Hi Everyone!
Premium Access Subscribers already know–I release new content CONSTANTLY. Not only do I release the new stories on a “wide” availability to my website and Smashwords every three weeks, but Premium Access subscribers receive chapters from serial works every two weeks, exclusive stories once per month, and early-access stories every three weeks! Yowza!
This is an excerpt from one of my most-recently completed serial work (which won’t be available for purchase for a long while)–Madness at MILF Manor.
Blurb:
Lionel Barristan never expected to inherit anything. The black sheep of a billionaire family, he’s spent years on the outside looking in—until a mysterious summons brings him to the isolated family manor for the reading of his father’s will.
But this is no ordinary inheritance.
Trapped by a record-breaking blizzard with his stepmother, sister, brothers, and their trophy wives, Lionel quickly realizes something is terribly wrong. The women are acting strange—flushed, distracted, their eyes lingering on him with an intensity that makes his skin prickle. When the first body is discovered, suspicion falls on everyone.
As the storm rages and the bodies pile up, the women’s behavior becomes increasingly erratic. His normally ice-cold girlfriend can’t keep her hands off him. The family’s gorgeous lawyer keeps finding excuses to be alone with him and won’t stop talking about manipulating the will to benefit him exclusively. Even his brilliant surgeon sister-in-law, a lifelong lesbian, seems unable to focus on anything but how he’s going to “make” her submit anyway, so she may as well give in now…
Certain that something is amiss, Lionel tries to investigate even as these hot-bodied, fertile women keep throwing themselves at him. But are they distracting him from their own foul deeds, or distractions themselves from some master manipulator? Does he even care if he keeps going balls-deep inside the hottest, wealthiest pieces of ass around?
The First Thousand(Ish) Words:
“…I love it…”
Lionel shifted in bed, hot pleasure licking him slowly awake.
His eyes fluttered open to the dazzling vision of Bridgette’s tousled blonde hair bobbing between his legs, her plump, glossy lips stretched around his morning erection. The wet sounds of her eager sucking filled the opulent guest bedroom, harmonizing with the soft moans emanating from her perfect throat.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, his hand instinctively finding her silken hair.
Bridgette released him with a lewd pop, looking up with those impossible azure eyes that seemed almost to glow against her flawless complexion. Her face was a masterpiece of genetic fortune—high cheekbones that caught the light streaming through the antique bay windows, a dainty nose that plastic surgeons would study for inspiration, and lips that defied the laws of natural symmetry.
“Good morning, baby,” she purred, her voice a honeyed melody. Her delicate fingers—nails perfectly manicured in a subtle pink that matched the rosy flush of her areolas—continued to stroke him with practiced expertise. “I couldn’t help myself. You just looked so… powerful while you were sleeping.”
Lionel suppressed a cynical laugh. Two days ago, before his estranged father’s death, Bridgette had been affectionate but measured. An IV drip of tactical sensuality.
Now, she was practically worshipping him, anticipating the inheritance she assumed would transform him from “comfortable as a struggling student on a scholarship” to obscenely wealthy.
If only she knew.
Her lips, slick and swollen from her ministrations, glistened in the soft morning light filtering through the manor’s gauzy curtains. Her cleavage—god, her cleavage—was a work of art, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a Renaissance painting if the artist had been particularly horny. The lace of her negligee strained to contain the bounty of her chest, every breath she took making it seem like the fabric might just give up and surrender entirely.
“You’re such a man, Lionel.” Her voice dripped with a kind of adoration that would’ve made lesser guys weak in the knees. Her fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. “I mean, look at you. You’re just… perfect.”
She said it like it was a fact, like she was stating the sky was blue or water was wet.
“Come here,” he said, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her beauty despite knowing better.
Bridgette complied immediately, slithering up his body with serpentine grace. Her negligee—some whisper of La Perla or Agent Provocateur that probably cost more than his monthly rent—had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the gentle slope of a breast so perfect it seemed computer-generated. The thin fabric did nothing to conceal her hardened nipples or the absence of underwear beneath.
“Your wish is my command,” she whispered against his lips, her breath smelling inexplicably of vanilla and cinnamon despite her recent activities. “I live to serve you, Lionel. To please you. To be the woman you deserve.”
