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Wednesday, August 10, 2016

A Treat for My Readers! (Explicit)

Do I have a treat for you today, my readers!


I'm going to give you a naughty little nibble of my new book She's My Reference. It is a FREE ebook, available exclusively to my favorite readers (a.k.a. my subscribers). I just sent it out to current subscribers, and now I'd like to offer it to you. 

To get your free ebook (available in Mobi for Kindle, ePub for Apple and Android products, and PDF), enter your email address into the box above, wait for the confirmation to arrive in your inbox (check spam or junk mail, if you have to) and click on the link in the email to confirm. You'll arrive at the page with the download buttons.

 It's called She's My Reference, and it is short and dirty. Very dirty. With a raunchy little twist at the end to make sure you're paying attention. Here's a naughty sample:

Carrie stormed into the faculty room and slammed her binder on the lunch table where I sat eating my lunch. It was Taco Tuesday, my favorite. She scared the crap out of me, which made me spill taco guts all over my tie.
"That man has had it in for me since the minute he stepped into this building," she said, fuming. 
"What happened now?" I said. I didn't care for Carrie's sake, but we were all trying to get a feel for what life was going to be like under the new "Roberts Regime."
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"I am under direct orders to clear every training session with him before I even post it! How am I supposed to know which training I need to do if I cannot post it? I have been responsible for faculty technology training for two years now, and I have never needed administrator approval to schedule training. People sign up; I schedule the training. Simple as that," she said, over enunciating as she took the mail from her mailbox and grabbed her binder. "I do not understand why he cannot just trust me, like Sandy did."  She slammed the door as she left the room, and the clacking of her high heels faded away after a moment.
"What the hell was that?" the math substitute at the end of the table asked.
"Hurricane Carrie," I said. "She's a little intense. She's pissed because she won't get all her 'special privileges' now that Sandy Larson is the curriculum administrator instead of the building principal."
"What did she do to earn those privileges?" the math sub asked with a raised eyebrow.
"They graduated from here together in the 90s," I told him. "Sandy takes care of her friends."
"Takes care of them, huh?" he asked, again with a wicked waggle of the eyebrows.
I finally got his meaning. "No, no. Nothing like that," I said. "Her friends, her former teachers, the people she hired—they get the best schedules, the air conditioned classrooms, and the cushiest duties. Things like that."
"Oh." He sounded disappointed.
For the first time, I thought about the possibility that Carrie had slept with someone to get this faculty tech trainer gig. Thanks to Mr. Substitute Math Teacher, I suddenly had a very clear, very naughty vision of Sandy. On her back, completely naked, legs spread wide with Carrie's head between her thighs. Her tongue lapped gently at Sandy's pussy. In my vision, which was so vivid that it practically had its own background music, Carrie was wearing nothing but a red thong and high heels as she bent her head in for another taste. Sandy's hands rubbed her own tits, and she moaned as Carrie's fingers spread her pussy lips again—”
At that moment, the bell rang, bursting my daydream like a soap bubble. "And not a moment too soon," I said to myself. My cock had begun to stir before I heard the bell, so I was grateful for its piercing sound. 
 * * * *

