Swallowed: A Hypersexual Romance by Dustin LaValleyDavid is a man with a hidden secret. It's that secret that forces his unexplained breakup with a longtime girlfriend and sends him spiraling into a string of sexual encounters, described graphically in this intelligent, thought-provoking read by author...
As David's word unravels and he seeks refuge with a diverse string of women, a beautiful, sexually charged student becomes a repeat partner who threatens to break through the wall he's building.
But as his secret becomes too big to ignore, David realizes that blind sexual encounters cannot stave off his need to face himself - and the awful truth that haunts him.
"Swallowed: A Hypersexual Romance," is the kind of clever, raw literary contribution that speaks to readers who like their sex with a side of smarts. Highly recommended for the thinking fan of erotica.
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Swallowed: A Hypersexual Romance (Sample Chapter)
©2014 by Blushing Books® and Dustin LaValley
I got the news on a Thursday and then broke up with my girlfriend, Erica. After we made love of course. She was mad and stormed out. I wanted goodbye sex. I had never had goodbye sex before and that is why I waited until we had done it, until I had come. It was slow and rhythmic, soft and sensual with more focus on the sensations of touch and taste than usual, perhaps because I knew this was the last time with her. Or maybe we were just in that sort of mood.
It took very little for her to reach orgasm, clitoral or vaginal and sometimes both. She came before me, which I was not expecting, as she was never a fan of missionary. But with her rump atop a pillow I was able to hit the spot more accuartely than I usually did in our more athletic positions. Her nails dug into my back and scraped across the skin and I winced in pain and her pussy squeezed my dick with each thrust as she came.
Feeling it build inside me, ready to burst, I wrapped an arm around her tight and held myself up on a shaky hand while flinching with each pulse of cum I shot inside her. I fell beside her, tired and sweaty, and we held one another for a few minutes in the dark. We were silent until I told her of my desire to split up. She had the questions we all have: "Why?" and "What did I do?" and "How is this fair to me?" and "Don't you love me?" and "Don't I deserve to know why?" I denied them all replies.
I kept it simple. "We have to break up, no way around it. Nothing more to say than ‘I'm sorry.’" She froze before me, standing next to the bed like a statue. She had gotten up to pace back and forth in fury as her questions were posed and after my refusal to reply, she just stood there in silence. Maybe it was shock. Things had been going so well between us, and this change I proposed had come out of nowhere.
It seemed like an hour passed before she moved. She sniffled as she gathered her clothes. I found her panties among the other clothing; they’d become displaced in the sheets. She sat on the bed and began to cry and I put an arm around her, to cradle her against me and she shrugged it off and covered her face with the black and white polka dot panties and cried loud, sobbed wet and deep.
"I'm sorry," I said again. This struck her as she straightened up, took a deep breath and calmed herself. She wiped tears from her face and began to get dressed and I watched as she struggled to summon the emotional strength to accept the confusing situation.
The less I said the better for us both. No need to stretch out the suffering with vague reasons and "I don't know" on repeat. I had my reason and there was nothing that could be said or done that could change it. The outcome would be the same. It was done, we were done and we both had to accept our new positions and move on.
If I had taken back my words out of pity, this moment would only ruin our time to come and would resurface during arguments. If we were to forget and forgive - if she were willing that is - she would only be hurt more so in the coming days and weeks and months. We were done, it was over. She dressed and I walked her to the door where she left me with some choice words while teetering on anger and rage while still holding her pride and beauty.
I was half asleep on the couch, a soft cushioned hard-backed yellow and brown eyesore in the rear of the campus library when the Bookworm spoke up from a matching chair across from me.
"Zeroville, huh? Must be very engrossing to put someone asleep."
We spoke about books and I assured her that the author was not to blame for my heavy eyelids and it was in fact an enthralling read, but I had a rough night and was awake to turn off the alarm before it buzzed.
My car had a spacious back seat and was parked in the rear corner of the far lot, due to my late arrival. Its distance allowed us to be as loud and playful as we wanted without worry of curious students or faculty until the next class was released and it was there we had sex in the mid-morning sunlight. I had never been one for dirty talk, or talk during sex at all unless you count moans, groans and demands, but the Bookworm had a natural way with her words. They had a flow to them and did not interrupt the flow of our thrusting.
"Have you ever read Bradbury?" she asked. "NO! DON'T STOP!"
"Of course," I said.
"Isn't his prose just so beautiful?"
"The imagery -OH! OH YES!- it's so easy to get lost, his worlds are so vivid."
"I agree, they're fantastic."
"Fantasy, he has such a way. He makes you feel -OH! OH YES, RIGHT THERE JUST LIKE THAT! KEEP DOING IT! YES!- makes you feel, believe like a child does. Transforms you back to -OH! OHHH!- to those summer days as children dreaming in the backyard. YES! AH FUCK YES!"
