Eyecandy Monday: Named and Shamed

Today's eyecandy comes with an excerpt from Named and Shamed, my utterly filthy fairy novel, which is out NOW!

Context: Tansy has come under a fairy curse. It's a proper, traditional curse: having spent one night of passion with a fairy, she is supposed to pine to death out of unfulfillable desire for him. Hah - Tansy isn't the sort of woman who pines passively for anything. She's going to find satisfaction if it kills her. And she's also not the type to fixate on one guy.

But this is the moment when Tansy first starts to realise that there's something weird going on and she's not quite feeling herself, as it were ...

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Hell. I shook myself out of my reverie, confused. What was I doing, fantasising about Vince and Gavin in almost the same breath? I looked down and saw that my hand was pressed hard against my pubic mound, grinding my swollen clit. My body had recovered from last night’s hammering and — obviously over-stimulated — was now ready for more.

I really needed to cum. Again. Okay, another wank, then.

No, I realised with a sickening lurch, as at that moment the bathroom door slammed shut. What I really needed was to get out of the house before I had to face Gail.

Throwing on my T-shirt and skirt and a pair of sandals, I was out of the front door before she emerged from the shower. My plan was to go fetch my impounded car from Croydon, and on a Saturday morning that meant taking the Underground, so I set out walking to the station.

It was just a bit unfortunate that I’d headed off before I had any chance to cool down. Even as I walked, I was uncomfortably aware of the heat and emptiness of my sex, and the way my panties felt as if they were rubbing in all the wrong places. I suppose everyone gets that sensation sometime – the random hard-on, the crazy gotta-frig-now itch. Well, I had it bad that morning. It made nearly every man I passed a sudden source of interest. Furtively I eyed them up — the delivery guy dropping off crates of tinned food at the corner store, the two youths smoking on the bench outside the Tube entrance, the busker at the bottom of the escalator — wondering what they looked like naked, how big their tools were, what they’d feel like fucking me good and hard.

God, every man had a cock. It sounds stupid, but it was like the revelation of a great secret. Every one of them was capable of fucking me. Think of the potential.

My feet felt clumsy, tripping me up. An unfocused excitement made my blood run quickly. I shook my head at myself, bemused and irritated  . . . yet enjoying it too.

Then the next Northern Line train arrived, and things got worse.

It was a Saturday in the middle of summer so of course the ventilation had broken down. And a big chunk of the Underground wasn’t operating because of weekend maintenance work and a breakthrough of aggressive duergar into the Circle Line tunnel, so by the time I got to the middle of town every train, platform and stairwell was packed out. It was sweaty and hot, and inside the carriages we were pressed together, standing room only. I stared into space, pretending not to notice the hot young Spanish student-types I was crammed in against, my breasts bumping softly against the back of the taller one as the train swayed. The stuffy air in here was making me feel a bit dizzy. I hung my weight from the hand-strap overhead, feeling the tick of my pulse in my engorged clit and wishing I could touch it just to get some relief. Wishing I could lick that student’s beautiful neck and feel the stir of his nape hair under my tongue.

That’s when it happened. Someone behind me – unseen and anonymous - cupped my ass briefly with one hand.

Hey, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been groped on public transport. Normally I make damn sure I protest and embarrass the hell out of them. But this time, I just stood there. The weight of my own churning appetite seemed to pin me in place. When I didn’t react, the hand took the opportunity for another pass, squeezing the full curve of my bum-cheek a little more boldly.

A hot bubble of arousal burst in my sex, releasing a trickle that flooded my knicker gusset.

Tansy, I admonished myself. You dirty cow. Stop this now. But my body wasn’t listening.

Surreptitiously, moving with the sway of the train, my unseen admirer shifted in a tiny bit closer. It was definitely a man: I could smell his aftershave and his skin, and feel his bulk at my back. But I had no idea what he looked like. I licked my dry lips and blinked at the advert over the door, aware now that my nipples, despite the heat of the day, had hardened to points that were poking the Spanish guy quite insistently. I wondered how he didn’t notice, but he was deep in conversation with his friend. I wondered what was happening to me, that I should respond to this molestation so submissively. It wasn’t like me to be shy or fearful.

But then this wasn’t shyness or fear. It was dirty, thrilling pleasure.

The hand moved, sliding all over my right cheek. The flower-print skirt I was wearing was really quite short and those fingers found the edge easily. I wasn’t wearing tights. Warm fingertips brushed my bare skin. Oh God . . . . that felt good.

Involuntarily, I let out a tiny moan, and the eyes of Spanish guy’s friend flicked to me. I flushed, then switched to gazing at the shadowy pipework flashing past the window. My ass was being bumped now, quite gently, by a hard knot of trouser-clad flesh. Shit, thought I. He has a hard-on.

The train gave a sudden lurch around a curve and everyone staggered a little. The man behind me took the opportunity to grasp my hip and pull my ass into his crotch. I didn’t resist. I could feel his erection fighting against his clothes, pressing against my bum.

A stranger’s rubbing his dick against me. And I’m letting him.

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And if you want to find out what sort of trouble Tansy gets into after this (and believe me, it gets wild), you need to read Named and Shamed.

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