If I am allowed to have an author crush then Sean is it! If I sound all gushy from this point on then you know why. I love his books and I’m over the moon that he accepted an invitation to visit the blog. Have to say, the excerpt from his latest book that you will find further down the post is steamy hot, so be prepared for a few palpitations! Welcome Sean…
The serious stuff:
And the fun stuff…
Sealed With a Kink: Plugs
Here’s the excerpt, take a deep breath!
I want him.
I’ve been waiting for the fine son of a bitch to make up his fucking mind that I’m ready, that I can take his fat, hard cock and ride him like I’ve been begging to for months.
“No,” he said, again and again and again. “When you’re ready.”
I’ve sucked him off, let him tie me in ropes that left marks for days, let him shave every inch of my body, let him fuck me with latex of every shape, but he never touches that most secret part of me, not with his body. Today, though, he told me to clean myself—inside and out—to bend over the arm of the couch and wait for him.
So, I’m waiting.
I can feel the air of the room on my ass and my legs, and my cock is leaking, dripping. Thank God I thought to bring a towel with me, so I didn’t stain his upholstery.
I want his cock inside me. Slamming into me. Making me scream. Making me come and stretch and…
“Hold your cheeks apart, boy.” His voice is like a whip, snapping across my skin.
“Yes. Yes, Sir.”
My face is smashed against the cushions as I reach back, my muscles jerking and stretching as I obey him. Fuck, my glutes are rock hard, like I’ve been pumping iron for hours instead of standing here, open and needy like a whore.
His finger trails along the outside of my crease, a wicked tease. “Are you slick for me, boy?”
The sudden pop of his fingers makes me jerk. “Did you finger-fuck yourself? Did you push those fingers into your needy hole without permission?”
He’d told me to be ready. I had to touch to do that, right?
His fingers tangle in my hair, jerk my head back, and his voice is a low growl in my ear. “Is that an answer or a question?”
“An… an answer, Sir.”
“Excellent. I’m going to have to punish you, you know that, don’t you?”
A long, black riding crop is set on the sofa, along with a huge tube of lube and six plugs. They start small then get bigger and bigger, and I swear the last one is nearly the size of a fist.
There’s no way.
“I…” I let go of my ass cheeks, move to stand up, and his hand lands in-between my shoulder blades.
“You’re better trained than that, boy. Open your fucking ass for me. Show me your hole.”
I reach back, my palms sweaty now, and spread myself wide again. I can hear my fucking heart pounding in my ears, feel the solid wall of muscle that is my Sir standing behind me, the scent of his leather close enough to make me dizzy.
“Such a good little boy.”
The diminutive makes me wince. I’m not little, not any of me, but he insists… Another sharp slap shatters my thoughts, and I gasp.
“Now, boy,” he says, picking up his crop. “Beg me to punish you. Beg me to whip that baby hole.”
Oh, sweet fucking God. My entire body tenses, and my legs shake. I can’t. I can’t. But fuck, I want him. I want him to finally fuck me, shoot inside me. Mark me as his.
I can feel the air moving against my ass as he tests the crop. Hell, I can hear the sound it makes, like a promise.
I open my mouth to growl at him, to tell him to back the fuck off and leave me alone. I’ll just go. I’ll find a man who wants me as badly as I fucking need him. I’m just going to tell him I’m done. I quit. I don’t fucking want him anymore.
“Please, Master. Please whip my hole. I fucked myself with my fingers, wanting it to be you.”
His chuckle is dark, husky, knowing. “How many blows do you deserve, little boy?”
What the fuck is the right answer? I freeze, totally unsure.
He bends over me. I can tell because he’s so fucking hot, and while he’s not actually touching me, that heat pours off his body and teases my skin from my neck all the way down my back, against my ass.
“Do you really want me to be the one to decide?”
If I say too few, he’ll tear me up. If I ask for too many, he’ll tear me up. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Shit.
“Please. Please, Sir. Can I have…” Ten? Twenty? Thirty? “…fifteen, please?”
“Such a naughty, naughty little boy.” His breath blows across my ear and makes me shiver, but he sounds please. Is he pleased?
My entire body is buzzing, my fingertips digging into my ass cheeks. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. Please punish me.” My cock rubs against the towel, the terrycloth rasping the tip and giving me a delicious burn.
