Updated: Dec 5, 2021
My latest short story Drenched In Gold is out now.
This is my fourth story, and my first short. It's something a little different to my normal writing; while my first three books were focused around cuckolding, this story is all about watersports (and by watersports I don't mean jetskiing!).
It's a story about a guy who takes a moment to sit down in a quiet corner at a party. At least he thinks it's a quiet story; he soon realises that he's sat himself down just a metre or so away from the spot that a bunch of guys have decided to use as a makeshift urinal. Before long he can't help himself from watching. And next thing he knows he's on his knees in the gutter getting drenched in the piss of a dozen or so strangers.
Right now it's available to buy on Smashwords, Google, or direct from my website. It's not on Amazon though sorry, as it got banned.
Here's a sample of what's behind the cover.
He doesn’t face the wall like the others. He faces me directly, and he looks at me as he unbuckles his belt. The sound of the metal clinking does something to me, makes something inside me stir. He unzips his jeans, and reaches in. I’m staring, waiting to see what he pulls out. This time I’m fully aware that I’m staring, and I have no intention of stopping. I think my jaw is even hanging open, like a dog drooling over a treat. I swallow; my throat is dry. I realise I’m nervous.
His cock is thick, heavy. Uncut. Flanked by dark hair. He pulls it from his jeans and lets it sit there for a second. I can’t take my eyes off it.
He takes it in his hand. Aims it, like he’s going to piss. Aims it at me.
I look up at his face. He’s looking at me expectantly, impatiently. My thought processes are fuzzy and slow, but I realise that he’s waiting for my confirmation that this is what I want.
My eyes survey the scene around me, just for a fraction of a second. We’re away from the crowd; from this spot I don’t think anyone can see me, only the guys who’ve walked up to the wall to piss. And none of them seem to be paying any attention to me. Would it matter if they were?
I look at him again. I give a tiny nod.
For a second, nothing happens. He just stands there, looming over me. I stare at his flaccid, heavy, meaty cock in his hand, doing nothing at all. For a tiny moment I wonder if I’ve misunderstood.
Then it starts. I don’t know how much of it is the drugs and how much is the anticipation, but it seems like slow motion. I see the trail of pale platinum-coloured piss start to fall from the head of his cock. For an instant it just kind of dribbles, but an instant later the stream kicks in with force. A jet of piss pierces the air between us.
The moment it his me it feels like something pricking me, all concentrated in a single tiny point on my chest just below my clavicle. It’s like I’ve been shot with an electric arrow, channeling the tiny charge of a light switch — just enough to sting. It’s immediately followed by the sensation of warmth, right around that same spot. And then the feeling of warm liquid running down my chest and splashing tiny droplets all over my skin.
In the faint, cold breeze the warmth feels charged. It feels warmer than my skin; the warmth permeates my skin and absorbs into me. Rivulets of gentle heat trace their way down the skin of my chest, my shoulders, my abdomen.
I never expected it to feel like this. And I never expected it to make me so hard, so fast. I let go of my knees, unwrap my arms from around them. Stretch my legs out flat onto the ground wide in front of me. Letting him see the tent in my shorts. Showing him what he’s doing to me. And giving him more of me to aim at.