to scout it out.  While the others took the house to look for supplies, I checked out the barn.  We’d thought the old place was abandoned.  Everything else in town was.

Apparently, we were wrong.

I leaned in, my hairy chest against Farmboy’s sweaty back.  “I want to look in your eyes when I cum,” I said, my voice breathy and raw.

My cock never left his eager little butt.  With both hands I swept his sneakered feet off the hay strewn floor and threw him onto his back on the scratchy hay.  My hips rocked my cock deeper.

Farmboy’s face was contorted with pain and pleasure as he stroked his cock with one hand, the other on the contour of my hip.

“Ohhh…I can feel your balls…so heavy.”

They should be.  It had been too goddamn long since I came; I thought I might flood the poor son a bitch when I did.

I slammed deeper.

Harder.

My big hands held on to the kid’s ankles like he might float away if I let go.  The smell of male sweat mixed with horse manure teased at my senses—earthy, primal.  Our flesh slapped together like obscene applause.

I let my eyes glide over his lean, muscular body: boyish and smooth, except the trail of light hair from the “O” of his navel to the chiseled “V” of his torso.  His cock curved and engorged in his pumping fist.

Sweat glistened on his forehead.  I swiped it from his brow with a thumb, cupping his smooth face in my palm.  Our mouths crushed together, our tongues colliding in a host of wet sparks.

Farmboy’s arms enveloped my broad shoulders.  Strong, calloused fingers raked down my back and dug into the mounds of my muscular ass.

I pulled away from the kiss, bringing my big hand to the back of his blonde head and forcing it to my swollen right nipple.  His hot breath licked like flames against the sensitive nub of red flesh jutting through the tangled mess of black chest hair.

Farmboy’s lips were soft and wet as they closed on my nipple, sucking, teeth grazing maddeningly.  As if hungry for more, he switched sides, chewing on my other nipple like he did the first, making me moan.  Anyone who knows me well enough knows the quickest route to my cock is through my nipples.

It was getting me close…

“Jacobi, you in here?” a woman called from below.

That would be Camille, my cunt of an ex-wife.    You’ll recognize her by those expensive tits she’s sporting, compliments of yours truly.  She’s the one in the white, blood-splattered tank top. Fiery red hair.  Big brown button eyes.  And a resting bitch face you can spot from space.

“Up here!” I called down to her.

Farmboy’s ice blue eyes turned to saucers in his handsome face.  I slammed my cock into him hard, driving a low moan against my chest before he could react to Cam’s intrusion.  His eyes rolled back in his head.  I could feel him stroking himself slowly between our sweltering bodies.

“I’m close…” he whispered against my neck.

Then another look flashed across his face and his body went stiff as his cock.

“Oh…sh-shit…J-Jason…I’m going to….aaaaaAAAAAHHH!”

He came in a rush, thick jets of cum spraying across his smooth abs, his chest, splashing him in his boyish face.  I leaned in, licking the saltiness from his chin.  The taste of him was enough to send me over the edge.

With a primal, animalistic growl I slammed myself deeper, emptying days’ worth of pent up aggression and anxiety into farmboy’s tight ass.  Together we collapsed in a sweaty heap of tangled flesh on the bale of hay.  I glanced over my shoulder to where Camille was standing at the top of the loft, her resting bitch face etched with disapproval.

“Hey Cam,” I smiled, breathless.  “What’s up?”