This week’s erotic author in the spotlight is Valerie Brundage who has some amazingly hot excerpts for you to enjoy. Find out more about this deliciously erotic author in her spotlight feature below!
If you’d like to read about other erotic authors you can find the Erotic Author Spotlight Series here. Erotic author and interested in your own free feature post at Cara Sutra? Find the call for submissions page here.
I run a similar free promotional offer for sex bloggers and sex toy reviewers. You can find the Sex Blogger Spotlight Series page here, and the call for submissions (the Q&A and other info to send me) here.
Email me at email@example.com with your info – whether author or blogger – and I will reply with your spotlight date. This will be the next available Monday for authors and the next available Thursday for bloggers.
– Cara Sutra
Valerie began writing again three months after her divorce, realizing two dreams quickly. It was more than her imagination that was being held back, and she’s enjoying living out those dark sexy urges as much as writing about them.
She’s dusted off her years writing poetry and her repressions and has been writing for 2 years now in the erotica genre, and currently has two books out based loosely on her promiscuous years before she got married, “365” and “Four On The Floor.” Her shorts stories have just been collected in “Erotic Daydreams” from Wordwooze Press.
Now back on the dating scene, she often pretends she’s still married to stay out of trouble, but she’s found that only encourages some people.
Short story collection: Erotic Daydreams:
This is my first collection, half of these stories appeared elsewhere and half are here for the first time. A series of transgressive, hot, and searching erotica exploring the boundaries of sex, love, and the secret negotiations we make with our partners and also, with ourselves.
From the back:
Let Valerie Brundage’s imagination fuel your naughty fantasies and take you to those secret places where your libido beckons. Vicariously walk on the wild side as the women in her stories explore their desires—ladies only, ménage, rough and edgy, ice play, being watched…and more. All you have to do is pour yourself a glass of wine, turn on your e-reader and wait for the erotic daydreams to begin.
Coming soon in an audiobook format. I can not wait to hear my words being spoken back to me quietly into my ear!
Dead Man’s Curves
My close-to-the-ground true-to-life lesbian novelette in which a woman’s husband dies unexpectedly, and so takes comfort in the arms of her best friend, falling into a troubled sexual relationship. Who is lesbian, and who is just a good friend? Dead Man’s Curves is a Milleresque tale — a sexy yet poignant story set in the soul-challenging milieu of an American suburb and its cultural repressions. Transgressive, hot, and honest.
365 – A Novel
Joanna decides to take the dare of sleeping with someone new every single day of the coming year, to push out of her comfort zone. A romance, really. No, really! (Yes, it’s explicit too!)
From the back:
Joanna may be unlucky in love but she’s not unlucky in sex. But then that may depend on how she defines it. And what she wants to get out of it.
After another tough breakup with her boyfriend, Joanna realizes she thinks love has to come before sex, and her friends convince she shouldn’t overthink sex. She gives herself the ultimate New Year’s Eve resolution, to sleep with a new man every day for a full year.
Joanna thinks she will enjoy getting in touch with her inner slut. But is having more sexual encounters, in all variations and with an infinite variety of partners, the answer to her hang-ups?
365 is the sexually explicit memoir of Joanna and her year of sex. Joanna’s Candide-like journey illustrates how a regular well-adjusted, professional single woman can embrace her inner slut, let go of preconceptions about romance, and not feel ashamed about wanting love without first trading the house keys.
“A Careful And Expert Application of Ice” short story excerpt (full story is in Erotic Daydreams)
*** *** ***
Valerie inserted a cold, rounded crescent-moon shaped tablet of ice, fresh out of the hotel’s icemaker, into Ben’s asshole.
The shock of the wet cold, almost sharp, caused the muscle to tighten. Ben kept jerking himself off.
He was completely nude. Legs up and open on the bedspread. Valerie fingered another piece of ice from the ice bucket.
Smiled. His legs and cock were covered in a sheen of clear water, now warm, having run slowly out of his anus. He was clean. He’d rinsed himself thoroughly for her beforehand – they wanted no other distractions.
