FOUR NAUGHTY NOVELLAS FOR THE MATURE CONNOISSEUR
Erotica For the Refined Palate
Volume 1
by Bridget Doone
Genre: Mature Erotic Romance
FOUR NAUGHTY NOVELLAS FOR THE MATURE CONNOISSEUR
ME
AND YOU AND A WIFE NAMED SUE
When
Candy Blue, a randy romantic fiction writer, forms an inappropriate
bond with a married man, he involves his wife, Sue, who invites Candy
to dinner with the intention of exacting satisfaction, and in the
most creative and unexpected ways.
THE
HAT TRICK
When
Ryan Axel meets his girlfriend's parents at a hockey game in Tampa,
he’s shocked to discover her mother, Maxine, is the woman he knows
as Roxanne, a sexy mature who used to frequent his bar, and he’s
determined to pick up where they left off - and during the
game.
GREAT
WHITE LIMO
Covid
restrictions have lifted and Shannon finally gets a face-to-face with
Steve Smith, a Canadian she befriended in a cheater’s chat room
during the pandemic, but their indiscretion takes an unexpected turn
when her domineering best friend and a young limo driver get
involved.
JUST
A SWINGIN’
Married,
but not to each other, Country Club neighbors Krystal and Blake steal
away to Cancun to masquerade as husband and wife at a swinger’s
resort, with the intention of living out their disparate fantasies,
and without complicating their long-term friendship.
Part Three: Great White Limo
Excerpt from Chapter 1: Jacking and Jilling
The air blew cool against my skin as I slipped the canary yellow shirt from my shoulders, shivering, sensing my nipples contract and push against the soft cotton of my white camisole.
“It’s cold in here,” I said, shaking my shoulders.
“Yes, it is a little,” Steve said, twitching, his eyes laser-locked on the gun barrels of my heavy artillery. When I inched my elastic skirt to my upper thighs, swaying to Sinatra’s hypnotic harmony, Steve lowered his gaze.
You can't deny,
don't try to fight the rising sea
Don't fight the moon, the stars above,
don't fight me
“You’re always so nice and tan, Shannon,” he said, clearing his throat, resting his arm on the back of the seat, then changing his mind and moving his hand to his knee.
I bent towards him and lowered my baby blue panties to my ankles.
“Florida,” I smiled, “Endless summer.”
I kicked the panties from the toe of my platform stiletto and they landed in Steve’s lap. I expected him to bring them to his nose and inhale them - that’s what he always said he would do if given the opportunity.
But he didn’t.
I reached into my purse for my cocoa butter then shifted my hips forward and fanned out, allowing room for the fingers of my left hand to grease a trail to my center, now blooming with expectancy.
“Damn, Shannon,” Steve said, gulping, as he unfastened the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled the collar away from his neck. His breathing accelerated and I became hopeful he would join in.
But he didn’t.
So I wrestled my big soft titties out of the top of the cami and held them up for his consideration. My nipples were already puckered and stiff, but I brushed my French-manicured fingertips across them anyway, provoking that quiver in my quim, that ache, that swell, that rain.
“I know what you’re thinking, Steve,” I said, “They’re like pillows - pillows you can suck.”
“So beautiful,” Steve exhaled, and slowly lowered his foot to the floor. His right hand skated up his jeans from his knee to his groin and his thumb began a slow rhythmic rub against the zipper.
It’s a real good bet,
the best is yet to come
Lawrence was taking us through some pretty countryside: farmland, bales of hay, barns with hip roofs painted red, but I wasn't really watching anything with interest other than Steve’s hand; I wanted him to strangle his goose’s neck in it. Clearly, though, he needed a little sumpin’ sumpin’ to coax it from its confinement.
“What do you think?” I asked, pulling a jeweled butt plug from my purse.
Steve’s mouth sagged and his head bobbed a yes. Then his left hand found his right and began to compete with it for a caress of his cock.
“Mmmmmmm,” I moaned, as I gave the plug a heroic licking and sucking, prompting Steve to point to his parcel, now swollen and drumming against the denim.
“Look what you’ve done now, Shannon,” he said, with an uneasy chuckle, “I almost got carried away.”
He wagged his finger at me, then rested his palms on the seat on either side of himself, took a deep breath, and held it.
Yeah, like THAT’S going to work.
And just as I suspected, when I placed my bare feet on the edge of the seat, and lifted to press the glass gently past my wet seal, it flipped a switch in Steve. His eyes went wide and round and he fumbled frantically to unzip. He finally got his pants down around his upper thighs and there it was: that pleasingly plump pink pistol. And when he took it in his fist and began to fascinate it, my desire for him to get a shot off inside me jumped through the roof.
BRIDGET DOONE is a fiction author living and working on the Space Coast of Florida. For much of her life, she’s been a network engineer, technical writer, and corporate trainer, and although still working in that capacity, as of late she’s been indulging her wanton imagination, writing erotica for a group of people largely abandoned by the genre - horny folks over 50.
To learn more about Bridget’s current and future offerings, including short stories and excerpts from her racy novels and very naughty novellas, visit her website at www.bridgetdoone.com.
You can also connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
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