SeXTC Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  SeXTC

  ISBN # 97814199

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  SeXTC Copyright© 2007 Melani Blazer.

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: January 2007

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Content Advisory:

  S – ENSUOUS

  E – ROTIC

  X - TREME

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  SeXTC

  Melani Blazer

  Dedication

  Thanks to Mr. B for your very interesting email. Inspiration comes from the darndest places. High fives to the BBs, thanks for your confidence that I could pull this off, for believing when I doubted.

  As always, my love to S, because you are everything to me.

  Chapter One

  Saliva really is the best lubricant if you’re doing it yourself. I close my eyes and as I stroke myself I think of a pair of pink pouty lips sliding over the head of my cock. When my hands are slick with saliva and come, they feel just like a lover’s against my skin. God, I’m rock hard just thinking about taking it out and jacking off again…

  “Kyla, you have got to read this!”

  Kyla Wilhelm rolled her eyes but accepted the magazine her friend waved at her. “What?” Then she noticed the explicit color picture of a couple—naked on the page. “What is this?”

  “It’s a new magazine. Shel passed it on to me. It’s last month’s, but I am so getting a subscription. It has all kinds of cool articles, and the ads are all adult rated. Talk about everything you wanted to know about sex all in one place.”

  Theresa Morton dropped on the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. Kyla sat in the recliner opposite her and read the headline. “Dr. Sex gets in touch with himself. You gotta be kidding me.”

  “God, no, read it. I swear I damn near got in touch with myself on the subway.”

  “Theresa!”

  “Seriously. Shel said he writes an article in each issue from experiences and then does a ‘Dear Dr. Sex’ column in there too. It’s a hoot.”

  “This is a legit magazine?” Kyla wasn’t sure she was buying the fact this was available on the corner newsstand. Though, there were plenty of paper-covered magazines on those top shelves she didn’t bother to pick up. She’d just assumed they were all men’s masturbation aides. Lots of perfect-bodied young women in spread-eagle position. Not her cuppa tea.

  And there were plenty of naked women with perfectly pointed breasts and expertly trimmed pussies on these glossy pages. But they were mostly in the ads. There were a few men too. Six-pack abs and rock-hard cocks.

  “I saw that!”

  Kyla bit her lips and raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You licked your lips.”

  “I’m only human. Did you see some of these guys? Hello!”

  “No, I got the magazine to read the articles.”

  “Lying bitch.” Kyla closed the magazine and started to toss it back at her roommate.

  “No, keep it. Read it. Maybe you’ll get horny and go get laid. What’s it been, a month?”

  “Twenty seven days. But I’m not exactly gonna jump in bed with some guy I don’t even know, just for the sake of fucking.”

  “Twenty seven days,” Theresa snorted. “Christ, you’re counting.”

  “What part of ‘I’m only human’ didn’t you hear? If you go more than twenty seven hours I hear about it.”

  “Or you mean you don’t hear it.”

  “That too.”

  Their cracker box two-bedroom apartment had wafer-thin walls that allowed them to hear one another snore at night. If one of them was entertaining, the other knew exactly what was going on.

  “Read it. I’m heading out. If you need extra batteries, there’s some in the drawer under the microwave.”

  “You’re funny,” Kyla said. “But at least I can get off without you standing at the wall listening.”

  “Like I need to stand at the wall.”

  “Go. Go. I’m gonna read.”

  Kyla couldn’t believe what she was reading. Ads for dildos and condoms and online sex stores selling clothing and any kind of sex paraphernalia she could think of, and a lot of things she didn’t know existed. Lubes, cuffs, whips, edibles, toys, jewelry, videos. She gasped so many times flipping the pages she felt like an innocent schoolgirl sneaking her first peek at porn.

  The articles blew her mind. The language was frank, the subjects uncensored. Working at a newspaper had made her sensitized to what words, what phrasing was allowed in the publishing world and here…in this little magazine, all those rules were being violated over and over.

  She liked it.

  She skipped the article comparing the performance of men of different races. She wanted to find the masturbation one Theresa had described to her. Just that one paragraph had turned her on. Damn, it was sexy to hear a man talk about sex like that.

  In fact…

  Tucking the magazine beneath her arm, she checked the front door to make sure her roomie had locked it behind her and then ducked into her bedroom. Before diving into the article—and her panties—she slipped out of her jeans, lit a few candles and grabbed her favorite massage oil.

  I remember my first woody. My babysitter had a titty hard-on under her tight T-shirt. I did everything I could to brush against her breasts. I don’t even remember what she looked like or what her name was, but her tits are imbedded in my mind forever. She sent me to bed at eleven and invited her boyfriend over. I watched and listened to them from my doorway. They fucked right there on the rug in the living room, while I rubbed my little adolescent cock until I came. Her tits were glorious, all full with pink tips that bounced as her boyfriend banged her.