"Can you believe Carrie quit that sweet tech trainer job?" my buddy Sean said as I placed my empty beer bottle on the bar in front of me. "She had the life there for a while. Roberts must have torn her a new one after Sandy got involved." Sean's chemistry class was across the hall from my biology classroom, but Mickey's Bar was a much more comfortable environment for discussing the morons we worked with. "I heard she told him he could go fuck himself."
"No way. Ms. English Teacher wouldn't dare use a word with only four letters," I said. "What's a really long word for fuck?"
"You're the biology teacher; you'd know better than I would," he said with a snort. "I teach chemistry, for Christ's sake. I just wonder who they'll replace her with. This Roberts guy probably has a niece that needs a job or something. You know how things work around here."
"I applied for it, but I know I won't get it," I said, shaking my head. 
"What won't you get?" asked Crystal, as she joined us at the bar. Crystal sometimes stopped by for a drink or two, but she was married with kids, so she never stayed long. She taught algebra and geometry, and her outspoken nature kept her from getting any slack from the administration. 
"The faculty tech trainer job. Cruella de Carrie quit," I said.
"You would be so good at that job," she said. "You do everything on those computers."
"Yeah, but he doesn't kiss anybody's ass, so he won't be first on that list," Sean said. He signaled the bartender for another round.
"It's just so frickin' frustrating," I said. "I work my ass off all the time, but because I didn't go to high school with Sandy, I get nothing. Who do you have to blow to catch a break in that place?"
"Careful what you wish for," teased Crystal. "We don't know anything about Roberts yet. He might require some 'encouragement' to hire you." She punctuated "encouragement" with air quotes.
"Hell, I'd take it up the ass, if I thought it would get me the job," I said as the bartender handed me my beer. 
"Which job is that?" She was young and cute, and she giggled a little when she said it.
I blushed and held my hands up in front of me in defense as I said, "You know that was a joke, right?"
She smiled and said, "Oh, sure. A joke," but when she returned with our change, she asked again. "What’s the job?"
I told her about the position and the unlikelihood of being the one to fill it.
"Is that in the Springdale School District?" The bar was located in Springdale.
"No. East Lake. The nepotism there goes back three generations."
"Isn't there a new guy in charge at East Lake? There was a thing in the paper the other—"
"Yeah. Our new boss. James Roberts. We don't know anything about him yet. I guess I'll be the first one to test the waters." The bartender smiled, flashing her gorgeous white teeth as she turned to wait on another customer.
When she returned, she looked me in the eye with a playful look and slid a piece of paper across the bar. "Call me. Maybe I can help you get that job," she said in a low voice. She sauntered off to wait on another customer, leaving me with my chin on the floor and her number in my hand, wondering what the hell she meant.

 * * * *

When I got home, Mousse, my chocolate lab, was practically tearing down the door to get out. While I walked her, I thought about the bartender at Mickey's and her offer. I thought maybe she was offering to blow someone for me, but I really kind of hoped she was offering to blow me. Fortunately, Mousse knew the way home because I was completely lost in my own head.
I put Mousse's leash on the counter, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and headed for the shower. As the hot steam swirled around me, I convinced myself that she probably meant that she could get me a job at the bar or something. A part-time job didn't seem like a bad idea either, especially if it meant working with a hottie like her. 
My cock was already in my hand when I allowed myself to picture her. She had to be ten years younger than I was. She didn't even look old enough to be in a bar, which I found oddly appealing. I stroked myself as I remembered our brief encounter. I saw her working behind the bar. Beautiful hands pouring drinks, long legs barely hidden by her short shorts. I grabbed the bar of soap and washed quickly then returned my soapy, slippery hand to my erection. 
As I stroked the length of my cock, my imagination undressed her. She leaned over to pick something up and her shorts fell to the floor. I moaned and gripped my cock a little tighter when I saw that light blue slice of fabric resting between her buttocks. "Of course she wears a thong," I thought, forgetting that this was all happening in my mind.
I was sure that she would be clean-shaven, and when she turned toward me and removed her panties, I saw the thin swath remaining. I took my fingers and spread some of the pre-cum pooled at the tip of my cock around my shaft and stroked faster, rocking my hips back and forth in time with my fist. 
Gazing at the swell of her breasts under her shirt, I wondered if her nipples were pierced. She removed her tight, Hollister top, revealing the sweet, little bra that matched the panties that she had already dropped to the floor. In my daydream, she looked down at my erection and licked her lips. I returned the look to her sex and found that her pussy lips were swollen and damp. I wanted to reach out and stick my fingers between those lips. Again I tightened my grip, imagining how tight her pussy would be.
Finally, her bra fell to the floor, revealing the most beautiful pair of tits my imagination could conjure. They would fit perfectly in my hands. I pumped my cock with my hand, hard and fast, and my orgasm approached. My hips could barely keep up with the pace of my jacking hand. My mind returned to those beautiful, luscious tits, to imagine her nipples. Mmm . . . Just as I expected. Light pink areolae, long nipples, and a glint of gold. Each nipple wore a small gold ring.
My tongue flicked out of my mouth to tease a nipple, to play with the pink, pierced nub. Suddenly, my cock exploded. My whole body flexed, and I stroked hard. The cum spurted from the tip of my cock, just as my lips closed around her nipple in my mind.
My orgasm lasted much longer than it usually does when I'm by myself. I'm also sure I yelled louder than I usually do. This orgasm was by far the best that I'd ever achieved without an actual woman there to help me. I finished my shower, brushed my teeth, and went to bed without even finishing my beer. 
I knew it was crazy, but I also knew I would call her in the morning.

So, what do you think? Are Chelsea's nipples actually pierced? Or is that dream too good to be true? Find out when you read the book! End the suspense! Subscribe now.

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