This Christmas, the best gifts are waiting for those who
have been naughty…
And the toys under the tree are not for children. Sexy
Santas, naughty elves, and dominant shifters are ready to spread some very
kinky Christmas cheer. It's a good thing the ladies in our stories are looking
for anything but vanilla.
So I have a little holiday treat for you today. Lila Shaw has popped by the blog with a tempting little morsel that relates to her story in the new and oh so naughty holiday anthology Vanilla Free Christmas. This wonderful book is warming my nights and I wanted to share this with you so you can get yourself a copy to get properly in the mood.
Amazon:
The Session:
Dr. Baskin's pen darts across the page recording the odd
scraps as I talk about how my day at the office went. It's like we're in a
fucked up fifties sitcom only her "honey, how was your day?" is more
like, "tell me how many times you scraped up the courage to leave your
desk today."
"Fantastic progress, Jonah. This new job seems to be agreeing
with you, yes? Your anxiety has settled into the tolerable range?"
I nod and rub my itchy nose. She's staring at me, obviously
wanting me to expand on my panic attacks or reduction thereof. It is true. I
haven't had nearly as many since starting the new drugs and therapy. But what I
can't and won't tell Dr. Baskin is I have a secret angel. Her name is Samantha,
or Sam as she prefers. Dr. Baskin told me to find an anchor or focal point to
help calm me, something predictable, logical and dependable. I wasn't supposed
to pick a human being. I did anyway. I picked Sam.
It's a silly story, the how and why of Sam. I scarcely know
myself other than when panic threatened to pull me down and drown me, one of
her emails or instant messages would arrive, and somehow I'd find the strength
to vanquish my demons. I always have to drop what I'm doing to answer Sam, you
see. She is paramount. She is the sun I revolve around, the giver of light and
warmth.
"Jonah? Are you listening to me?" Dr. Baskin asks.
"Hmm?"
"You've mentioned someone named Sam a couple of times.
Is Sam a friend you've made at work?"
Shit. Figures she'd notice. I don't even remember saying her
name. "Sam's a she." I shouldn't be so quick to correct the good
doctor. She'll be like a dog on a scent now.
"Is she your girlfriend?" Her pen moves furiously
over the page then hovers like a hummingbird.
"Sam works at my company." And this is true. Sam is
my co-worker. She's five feet three inches of curves and softness and hopes of
what might be...someday...if I can get better. I want to get better. I have to
get better.
I also won't tell my doctor about the steamy instant message
exchange we had yesterday, Sam and I, because last week I let slip how much
into voyeurism and exhibitionism I am. I am a study in irony. I had given her a
couple of live webcam sites to check out. That she actually watched them and
was turned on by them had me hard before I finished reading her instant
message. After her confession, we began chatting about the type of scene we'd
broadcast. Just a joke at first...and then suddenly it wasn't.
"I'd want to be tied spread-eagle to the bed,"
she'd written. "Camera on my pussy, my arousal on display for the
viewers."
Oh, when she wrote that, I slouched and shoved my hips
further under my desk. No one was around; they'd all gone to lunch. I took
myself in hand, typing awkwardly with the other. "That'd be enough to make
most of the viewers come."
"What do you do?" she asked. How could she have
known the beast she was unleashing?
"Assuming I can tear my eyes away from you, I shuttle
my hand along my cock, pumping myself hard as a diamond as I zoom in closer
with the camera on the canvas of your body. I tell you to close your eyes and
keep them shut."
A noise in the hallway interrupted me before I could finish that
thought.
Sam messaged back, "My eyes are shut. What do you do to
me?" The cursor blinked begging me to respond.
My work area quiet again, I resumed typing. "Starting
at the foot of the bed, I curl my hand around your instep and press soft kisses
on the tops of your feet. Since I haven't shaved this morning, the scrape of
stubble sweeps across the path as I slowly move up your calf. You laugh and
tell me it tickles. When I get to the backside of your knee, I flick my tongue
into the crease then blow hot air on the trail I leave. You shudder from the
play of cool and warm on your skin. You reach down and, twisting your fingers
in my hair, tug me higher. I can smell how much you want me and, oh Sam, it's
driving me wild."
I took a moment to rub my hand over my erection and finding
it hot and demanding, I continued disgorging my fantasy in instant messages.
"I raise up on my knees. You whimper because you think
I'm done. I'm not; I've barely begun. Instead I say, 'I'm going to feast on
your pussy and then I'm going to fuck you six ways to Sunday.'"
Sam types back. "And do you?"
"I work my way down from your still sealed eyelids and
when I finally ease inside you, fill you to bursting, I whisper in your ear, my
starlet, 'Open your eyes now, little lamb, and watch me as I come,' and you do,
only you come as soon as they flicker open and you see the light on the webcam
running quietly off to the side. You aren't a lamb at all but a minx and maybe
even a slut. I think maybe I should show the viewers how naughty girls should
be handled, but I don't. Not this time. But as I thrust deep and hard until I
finally lose my fucking mind, I whisper a promise in your ear that next time I
won't be so lenient."
I stopped there to give her a chance to respond. I hoped she
was still with me, that I hadn't scared her off.
"I think I need to take a bathroom break before I leave
a wet spot on my chair," she wrote.
I laughed and closed the chat window. A few minutes later
she walked by the doorway to my department, her back stiff, thighs clamped
together. Our eyes met as she passed and though I begged my legs to carry me to
her, they refused. My heart pounded in my chest, equally aroused and terrified,
but fear won the battle. Again.
I've relived that exchange so many times today. Perched
awkwardly on a stiff, uncomfortable chair with my legs crossed to keep my
wayward cock under control, I lift my eyes to meet Dr. Baskin's.
"No, she's just a co-worker," I repeat.
About the author:
Lila Shaw is the pen name for a writer of works of
erotica and erotic romance. Lila’s erotic writings typically involve
strong-willed women with feminist tendencies, and are often playful, sarcastic
and even silly. She believes if you can’t occasionally laugh at the
physical aspects of love, you’re taking life far too seriously…unless the
condom breaks, then you have every right to fret.
Connect with Lila:
The Review:
Save your vanilla for those Christmas cookies because you won't need any for this holiday anthology. Full of naughty elves, sexy Santas, role playing holiday revelers and more, this collection of stories will keep you reading late into the night.
I can't say enough about this group of stories. All of them are great and in particular, Lila Shaw's
The Man Inside has a sexy Santa that will have any woman swooning. Jonah is a man of mystery. Sam is both intrigued and a little scared of how he makes her feel. At the company Christmas party, the two will have an interlude so smoking hot you won't be able to put down your e-reader and will be reaching for an iced egg nog latte to quench the scorch. I loved reading "The Session" with Jonah fighting his urge to stay indoors and loved how he finds and seduces Sam. I will never look at a Santa suit quite the same way again. Hello naughty Christmas fetish!
5/5 for this story and the antho as a whole! Don't miss this little nibble in your e-book Christmas stocking. It's better than a chocolate covered candy cane.
Thanks Lila for being on the blog today and I hope you ladies are cooking up some more holiday magic for next year!