  Of course, that was only the beginning. After that, anytime I had a hard-on and could get my hands on it, I did.

  Being in touch with myself made me a gentleman through those difficult teen years. If she said no, I went home. I never said no. While I preferred burying my cock deep within a warm, tight virgin cunt, I had mastered jacking off almost to the point of the same satisfaction—without half the worries.

  Kyla moaned and fingered her swollen clit through her cotton panties. Something about reading this…intimate confession had her majorly turned on. What would Dr. Sex do if he saw her there, leaned against the wooden headboard in her bra and panties, legs out in front of her, spread as if inviting a lover in? She m
oved her hand faster, harder, imagining an incredibly handsome man reaching into his boxer briefs to free his engorged cock.

  Would he watch her as he rubbed it, smoothing over the top and sliding his fist down to the base, over and over? Her fingers encircled her clit and vibrated the ultra-sensitive nub until she moaned. Would that make him hot? Did men like watching women please themselves?

  Her panties were damp against her as she turned the page and eyed the picture of a man wearing a hard hat, construction boots and one very impressive erection leaning against an open wall frame. His face was shadowed, which really just added to the intrigue. Damn, he was fine. Dr. Sex or not, that man could watch her anytime.

  My favorite thing is jacking off in public. I never worry about getting caught—but I’ll admit, that’s part of the allure. I want you to see me, to watch me.

  The magazine fell to the side as Kyla dragged her panties down her legs and rubbed both hands up her thighs. “Watch me,” she whispered as she slid two fingers into her soaking wet cunt and continued to rub her clit with the other hand.

  She always came fast when she masturbated, and this time was no exception. With the image of her fantasy man imbedded in her mind, she closed her eyes and let go of any control. She fucked herself with her fingers as hard as she could, arching to penetrate her pussy as deeply as possible. Her arousal fluid ran down her hand. She surrendered to the rush that drove her to the edge. No stopping now. In her head, she could almost hear his voice, deep and gravelly with arousal, urging her to go deeper, to go faster.

  Pleasure exploded inside her, forcing her breath from her body in a muffled scream. She shuddered and bucked against her hand, gasping for air as the orgasm shook her body with powerful aftershocks.

  “Watch that, Dr. Sex,” she whispered when her senses returned. While temporarily satiated, she had to disagree with the mysterious man who reached out from the pages of a magazine to turn her on. Masturbation only made her hungrier.

  Chapter Two

  I’ll admit it. I’m not ashamed. Most men feel the same way—and lots of women do too—even if they won’t admit it. I like watching people have sex. My favorite is watching two women. All those curves and skin, rubbing against one another. Right now I’m hard just thinking about two babes sucking on one another’s tits. Watching a woman bury her face in another’s cunt is nearly too much. So much sexier than watching a woman suck another man off. Women know how to touch other woman, and I wanna watch it happen…

  Donovan Harper sighed and pushed his chair back from his desk. Eight hours at a day job, then he came home to this. Publishing a magazine was damn hard work. Not that he did it alone, but there was no office, no boardroom for corporate meetings. The majority of their correspondence was via email.

  And despite the hoopla of being “Dr. Sex”, it was a lonely job. Truth was, he could go for a serious bout of sex right now and was not interested in playing do-it-yourself. He stretched and ran down his mental list of woman he knew would be ready and willing, and found none of them appealed to him right now.

  Dr. Sex wasn’t all he wrote himself to be. Most of his articles had some sense of truth, conjured up from fifteen or so years of sexual experiences, most of them during his college years. Back then he took advantage of all that free, willing pussy for the rush it gave him. Now he played mainly within a small elite group—men and woman whose attitude toward sex matched his—it was all for fun. The magazine had been started for them, and was now growing faster than they’d ever imagined.

  He picked up the phone and dialed one of his cofounders of SeXTC. Chelsea Morgan’s voice mail answered, all low and seductive, announcing she wasn’t home. “Lucky her,” he muttered and hung up without leaving a message. They’d been lovers, once, but did better as friends. While he didn’t doubt she’d indulge him in releasing some sexual energy, he was really calling to see how the layout was looking. He knew the answer. They needed more.

  “Shit.” What everyone had warned him about was happening. He’d run out of things to write about. Only so much can be said about sex, they’d said. No way he’d believe that, but filling magazine pages required a lot of information—a lot of his ideas had been packed into the first few monthly issues.

  He checked his email again, scanning the mail coming into Dr. Sex. A lot of the crap never made it to the magazine. He wasn’t publishing true confessions here. Questions worked for his Ask Dr. Sex column, but there’d been a shortage of those this month too.

