Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction

December Ink

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 22,311
1 Ratings (3.0)

Includes gritty fiction by: Quinn Gabriel * Willsin Rowe * Rita Winchester * Alison Tyler * Sommer Marsden * Aisling Weaver * Heidi Champa * Shanna Germain * Parker Ford * Justine Elyot

Needs. We all have them. What you will find in this book are tales—tawdry and otherwise—of folks who are on a mission to fulfill their needs. Or, in some cases, people who are lucky enough to have partners willing to help them meet their needs. Dirty, rough, gritty, coarse, sometimes startling—always stimulating. This is love and lust, fucking and seduction on the rough side. The gritty, edgy underbelly of relationships and love and sex.

CONTENT WARNINGS: This book contains rough sex, explicit sex, explicit language, infidelity, m/f/m sex, m/m sex, ménage, corporal punishment, whipping, seduction and BDSM.

Readers 18+ ONLY

Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction
1 Ratings (3.0)

Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction

December Ink

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 22,311
1 Ratings (3.0)
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Cover Art by Willsin Rowe

From Gentleman's Relish by Justine Elyot

Once the linen napkin is folded and fastened in position, blindfolding me, I hear every sound much more acutely. The quack of the moorhens, the clink as Sir accidentally knocks a stray fork against the empty champagne bottle, the shush of the water reeds in the barely-there breeze are all magnified to preternatural intensity.

For that moment, I live in the centre of a pastoral idyll, and then Sir takes my wrists and ties them behind my back with another faultlessly laundered napkin, and I remember. Today's the day the perverts have their picnic.

"What do you think, James?" Sir canvasses his friend lightly, running a hand beneath my bare breasts, flicking at the nipples.

I hear the fizz of bubbles as James upends his glass, draining the last of the champagne, then he says, "I think Manet missed a trick. Dejeuner Sur l'Herbe could have been even more intriguing with our little Sugarplum in the picture. She does so suit tethers, doesn't she?"

"Absolutely. Especially when she's wearing nothing else."

It's true. I'm naked, except for the strategically placed strips of linen, kneeling up on the picnic rug with my shoulders back and breasts forward. I have been hand-fed smoked salmon, had champagne kissed into my mouth, and strawberries and cream consumed from my quim, each diner taking it in turn to feast with eager tongue.

Now it is time for some post-prandial entertainment, and I believe I am it.

"I have a test for you, Sugarplum. A little game. I'm going to give you a taste of three condiments. You must guess what they are. I'm sure you won't be surprised when I tell you that incorrect guesses will result in a penalty."

He is right. I am not surprised. James laughs with delight.

"Oh, this should be good!"

"Now open your mouth nice and wide, Sugarplum. I am going to dab a little on your tongue. That's as much as you'll get. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Sir."

I hear the unscrewing of the lid and the scraping of the jar. Then I smell the familiar pungency of ginger, mixed with the scent of his finger. He rubs the sauce on to my tongue in a slow circle then leaves me to make my judgment.

It is spicy and sweet, with a tang I can't quite place. I roll my tongue around, up against the roof of my mouth, over my teeth, licking my lips before swallowing.

"Is that nice, Sugarplum?"

"Quite tasty, Sir."

"What is it?"

"It's a ginger sauce...of some kind, Sir."

"You need to be more specific."

"Um...ginger chutney?"

"Is that your final answer? And you forgot the Sir." He tweaks a nipple and I gasp.

"Sorry, Sir. Yes, Sir."

I know I am wrong from the teasing delight in his voice.

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