Today's excerpt is from my most pun-tastic title ever, In Appreciation of Their Cox. It's about a university rowing team, of course :-)
Eight tall, muscular men, straining every sinew, and one itty-bitty young woman urging them on with all her might.
Joanna is the coxswain for a British university rowing crew, all of them fit and muscular and hot. Although she’s fantasized about each of the men, she has always been careful to keep her relations with them strictly platonic. But now she’s leaving for a new job— and they'’re going to have a farewell party they will never forget, as all Jo’'s wildest dreams come true on this final night together.
“Hey,” says Nils, “the door is locked. We have all night.”
The turning of fantasy to concrete possibility makes my heart thump and evokes a warm gush inside me that seeps to my panties. I look around the room, making myself meet their gazes. I see a lot of grins and lifted eyebrows but there’s something in their eyes that says it’s not being taken just as a joke.
“You used to that sort of thing back home, Nils?” wonders Zeke.
“Not much else to do on the long arctic nights,” Ed suggests.
“You’re not serious, are you, Coxey?” asks Murray.
I bite my lip.
“You really want to, Jo?” Bradley asks.
I focus on Darren. His jaw is twisted to the side, his eyes round. This might be too much for him at his age. Hell, is it not too much for me? “Um,” I say, helpfully. “It’s a…” The words clog in my throat. “It’d have to be all of you, you know. That’d be the point.”
There’s a silence. I look down into my whisky. I can feel my clit swollen, my knickers sodden. I want to wriggle where I sit but I don’t dare.
“Well, nobody’s walking out,” Murray observes.
That was it, my get-out clause. I’d expected someone to cut and run. Bradley maybe. Or Ed. I sneak a sideways look at Ed. He’s gnawing his lip, but he nods at me very slightly. “Oh,” I say. “Well. Um.” I think I’m starting to hyperventilate, because I’m feeling lightheaded. “I’ve not really got any idea where to start.”
Murray gets up from his table. “Let’s start with a game then,” he says, coming over and holding out his hands to me. Nils takes my drink, and I slip both hands into Murray’s and let him help me down from the bar. I’m not sure my legs could hold me up unaided now. I’m churning inside with heat and arousal and trepidation. He leads me into the middle of the room to stand on the only rug. “Ed, can I borrow your tie?”
Ed of course wore a tie to dinner. He likes to observe the niceties, even if the tie is hanging like a noose around his open collar at the moment. He strips it off and hands it to Murray. I wonder if I’m going to be tied up when he circles behind me, but what he does in fact is blindfold me with a couple of turns.
“Okay?” he whispers. The effect of his disembodied voice and his warm whisky-scented breath on my ear is to make shivers run all across my skin.
I nod.
He tightens the knot. Lifting my chin, he surprises me with a soft kiss. Then he addresses the others. “Come on then, gentlemen.”
They move in. I hear the rasp of chairs and the whisper of their clothes, their breathing, the little murmurs they make in their throats. They surround me. I’m not sure if Murray is directing with gestures or it’s spontaneous, but they start to touch me and strip me. I’m not wearing that much, just a short dress and a bra-and-panty set beneath, no stockings or slip on this summer night. Hands glide over my skin as the fabric is tugged away. I can’t guess how many of them are able to reach me at a time, I can’t tell who it is who’s touching me. They’re just hands, callused and blistered from the oars, gentle but insistent. Someone fumbles at the catch of my bra, someone else hooks down the lace cups with his fingers. My nipples pebble as they’re exposed to the cellar air, and instantly they’re tested and tweaked and flicked and someone bends to give one a quick lick. My breasts are small to fit with my slight build, but they’re squeezed and jiggled appreciatively. Fingertips caress the length of my spine, making me shiver. Even my hair is stroked, my ears tickled. Now that I’m suddenly no longer forbidden territory they are curious and eager. My bottom is fondled, my panties pulled down, the cleft of my ass invaded by exploring fingers as, from the front, someone else strokes my pussy. It’s exhilarating and scary and confusing, my brain a whirl of sensation with no visual picture to make sense of the touches to my skin. I smell their colognes and hear them chuckle and whisper, and I squirm and lean into their hands and whimper with pleasure.
“Now,” says Murray as a hand presses down on my shoulder, “Kneel down, Jo.”
I slip to my knees, my body more naked now that the hands are withdrawn. The only apparel they’ve left on me are my red shoes with the four-inch heels.
“This game is called Cocks for the Cox.”
Sniggers and a few protests at the pun. I grin, half in fear. My sex feels hot and heavy, brimming with juice.
“Your job is to guess which cock belongs to which man, Jo. No peeking now.” He takes my head in his hands and tilts me forward. Something smooth and warm bumps my lips, nudging them apart as it presses home. It’s the glans of a cock of course. I taste salt and soap, feel a slippery ooze against the tip of my tongue as I accept the turgid swell of flesh. Whoever it is tilts his hips, encouraging me to take it farther, and I open my mouth to suck it slowly within, exploring the contours of that crown with my tongue. There’s a collective sigh of breath from every angle. I know they’ve circled me now, they’re all around. Stretching my neck and opening wide, I admit the thick shaft right down to my throat. Hair tickles my nose. It’s a solid, stout cock but not that long. Tentatively I lift my hand to his crotch, finding fabric and the teeth of the zipper. He’s still wearing his trousers, but his fly is wide open and he’s holding his pants up as he rocks pleasurably in the warm embrace of my mouth. His scrotum is hairy and very big, bulging from the V of his fly. It’s the size of that sac that gives him away.
With a final swirl of my tongue I withdraw and lick my lips. “Jon.”
A rueful grunt from over my head, and appreciative sniggers all round. “Got it. That’s some mouth you’ve got, Coxey.”
“Next,” says Murray, and hands swivel me on my knees. The next cock is long and smooth, with a sharp flavor reminiscent of chardonnay. A moment’s careful exploration convinces me it has no foreskin, and that makes me more than half-sure I know the answer. I suck enthusiastically though, in no hurry to make my guess, and explore his groin with my fingers. His pubes are trimmed back nearly to a stubble. It’s slightly distracting when someone behind me slips a hand beneath the curve of my bum and strokes my pussy, parting the puffy lips to lay open the wet furrow and plow it with a finger.
“Zeke,” I gasp, pulling clear.
“Oh fuck, man,” he groans, wrapping his fingers in my hair and pulling my face back so he can rub his dick all over it. I open my mouth, more than willing to let him sheathe his tool again, but Murray is feeling mean—or impatient.
“Uh-uh. Next.”
Next is Ed, I’m sure of it. He’s only half-hard, at least until I start sucking. Then he stiffens up admirably. I wonder if he’s shut his eyes or he’s just looking at all those other rampant cocks. I give him the full works, trying not to be overwhelmed by the two unknown hands caressing my pussy and the finger delicately circling the pucker of my asshole. But when that wicked digit, slick with my own juices, prods into the ring of muscle, I sit up hard, my heart hammering.
“Ed! And stop that!”
Murray chuckles.
Buy In Appreciation of Their Cox at
Ellora's Cave :: Amazon UK :: Google Play
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