This was about the sensation. The hard objects being inserted. The cold. The water pooling inside him, running out along the inside of his thighs.
Ben concentrated on the intense, almost painful buildup two full inches up his sphincter. There was a knot under his testicles, his prostate gland tightening and convulsing as the vesicles to his balls, the sperm boiling there, was retarded and stimulated.
Valerie pushed a second one in, a kind of loving touch, with her index finger. Straight up. An insertion that was like feeding a small food pellet into the throat of a dog.
The white-spottled ice crescent began to melt as it went up Ben’s ass and he stroked his rock hard erection.
His stroking was slower. His hard-on like a rock, long and thick and tight; his sack was pulled in at the base and his hand felt the lava hot coming off his naked skin. He felt it, from between his legs, even as ice disappeared within him.
“You’re freezing my balls. I’m never going to cum.”
“Oh. Yes you are,” Val said.
She was still in her blouse. Unbuttoned. He could see her nipples under the baby blue silk of her bra. He shifted on the bed. His suit jacket was on the chair, name tag still on the lapel, in the light coming through the window. The morning sun was now hitting the crushed red velvet of the chair.
He kept stroking. He wasn’t trying to ejaculate – the sensation had made his cock feel like an alien thing and he was reveling in the way it looked and felt. The morning conference meeting was long over and it was too late for breakfast – the croissant and the crumb donuts Valerie and he had scarfed at the morning meeting had to be enough to carry them over.
It was also too late for more coffee and too early for a scotch. God, he wanted a scotch but no, not yet. He turned around so he was on his knees, his ass up, and Valerie pushed a third cube in.
He’d never been into ass play before but it wasn’t an intentional decision. Valerie was the first one who’d ever asked. He turned over. Showed her his erection.
“See? Hard like you said.”
“It’s beautiful. But it’s going to be more beautiful.”
“Not sure about that. But I like it. I fucking like it.”
Not since he was a boy had he been so interested in jerking off. It was a daily hobby then and he jerked off to the cushions, to the vinyl chair in his sister’s room, the silk underwear his mother had in the back of the drawer.
But for the last 10 years when he jerked off he just wanted to get off. Late nights, release some tension. No real enjoyment to it, just to get his erection under control.
Now, at a work conference, in Atlanta, Valerie stroked his thighs gently.
“Don’t cum, now. Just enjoy the feeling.”
“Is this really going to get me off?”
His asshole for chrissake!
She had only one rule. Lay there and keep his legs open. His knees open so she could watch. She wasn’t interested in having sex, – well, not interested in letting him put his cock inside her.
But she wanted to use him as a plaything. Show him a new response. Experiment with him.
Sure, hell. He didn’t quite believe the “no sex” thing but now, here he was.
“The ice stimulates your prostate but also tightens it. It’s firing on all levels, the nerves are getting tight and you’re getting harder.”
“Yes, I am.” He ran his fist up and down his hard erection. “I’m getting fucking blue balls.”
She just smiled. Her hand grazed his cock. The shaft in his hand, large and red, while her palm cradled his wet cock and balls. He felt the cold wet running out of him.
“I love to watch a man jerking himself off.”
“I like it too,” he said. “I mean, I like when you watch.”
“I like to see them pleasuring themselves,” she continued. “And best, I like to see the evidence of their pleasure.”
“My cock? My hard cock?”
“You stroking it and the look on your face,” she said.
Ben leaned back, stroked again. He couldn’t feel any precum. Wasn’t close.
“The tablespoon of cum oozing out of your cock,” she said.
He licked his lips. He liked that too although he didn’t much care for the falling lust once he came, the diminishment, the empty feeling and need to hurry and clean himself off.
“You are in for a surprise.”
“I feel like the ice made me freeze up, will make me go soft.”
She laughed. “No. You know how nipples stand up, when you put ice on them?” She ran a hand under her blouse, gently grazing her breasts over her bra, the points obvious.
“My clitoris. Same thing. Very sensitive nerves.” She picked up another piece of ice from the bucket. Held it in her open hand. “They’re bundles that respond to input, any stimulus. You know what your prostate does?”