  Then a name popped up. Kyla Wilhelm. Damn, he knew that name. He rubbed his eyes and leaned toward the monitor. “Kyla Wilhelm. Kyla. Where do I know you?”

  Her email opened his eyes—wide, but it wasn’t because he discovered why her name was familiar.

  I can’t believe I’m writing you. I’m a straight, single and very in touch with my body—in many ways, including the very graphic description you provided in your May issue of SeXTC. Your magazine was passed to me from a friend, but I’m definitely looking forward to seeing more of you. Reading your articles really turned me on. Any chance we’ll see a photo of you?

  The idea of ménage…or more…really gets me hot. Hopefully I’ll be reading about that soon!

  Jane Doe

  “Jane Doe,” Donovan laughed. “Kyla Wilhelm. So I turned you on, eh?” He wrote Mr. Sex to make it sound like he walked around with a perpetual woody, but right now he was feeling very much the part—hard-on and all.

  Before he dashed off an email inviting her over for some research, he wrote her name on a piece of paper and pulled up his search engines in hopes of rediscovering this sexy stranger. Flat out, he wanted her. He loved a challenge.

  Now there was an article he could handle writing.

  Grinning, he leaned back, smoothed his palm over his aching cock and wished he had a woman as open as Kyla here to help him take care of business.

  Fifteen frustrated minutes later, his hard-on had fizzled. Kyla Wilhelm hid herself well. Unlisted phone number, no profile connected with her email. Even a generic search turned up nothing.

  He started a log. He would find her. And if she was as good as she promised—and he didn’t mean looks, necessarily—he’d have her. And he might just be the man willing to entertain her idea of a ménage.

  Tomorrow. Day job. Nothing like working for the newspaper. Fringe benefits were worth more than the pay on some days.

  Chapter Three

  Dear Dr. Sex, Regular one-on-one sex just doesn’t do it for me anymore. How do you manage to keep on going and want more?

  Dear Bored: What the fuck is wrong with you? Sadly, I don’t know if you’re male or female, but my first thought was…try going gay, see if that lights your fire. If not, rent porn, get some toys, invite a few friends over and try anything. Life without good sex? I’d hate to be you.

  Kyla muffled a laugh and straightened. She could feel the eyes of the people sharing the crowded subway appraising her—and she didn’t care. Nor did she care that the lady behind her apparently got nosy and huffed in her ear.

  “Where’d you get that?” A young woman asked her. “Let me see the cover.”

  She lifted an eyebrow, then passed over the magazine. The woman did just what Kyla predicted, she turned it over, looked at the cover, then her eyes got totally wide. “Oh, there is another one. Where’d you get it? I can’t find these anywhere.”

  “My roommate got it from a friend of hers.”

  “Wicked.” She passed it back, then dug in her satchel and handed Kyla a business card. “If you can ask your friend where she got it and let me know, I’d be thrilled.”

  Kyla nodded, then it was her turn to get all wide-eyed. The woman she had guessed was a student, at most, intern, was actually the coproduction manager for one of the major television news affiliates.

  “Sure,” she said, belatedly. Why should she be surprised? Everyone had sex, and there was no law that only certain “types” of people were allowed to enjoy it. The young woman was single and attractive, a
nd just because she had a job with an income that probably doubled Kyla’s didn’t mean she was less of a naughty girl.

  Fact was, Kyla hadn’t thought about it. Now she was thinking about it a lot. Did these men masturbate? Well, duh, they probably did, but how would they react if she asked them about it? What about the women? She damn near snorted picturing the uptight-looking librarian wannabe standing beside her, fondling herself. That woman would run screaming from a dildo or be afraid she’d be electrocuted sticking a vibrator inside her.

  So, faced with her own new insight to sexuality and the general pubic, was she so very surprised her first thought was to email Dr. Sex and tell him?

  Because he was a like-minded soul? A fellow perv who wasn’t afraid to admit it? Or because he’d dreamed about her last night? Okay, the email she’d gotten this morning said he did. She wasn’t so gullible to admit it, but he really wasn’t a “real” person either. Whoever he was, he answered her email the same way he wrote his column, then adding that he’d read her email the night before and was so intrigued by her raw admission, he couldn’t answer right away. Then he said he’d dreamt of her.

  The subway stopped and the traffic thinned, enough for her to pull the folded piece of paper out of her pocket and read it again.

  I fell asleep thinking of you. What kind of girl admits she was turned on by an article and masturbated to it? My kind of girl. I dreamed of you, of stripping your clothes from you and licking every inch of skin until you begged me to fuck you and make you come. I hadn’t had a wet dream in years, but last night I imagined it was you there, sucking it all out of me. Of course, there were only two of us in my dream, but if you’d like to share your ménage fantasy, I can create a scenario that might turn you on more than simple masturbation.