The crop lands along my crack, including my hole. He didn’t give me any warning, just did it, the sudden shock of pain huge. Enormous.
“Fuck!” My ass clenches, my body jerks. “Fuck!”
“That didn’t sound like a one. We’ll have to start over.” The crop lands again, not quite as hard this time. Or maybe it just doesn’t feel as hard.
“One. One, thank you, Sir.” Fuck, that stings.
“Much better.” God, his voice is so firm, so strict, and it goes straight to my balls.
The crop hits me again, this time concentrating on just my hole, the little flap of leather at the top hitting across it.
It makes me grit my teeth, makes my balls draw up tight. “Two. Two, Sir.” I’m never going to make it to fifteen. Why did I ask for fifteen? What if he’d been happy with ten? With five? My thoughts are interrupted by another hit of the crop, another smack right against my needy hole.
“Shit! Three! Fuck!”
Four and five are sharp and hard. “Thank me, boy.”
“Thank you, Sir. Thank you. Please.”
“Such a good little boy. You keep being this good we may make it ten instead of fifteen.”
Number six slaps hard along my whole crack.
“Six. Six. I tried to pick a good number, Sir. One to make you proud.” He fucking strips all my secrets from me, and I hate him.
“I know. You’re a good little boy. Trying so hard for me. Except when you want my punishments.” He brings the crop down again.
I arch, and the sting is deep, burning, and fuck, I want the next one. Need it. Now. “Seven.”
I get what I want, the eighth hit harder than any of the others have been and so fucking good. By ten, I’m dancing, cock rasping on the towel, balls drawn up tight.
“You think you deserve those next five, boy?”
“Please. Please, Master.”
“Good boy. Keep counting.”
By fourteen, I’m fighting for every breath, feet slapping on the floor as I kick.
“One more, little boy. One more swat to that needy little hole of yours. That greedy little hole.”
The hit lands directly on my hole, and before I can even take a breath to count it, Sir pushes the tip into me. I scream, coming over the towel like a teenager, like a virgin. My balls empty so fast and hard that it’s more an ache than a pleasure.
“Did you just come without my permission, little boy?” He sounds so pleased about it.
My hips move, riding the odd sensation of the crop that teases my sensitized hole. The spunk eases the friction of the towel on my dick, the burn now a slide.
The crop pushes deeper. “Answer me, boy!”
“Yes! Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to…”
“We’ll have to find a punishment for that now, won’t we?” That crop moves in and out, the thin rod fucking me.
“I-I’m sorry.” Fuck, that burns, so good.
“I know you like it when I punish you, little boy.”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. No. No, I want to be fucked. Rewarded. Taken.
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me you didn’t get off on the crop.”
“I don’t lie to you!” I’ve only made that mistake once, and it almost ruined us, our trust.
“Then tell me how much you loved your punishment, little boy.”
“I’m not little!” I focus on that because how can I argue the rest with my cock covered with my own cum?
He laughs, but it’s not a mocking sound, it’s more like…like I bring him joy.
“You’re my boy, though, and it makes you ache, makes you hard, submitting to me.” His fingers pinch and tug my skin; he pulls on the backs of my thighs, stimulates the nerves in the small of my back, makes me ache. “Tell me, Blake. Tell me you’re my little boy.”
I’m aching, wanting, but it’s so much harder now, now that I’ve come, now that the need has eased off.
He pulls the crop out and uses it across my buttocks. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours.” Is that enough?
“You’re more than just mine.” His fingers are in my hair, tugging the slightest bit, the sting making my eyes water.
He doesn’t say anything, just tugs harder, demanding.
I don’t want to say it, but my body wants me to. My cock is stiffening, the discomfort unnerving and making me ache. “Your little boy. I’m your little boy.”
“You’re my good little boy.” He kisses my hole, breath and lips so hot against my skin.
“Yes…yes, Sir.” I sob, that gentleness, the care, intense, overwhelming. God, he makes me need.
“You don’t want this empty hole to be filled, do you?” For a minute I think he’s going to cancel the whole thing, then his tongue flicks against me and he goes on. “No, you don’t want it—you need it.”
Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to “Chicago.”
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He’ll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
website: www.seanmichaelwrites.com blog: http://sean-michael.livejournal.com/
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