“Ah, no not exactly.”
“When you take a shit there’s a certain sexual experience, isn’t there? A kind of release pressure?”
“I happen to know if we time this right, and I have my fingers on a cube of ice – applied just at the right time…”
Ben started jerking off quicker. “The time of release.”
“Your release, your evidence will double.” Valerie fingered the cube. Wet. She licked it.
“You’ll come more. You won’t go soft. All you’re doing is building up. Like a boiling pot.”
And he felt it.
“On you. Fucking all over you, Ben.”
He went slow. Her fingers ringed around the base; she was now actually touching his cock. Hot but yet. Clean. Wet. Water on the bed.
He began to boil. One of her hands cupped under his ass, the other grabbed a second piece of ice.
“Ben, I’m going to shove two pieces of ice in your ass.”
“You got tell me when that feeling deep is hitting. When you pull your kegels together, hold it back, there’s going to be point you want to shoot – tell me and when I freeze off the front of your prostate it’s going to convulse. And you’ll show me your orgasm. Not just say it, you’ll prove it.”
His thighs opened. He watched her as he jerked. He was no longer self-conscious. Fuck she had fingers up his ass, her top open.
I thought of it like a science experiment. And then, he felt it.
*** *** ***
Four On The Floor novel excerpt (from Chapter Eight)
The 2nd installment of Joanna (“365”) in which she explores the BSDM scene, travelling further out of her comfort zone.
*** *** ***
She sat while he discarded her panties and bra, then pulled off her skirt but kept the blouse on her, open. Then, he took off his clothes, revealing the chaps, the leather and his cock. He put a harness on himself that went around his neck and stretched down to his thighs in two tight loops. It pulled him into a tighter ball, cutting into his chest and stomach.
He put a similar one on her, the soft leather going around her neck, around both her forearms, then crossing down to her crotch. There were rings and metal latches hanging off it in a dozen places. She could be attached or restrained in different ways from a variety of positions.
She let him do his preparation. When it seemed he was done, she said, “May I speak?”
“Three words only.”
She nodded and smiled, too cool. “Safe word?”
He leaned in. “I know what you can take. What I think you can. Do you really need a safe word?”
She nodded. She didn’t want to use her last word in case it really would be the last one he’d allow her.
There was a crack in his demeanor, a softening. He let her in for just a moment.
“Your word, and use it wisely, bitch”–he closed up again–“is…” He looked around. “Is ‘Savannah.'”
She nodded. Random enough. Won’t blurt that out accidentally.
He turned and grabbed a chair. It was yellow leather with brown wooden arms, polished. It was old and vintage and wide. They didn’t make chairs like this anymore. People weren’t as fashionable as they were in the past.
He put her down on it and positioned her ass in the middle of the pad.
She balanced, in a state of suspension.
He left the room, and she waited. She looked around the details of the apartment, noting nothing specific or expensive. All like decorations from a motel. Abstract painting, curtains with a blocky green uneven pattern. No feminine touches.
She had nothing to do but do it. She wasn’t even sure she should talk.
Joanna forced herself not to respond.
He came back with a handful of stuff. He kneeled in front of her and tied her ankles to the feet of the chair. Her legs weren’t wide open, but her feet were now unable to move. Her ass on the leather was wet, the warm layer of sweat making her skin stick. Her pussy accessible–
He suddenly turned the chair over, tipping it back. She rested headfirst, and he dragged it back to the patio, picking it up. She closed her eyes. The back window was open to the backyard, and she found herself out there, on the grass.
She saw a fence framed the small space. The arms of the chair bore most of the weight, her ass up, against the leather, now separated from the seat of the chair. Yet she breathed. She couldn’t see him, could not move or resist. He doesn’t want me to resist. He wants me to…pretend to resist?
Joanna twisted, pulling out of the chair, attached by her wrists and ankles, and she managed to drop to the side. Then she felt fingers gliding up her vagina. She was open to the air, upside down. Face on the grass.
He’s going to come down? His hand grabbed her thigh, up by her vulva. The ropes–straps–strained and she got comfortable in a pretzel position, getting fingered. Inspected.