He felt himself drowning in her—the intoxicating scent of her designer perfume, the impossible smoothness of her skin, the heat radiating from between her thighs as she straddled him. Her body was an architectural marvel of feminine perfection: waist so narrow he could nearly span it with his hands, breasts defying gravity with their perky fullness, thighs toned but slender, meeting at a gap that framed her sex like a picture window.
“You’re different lately,” he said, running his hands up her sides, feeling the subtle ridges of her ribs.
Bridgette’s smile faltered for just a microsecond before returning with even greater wattage.
“Different how, baby? I’ve always adored you.” She rolled her hips, sliding her slick folds against his hardness. “I’ve just been…thinking about our future more.” She leaned forward, her cascading golden hair forming a curtain around their faces, creating an intimate tent that smelled of expensive products and natural feminine sweetness. “All the things we’ll do together. The places we’ll go. The life we’ll build.”
Her breasts hung pendulously before him, defying natural laws with their perfect teardrop shape, nipples peeking through the gossamer fabric like eager pink sentinels. Lionel reached up, cupping one magnificent globe, feeling its impossible combination of firmness and yield beneath his palm.
“And what kind of life is that?” he asked, thumbing her nipple and watching her eyelids flutter in response.
“Mmm,” she moaned, arching her back to press more firmly into his touch. “A traditional one. You as the provider, the protector, the man of the house.” Her hips undulated against him in slow, mesmerizing circles. His cock, still wet from her mouth, strained up against her entrance. “And me, devoted to you completely. Keeping our home beautiful, our bed warm, and…” she bit her lower lip in a gesture so perfectly coquettish it seemed rehearsed, “…giving you beautiful children someday.”
Lionel nearly choked. Bridgette had never once mentioned children before. In fact, she’d made several offhand comments about how pregnancy would “ruin her figure.”
This devotion to traditional values was entirely new—and entirely transparent in its motivation.
“That sounds nice,” he lied, deciding to enjoy the fantasy while it lasted. By tomorrow, after the will reading, she’d be gone faster than her Dior heels could carry her.
“It will be perfect,” she said softly, raising her hips and adjusting his cock with gentle attention. “You’re perfect.”
As she sank down upon him, enveloping his cockhead and shaft in her liquid heat, Lionel couldn’t help but notice something different about her. Beyond the newfound traditionalist rhetoric and increased affection, there was something almost… luminous about her skin, as if she were lit from within. Her already stunning features seemed somehow enhanced, refined to an impossible degree of beauty that bordered on the uncanny.
“Fuck,” he groaned as she began to ride him, her internal muscles gripping him with preternatural control.
“Language, darling.” She smiled playfully, her breasts bouncing hypnotically with each rise and fall. “A gentleman shouldn’t speak so crudely.”
Lionel raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about—”
She silenced him with a deep kiss, her tongue invading his mouth with practiced skill. When she pulled back, her eyes seemed to flash with something beyond lust.
“I just want to be worthy of you.” She increased her pace. “To be the kind of lady your mother would approve of.”
The mention of his mother—who had died when Lionel was just a boy—sent an uncomfortable prickle down his spine. Bridgette had never shown the slightest interest in his family history.
“My mom is…fuck.” Her tits, bouncing. God. “My mom’s dead, sweetheart.”
“Not her. Drusilla. She’s still your mom, right? I mean, legally.”
His cock jumped at the mention of her name. His blistering hot stepmother—barely a few years older than him or Bridgette—who had most likely driven his father to an early grave. The kind of gold-digger that Bridgette was clearly training to be.
Bridgette and Drusilla had met only a few times, and each encounter had been deeply venomous on both sides. Lionel got the feeling Drusilla was jealous of Bridgette about something—probably just being younger in the game than she was, and at least just as pretty if not a little prettier.
“I want your Mommy and me to be good friends. Is that so bad? For me to want to get along with your hot, hot Mommy?”
His cock spurted precum wildly inside of Bridgette’s hot, tight cunt. She moaned with eager, hot delight.
What the fuck was happening? Oh christ.
And why was it working?
Bridgette could tell, too. She kept up the pressure…
