Lustfully Ever After
I love those rich, fireside colours – hot enough to warm your hands by. And I reckon our chap has rather excellent hand-warming (and the rest) properties too.
Edited by Kristina Wright, Lustfully Ever After gives a romantic, erotic twist to a range of fairy tales, and features stories from Emerald, Shanna Germain, Donna George Storey, Charlotte Stein, Sacchi Green, Lisabet Sarai and more.
The only story I’ve read so far is Charlotte Stein’s You, a beautifully written, strange and memorable tale of a half-man, half-beast thing and an innocent(ish!) young woman in a forest. I’m looking forward to delving deeper into the book.
My story, The Last Dance, is a fun, contemporary reworking of The Twelve Dancing Princesses and features 12 identical sisters (dodecaplets, I decided) made famous by a reality TV series called Full House. There are 12 boyfs and some jolly fun identity confusion. Kind of like Shakespeare in a London disco but dirtier. The story culminates in a ‘scorching hot’ (says the back cover) MFM threesome. Here’s an excerpt in which Lily, wearing a stolen invisibility cloak, stumbles upon two guys, both of whom she’s had her eye on (and once, her mouth), getting it on in a nightclub.
The cloakroom was large and L-shaped, an extravagant room tiled in Egyptian green, with honey-colored benches and golden lockers, coats on rails waiting to be reanimated by their owners. Sure enough, tucked away around the corner was Gilchrist. But this time he wasn’t resting, not by a long shot. He was standing, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. As ever, because he has a wonderful theatrical streak, he was wearing a military jacket, this one a deep indigo adorned with silver buttons. Again it was open, his chest bared. He was naked from the waist down. His elegant hands, tipped with shell-pink nails, were resting lightly on the flame-red curls of my newly visible journalist friend who was on his knees, shirt off, lips wrapped around Gilchrist’s cock.
I stared like a slack-jawed idiot. My heart and hopes went up-down, up-down, much like Mr Visible’s mouth. My thoughts veered from a fear I’d lost my guys to man-love, to a brand new awareness that, wowzers, this scene was horny. My groin thumped with lust, my lips swelling fast. I drew closer, worried that the drumming of my heart might alert them to my presence.
Mr Vee’s hands were clamped to Gilchrist’s thighs, his skin pale and stark against the velvety darkness of my darling. Well, my sister’s darling, technically speaking. Rich, purplish shadows hollowed out the dip in Gilchrist’s buttocks, and he seemed so sturdy and corporeal compared to the kneeling beauty whose shoulder muscles shifted under translucent, blue-tinged skin, his armpit hair a wisp of fire. Gilchrist was a mighty storm and Vee was a forest wraith, strong but otherworldly.
Gilchrist groaned quietly and clasped his lover’s head, his dark fingers sliding through Vee’s russet curls. He held him close on the downstroke and Vee, adjusting his position, edged towards Gilchrist’s black-haired crotch, slow and steady, until he’d taken him throat-deep. “Oh, mate,” croaked Gilchrist, eyes shut, knuckles blanching, “hold it there, oh fuck, that’s good.”
Vee’s neck bulged with the effort. My cunt pulsed as I remembered how Gilchrist had directed me to do similar. I moved closer, prepared to run the risk of discovery in return for the joy of being near them. They looked edible, like ginger snaps, licorice, brown sugar and ice-cream, but man-sized and a lot less sweet. They smelled of skin and beer, of being underground for too long. I wanted to taste them, and so I did, leaning in to lick Gilchrist from the base of his spine to his neck, careful to touch him with nothing but my tongue. He was warm and salty, and he made the strangest sound, arousal warped by disbelief. I blew on the back of his neck then stood on tiptoe to stream cool air across his gleaming, stubble-shadowed head.
He moaned again and dusted the back of his head as if an insect were bothering him. I dodged his hand, ducking sideways to see his thick length slide from the grip of Vee’s mouth, his shaft cabled with dark violet veins, saliva lending him a silvery sheen. Avoiding Vee, I cupped Gilchrist’s balls, fondling their shifting weight, making him moan. He didn’t seem to know or care that my touch was surplus to possibility.