I Can Rub & Scrub This Old House, 'Til It's Shinin' Like a Dime

This week has already been a hectic one, and it's only Wednesday. My husband went back to work after an extended period of being out of a job. It's going to be a bit adjustment for him, so I'm trying to lighten the load here at home by being an extra good porn writer/housewife. Dinner ready, house clean (well, some of it anyway) and very little for him to worry about while he tries to decompress. Am I the greatest wife or what?

In my attempts to be an extra good porn writer, I'm in the middle of about three different things. My current WIP novella has taken a completely different turn and therefore may be delayed. There are several other shorter pieces I'm working on and trying to finish on time. If only my ideas would take a number. I wish they would pull the tab for their little paper number and take a seat in the waiting room, but they are some damn pushy words.

Until I resurface later this week, here is an excerpt from my story in the awesome new collection, Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction. It's called Live at the Motel Six. Please to enjoy.

At first, I balked at having a job that took me away so much. Traveling for work always sounds good, until you find yourself in line at the airport, being searched by security for the millionth time. But, it also had its advantages. Phone sex was something that she thought was silly and stupid. Until she found herself alone and horny and her only contact with me was through our cellular provider.

It started out innocently enough; just a few dirty words so I could jerk off on the road. It didn’t take long for it to change. The distance made me bolder. Not seeing each other face to face seemed to open up a completely new world of fantasy, which I was happy to share. In the beginning, I had to push her to tell me more. The garden-variety stuff was okay, but I wanted her to go further. Slowly, she opened up, telling me things that I found mildly shocking, but unbearably arousing. It seemed to work for her, too. Hearing her moan through the speaker of the phone was a poor substitute for the original, but under the circumstances, it proved to be the most comforting part of my day. I wondered sometimes if she was just humoring me, but those fears died one lonely night on the road.

The first night she told me, I have to admit I was stunned. I was laying on the stiff sheets at a Motel 6 in Phoenix, my cell phone pressed between my shoulder and my ear, my cock in my hand. I thought she was just going to talk dirty, like our normal routine. I was expecting something hot, something steamy, like usual. But, that night, after several tequila shots, the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could think to regret them. Not that she ever did. Neither of us did.

Clearly, she had spent too many days horny and alone and all my cajoling had finally pushed her to reveal the big one. She had grown fond of spewing the hottest filth into the phone while we pleasured ourselves, but this was certainly next level stuff. The need seemed to grow more intense, more profound with each frequent flier mile I racked up. That night, she told me exactly what she wanted; shared her biggest fantasy. I could barely breathe as she talked. Words I never expected to hear were oozing through the phone into my ear. It was my own fault; I had basically begged her to do it. Now, there was no going back.

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