Her weight held her down, the leather wood chair a heavy harness.
He pulled the blouse, a thin ribbon of fabric, up against her chest and around her neck. He pulled it from below, around her head. It caught on her face.
He did not rip the fabric. It cost eighty dollars, but at this point, she wouldn’t have cared if he ripped the shit out of it. But that wasn’t his game. Not to ruin inanimate objects.
She felt a tension, being stretched to the breaking point, almost. It was a hard and sharp brink. She felt her arms getting cramped.
Something else invaded her–plastic, at her ass. It was a plug. Joanna tried to push it away, bending forward then…bending back, opening up the crease of her buttocks.
He would take her. Take control. It was cool and wet. The fucker lubricated it. With ease and a hard twist, the knob the size of an egg pushed against her asshole. She still wasn’t willing to let it go in.
She fought back, partly instinctually–no way to avoid wanting to tense up when she had no clear idea of what it was, or how large. But the trust factor had to be there.
He pulled it out. She waited. Her ass wasn’t necessarily an erogenous zone, not one she shared with others. But being bent over, knowing he was preparing something, looking at it, while she was wide open and blind…that thrill fell through her again. There was a sense of everything tightening, a heightening of every sense–physical, emotional. On my knees. In my skin. At my asshole.
Then another one, different in shape–nubs and square rather than rounded. A longer narrower device, more kinky-shaped, but plastic. Polyurethane, no doubt, made for the use it was being put to.
He pulled it out and then into her pussy. The straps running along her groin dug into her skin at her thighs.
Easier–she caught her breath and breathed carefully. That’s not entirely sanitary, she couldn’t help thinking. The touch was gentle but assertive. He wasn’t cautious this time and went deep. She looked back. She saw a glimpse of him, and he was smiling. Should she have smiled back?
He turned her over. The chair back upright, she sorted herself out and her head cleared a little. She had no blindfold on and no gag, was just trapped on a chair. He had a couple items next to him…a bottle of lotion. He poured something from a clear vase into a short glass and put it to her lips and made her drink it. It was yellow, sweet alcohol.
A lemon drop? Vodka, maybe brandy, –she recognized it and it tasted good enough. A nice drink, hopefully not drugged. Warming, not too filling, but she knew it would go to her head soon.
*** *** ***
“Four On The Floor”
A short story complete (only tangentially related to the novel above, this complete story is also available
*** *** ***
He had unbuttoned my blouse carefully – it was a silk Versace with roses in the silk and he knew it cost more than his last 10 haircuts. But then once he’d exposed my bra he ripped it off.
The elastic straps pulled against the skin under my arms and left a red mark across my rib cage and my chest across my boobs. I’m sure my back looked worse.
“More,” I told him.
My nipples were aching, sore from desire. He’d been kneading them through the fabric and I was ready to be taken. When the cool air hit them they swelled, the blood boiling in the areoles. I wanted him to suck me, bite them.
But he wouldn’t. He threw the shard of my bra out the window. It hung on the sill and didn’t fall. And he pushed me. I fell on my hands by the window and he half-kicked me in the ass. I crawled through the full-length opening into the sunlight.
He pushed me on the balcony and I stood in full view of the people down below. Topless, humiliated, sore and horny as hell.
I didn’t care if they saw me. People had seen me nude before. “Keep going,” I gasped.
“You like it, you bitch?” I couldn’t make out the emotion in his voice – if there was one. Anger – or a sadistic glee? He grabbed the edge of my panties, Jockey french cut in gray. Sexy, especially when they got wet in front. I’d worn them for him and maybe he appreciated it but now he tore them off me next. A loud rriipp sliced through the air, and he pulled them from my pubis, exposing my pussy.
Now I was completely naked and he turned me to face the street.
One storey below a delivery boy drove by on a bike but didn’t see. A couple on the beach across the grass looked up and were watching. Afternoon shoppers gathered. They all saw me, a nude woman at the full-length window…crying? He put his hand on the back of my neck, turning me forward into the full light of the afternoon.
