This short erotica contains explicit sex, oral worship, double penetration, triple penetration, bondage, exhibitionism, creampies, facials, and a way to revitalize a marriage that you'll have to read to believe!
Making Him Watch is approximately 5,100 words long.
“Sweetie, you were the one who wanted to try country life,” I reminded him before I pulled my shirt over my head. I heard several sighs of pleasure, which made me shiver in delight. With Grant for a husband, there was no way I could have gotten away with not keeping my body fit. He complained if he noticed an extra inch of fat on my hips, but never seemed to take joy in all my hard work. As I looked around, I saw admiration and hunger on a dozen pairs of eyes. The thrill of power was intoxicating.
Grant struggled against the handcuffs, rocking the chair from side to side. “Get your shirt back on right now, Joanie!”
“Ma'am, you want us to gag him?” one of the boys from the farm asked.
I considered that for a moment, then shook my head before I popped open the button on my jeans and dragged the zipper down. Every eye in the room was glued to that zipper. “No. Let him beg.”
Once I'd slid my jeans off, I was left in a pink lace bra and a matching pair of panties that I was soaking through with my arousal. I hadn't believed what the local women told me when I'd first asked them, but then I'd seen how each one had at least three different men waiting on her hand and foot and watching after her with looks of abject lust. Chivalry had a whole new meaning in Springville.
I waited just a moment, luxuriating in the anticipation on all their faces, then unhooked my bra and dropped it on the couch. A few of the boys groaned and most of them were now rubbing themselves through their jeans. My thumbs hooked under the waist on my panties and I turned to give most of them a view of my ass as I bent over, sliding the fabric down my legs. Once I'd stepped out of the scrap of lace, I marched over to one of the farmhands. He had short auburn hair and blue eyes. There was a dimple in his cheek when he grinned at me. Beautiful.
“I want to taste you, Rick,” I told him breathlessly.
Lilith T. Bell always dreamed of becoming a writer and in 2012 she finished her first novel. Almost immediately afterward, she became deathly ill. Then her house burned down. As if in some Job-like drama, she lost nearly every word she had ever written.
Undaunted--and perhaps taunting angry gods--she continues to write.
Today, Bell lives in the northwoods of the Midwest with her cat and travels frequently.