We conversed about the written world until the moment she came, flexing all her muscles and gripping the passenger seat headrest and burying her face into it and squeezing. I felt the warm wetness as it dripped down the side of me and when she loosened up I began to flinch and my body jerked with spasms as I shot inside her. I grabbed her and with hands on both sides of her face, held her head so that our foreheads were touching and our eyes met and then as I pumped the last bursts, staring into her eyes. I noticed that with her black-frame, naughty teacher style glasses off, her right eye was off center. This imperfection, this honest and natural and naked imperfection kept me hard as I emptied, and drove me to ravish her once more without a refractory period.
That eye - it made me insane with lust. Holding her firmly against the backseat, staring and fixated, I performed a second time and came. With my strength drained, I rested atop of her. Wweaty and sticky, our skin stuck together as we dozed off in sheer exhaustion to wake to footfalls and whispers.
An audience of students watched and cheered as we dressed in the back of my car. Her smile matched my own as the whooping continued to grow, and when I saw the smartphone recording us, I laughed and so did the Bookworm.
We laughed at each other and the situation we found ourselves in after a random encounter turned sexual and we became temporary campus celebrities.
I felt his knuckles against my cheekbone before I ever saw him. I had been chatting up a thin blonde at the bar, had bought her a Blue Moon. We seemed to hit it off and the deal was about sealed when the boyfriend, or date, or brother, or whoever the hell he was snuck up and suckered me. She screamed and stepped back, put her hands to her face and screamed again. By the form of her lips I think it was "Stop!" I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my ear and the uproar of shocked patrons. My eye had already begun to water and swell when I pushed myself away from the bar and towards the man and he threw a hook. I slipped it and advanced. He swung a left and I slipped that as well and advanced again, and this time as I rose from the ducked and guarded stance I brought along an upward shot to the body. The kidney shot was followed by another to the sternum, then to the chin as my attacker. stumbled backwards. I kept my guard and scanned the crowd for potential friends of his. I was in luck; only one rushed me. He was tall, easily 6'5, thick and looked like he ate creatine and curled dumbbells in his sleep. A quick, sharp jab caught him in the jaw when his arms spread to swallow me - a technique of the big and stupid animals who charge, tackle and pound using their size as sole advantage. I found his jaw once more with a right cross before he fell. A tree in the forest with hikers in earshot.
Though my sight was glazed and singled I knew by the expressions and body language of the onlookers that I was not welcome anymore. I also noticed that when the smaller man's arm was around my neck, that like his fallen comrade he frequented the gym and drank plenty of manufactured protein. He was coiled around my throat, a python’s grip, and if I had been more aware I could have shucked it and spun, but I was unable to pry that arm off. My methods turned primal. I stomped his foot and I grabbed and yanked his balls and I even tried dropping to a knee to give him a toss, but he was too stable. He stood too solid with his arched back, and endorphins numbed the shots I gave him. I was unconscious in a few seconds.
When I went limp he let me fall and after hitting the ground I bounced between light and dark long enough to see the woman rush to my side and as I lost consciousness the second time I acknowledged that I would be fucking her when I awoke. This blonde, his girlfriend, his wife, his ex, his date, his sister, whatever she was to him, he unknowingly ripped open the condom wrapper for me.
It was a scent that brought me to life and I sniffed like an addict and rubbed my eyes with my palms. Shampoo, hairspray, some sort of cheap fruity hair care product that had been absorbed by the sheets and pillow cases since the last wash. The assumption that I was lying in a woman's bed and perhaps in a woman's presence, was confirmed when the picture focused. Minus some squinting and wincing from the swollen left side of my aching face, I saw a woman's makeup vanity against the wall with a mirror and chair and various products clustered the desk. As I tried to sit up onto my elbow, I was mounted and shoved down into the softness of the foam cover on the mattress beneath the perfumed sheet.
"Don't move," she said. It was her, the thin blonde from the bar. Her hair was down, dangling to tickle my bare chest.
She had undressed me.
An ice bag was placed on my cheek and she said, "Hold it there and don't move." With one hand I applied pressure.
"I'll do all the work, you don't worry your pretty little face."
I smiled at her, and the cute compliment.
"That is, as long as you can keep it up, tough guy."
My smile grew as she grabbed my cock. It was already hard though in her warm, soft touch turned stroke it grew painfully engorged.
"You did great." She took my free hand and moved it to a tit that was firm and almost too round, with a nipple that rose when I circled it with my thumb. They were not big - a handful and nothing more - yet amazing.
"Tough guy? I don't know about that. Maybe before your boyfriend choked me out."
She laughed and corrected me, "He isn't my boyfriend, just a jealous, possessive ex. And he didn't choke you out, that was a bouncer. It would have been a bit hard to do that himself from where you put him on the floor."
"Ohh..." I muttered with a sense of pride. She moved from the mount and knelt beside me and took me in her mouth. "Oh!" I said with surprise as she puckered around my head and stroked simultaneously. A wet pop sound echoed between our bodies when her suckle slipped off and I said, "Oh fuck this!" and threw the ice bag to the floor and lunged for her.