“Do they see you?” he whispered in my ear.
“Yes, I – I think so.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Embarrassed? By what? By my own body?”
“Do you want me to humiliate you in front of them?”
I looked down at the staring eyes. “Yes. If you think you can even do that.”
He looked at me. Then slapped my ass. Fuck. The sting of his hand warmed the flesh. My ass was my favorite erogenous zone. That sharp point of contact by his palm brought back memories of punishment I’d enjoyed, memories of my pants down around my ankles. Of being bent over someone’s knee. Exposing my ass to the punishment and the probing fingers it deserved when I was bad. So bad.
And I wasn’t thinking of when I was a child. No, I was thinking of just yesterday – with him when I told him what I had done, how I’d humiliated him.
I’d walked into the Rialto Bar by his work and sucked off a guy who was his work mate. I told him this is for Robert and sucked him right there on the end booth on the seat. The waitress watched. He never knew what hit him. Lenny? I think that was his name. Then I came back home and told Robert what I’d done. Did Lenny know who you were?
Of course, I told him. I told him I was your fiancée.
And Robert had pulled my pants down to my ankles and spanked me. Tried to hurt me. But he couldn’t hurt me. It hurt so good. My perfect round ass, the thick muscles that rolled perfectly in my panties, when I chose to wear panties, only drank in his abuse. I felt his cock getting harder on my lap, sticking up into my pussy. Spanking my naked round butt, making it glow red, only got him excited and his attempt to punish me – to hurt and humiliate – turned only into his own urgent need to fuck me.
I had humiliated him.
Now I was in full view of the beachwalk. Hurting and naked. My tits.
I did. “Like this?”
“I want them to see your ass.”
I turned and bent over more. The rail was white and they saw though it. Another car stopped and the driver was looking up as well. He could jump out and climb up here – if he dared and was absolutely sure we weren’t crazy up here.
Robert pushed me against the rail and I held on with my arms spread. He pinned me and opened me up. I had no control, he could do with me whatever he wanted. And no one would stop him.
“They can see my ass now. They know you got me naked.”
“Shut up,” he warned, “or I’ll keep going.”
“I fucking dare you,” I spat at him.
This surprised him. As he held me face down I heard his pants undo. Then the hot head of his prick parted my asscheeks. He was going to enter me from behind.
“Yeah, you public whore? You like everyone to watch you?”
And I spread my legs to show him what I wanted him to do.
He slipped in. Hard shaft of meat split me wide. I got him. I looked out at the street below; we had 7 or 8 people watching us now and Robert pushed and began pumping me, fucking my ass angrily, using me like a piece of meat. My tits rocked back and forth slapping, I looked blankly at the couple, them at a man at the corner with a leash, rubbing himself through his pants.
“Ahh, ahh!” I made more noise than usual. I was drawing attention to my shame. There was pain in it.
And Robert also grunted. “Fuck, you fuck. You like everyone to watch you.
Fuck you in front of everyone.”
His hands gripped my ass, he squeezed and he owned it, from the inside, like it was the last fuck he’d ever have, like he could drive nails with that cock.
I leaned back, opening my cheating ass for him. “Deeper so it hurts,” I commanded. He was sweating – saline drops fell on my back. He worked so hard. Getting off by doing me in front of everyone.
“They’re… they’re watching,” he grunted. “I’ll teach you.”
“Yes, watching you fuck your whore.”
“You’re a public whore.”
“Who would fuck such a whore?” I asked.
He grunted. Was coming. He fell against me.
“Who would humiliate themselves by being taken by her, by being unable to control himself?”
He pulled out of me, still dripping.
“By coming. By fucking her right in the ass so everyone knows.”
He fell down on all fours, breathing heavily.
“Everyone knows he’s a whore fucker.”
“You did,” I said.
“I mean, I want to fuck. You. Alone.”
“Maybe when you get your dick hard again.”
I went in, still naked, his spunk running down the inside of my leg. I sat on the bed and picked up his address book.
I grabbed the phone and began to call another one of his friends.
*** *** ***
Free story: “Tongue And Groove” on Smashwords
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