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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Erotic Brits © January 2010 Jacqueline Applebee
A Smashwords Edition
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Erotic Brits
By Jacqueline Applebee
Table of Contents
Introduction
Breathless Souvenir
Dick Pics
Creating Monsters
Make Me Truly Thankful
Proximity
Fanatic
The Maddest Dreams
Moo!
All God's Creatures
Getting Used to It
Nice Weather for Ducks
Encore
I Used to Have a Life
My Boyfriend's Wife
Breakfast in America
Daddy Issues
Caught My Eye
Welcome to my world. The diversity of these stories reflects the Great Britain in which I live as a minority within a minority—a bisexual, kinky, polyamorous woman. Desire has little to do with where you come from, however if you've read even a fraction of erotic stories that are out there, you'll get the distinct impression that everyone lives in New York or San Francisco, with nothing but a void beyond that. One of my stories does take a detour to Boston, but give a girl a break, eh?
I could go on about this, but I won't. Instead, I'll just tell you about the time I went to Glastonbury, where I wrote, Encore. I realised my pen was speeding up; my words became a frenzied scrawl in my notebook. I found myself breathing hard, clenching my thighs as my body tingled. My memory is not as good as it could be; I'd forgotten about that stage in writing where I start to become aroused along with my characters. I wanted to throw the pen down, fall to the floor and push my hands into my knickers. I wondered if I could just write with one hand, and pinch my nipples with the other, but I almost toppled off my chair when I tried. So I suffered for you; I waited until I had finished my first draft, and then I took myself off to bed to have an ear-shattering orgasm.
Some of these stories were inspired by people I know. Maddest dreams came after listening to the morning ramblings of a lover who dreamt of a special door that led to a world where pleasure was freely given, where gender was irrelevant. I found myself rubbing up and down along the length of his body, wishing that I could get inside—not just inside his underwear, but inside his head to dream his dreams. Needless to say, we stayed in bed for a lot longer than either of us had planned.
I started writing Fanatic after spending an afternoon following a man into his secret world of old vinyl records. I had spent hours tuning out the din of the music store to watch him finger sleeves of long-players, touching them with an affection that he rarely showed me. There is a heap of anger in that story, but it is used to fuel a sex session to remember.
Not all the pairings are routine—in Getting used to it a photo of a model in a gay magazine becomes the third party in a usually heterosexual couple's fun. For a bisexual collection, there are people of all flavours, straight, lesbian, gay, and does who refuse to say. There are sissy boys, vampires, stern choir masters, and women who like to think that they're farmyard animals… My world is a pretty mixed-up place, but my world is also full of sex—lots of it.
I wanted to write about the place I live in; a place that is multicultural, multi-sexual. You may live in another part of the world—we may never meet, but I hope you accept this gift of my writing. I hope that these stories will make you want to take a trip to my world. I hope you leave with a few mementos.
My boyfriend, Eammon stood above me, with two other men on either side. I closed my eyes, smiling as first one, then the next and the next spurted come all over me. Thank goodness our cabin on the ferry had a decent shower; I had to arrive in Ireland looking my best for Eammon's family.
Am I getting ahead of myself? I thought so. Okay, let's rewind to a few hours earlier…
Eammon had asked me to accompany him to the opening night of Splinter—a kinky club in the Irish capital of Dublin. It was owned and operated by his cousin, Nano, an ex-DJ whom I'd never met.
Eammon came from a strange family; the whole clan apparently had helped to get the venture off the ground. Nano's father had renovated the disused property, his mother and aunts had helped with the publicity. Apparently, Nano's sister would be working as a dungeon mistress. The whole thing was refreshing in its outrageousness.
Eammon, bless him, knew that I was not a happy girl in the air, so instead of taking a plane to Ireland, we took a train to the Welsh town of Holyhead, and then a ferry straight to smut-central. It was a much longer journey, but I wasn't going to complain; I loved new adventures.
The cabin we had been assigned on the three-hour crossing was small, functional, but pretty bare. There weren't even curtains over the big windows that looked out onto the Welsh coastline.
"Don't worry, Jess," Eammon said, coming up behind me. "There's no one out at sea to look at us. Anyway, I doubt we'll be needing this room much." He pinched my bottom, making me yelp and giggle. "I saw ya making eyes at the baggage handler, by the way," he said. I noticed how his Irish accent had begun to grow stronger since we'd got on board; it was something I'd be surrounded by in a few hours. The thought of all those sexy voices made me smile.
"And I saw you eyeing up the guy in the café," I countered. We were both sluts, both up for fun wherever it presented itself. We could never fool ourselves that we were anything other than that.
The ferry began to move away from the harbour; I felt the slow tug of movement as Holyhead was left behind, replaced by the blue-grey waters of the Irish Sea.
A little fishing boat came into view as the ferry picked up speed, catching my interest. I've always been a fan of an audience, no matter how small, so I quickly shuffled out of my dress, and danced naked in front of the window, much to Eammon's amusement.
"They can't see you, love," he said with a laugh. "Put your clothes back on, and let's go hunting." I shimmied my breasts once more, pressed my whole self against the window, imagining that the fishermen on the little boat were gazing in awe at my juicy body. Eammon combed his long black hair, fixing his clothes until he was satisfied. He winked at his reflection, his hazel eyes happy and wide.
We went our separate ways once I'd put my dress back on. Eammon headed for the café, but I went outside to where several smokers huddled on the blustery deck. I teetered along, grabbing hold of the handrail when the ferry started to roll in the churning water. The fresh air was bracing. I breathed deeply once past the main group of smokers, inhaling the cool fragrance of the sea. I hadn't been on a boat in years; living and working in the big city of Nottingham meant I'd not had much reason to use one. This trip was making me determined to change all that.
There were a few random people who walked crookedly past me, trying to keep their footing on the heaving deck, but no one managed to catch my eye. My ploy of finding someone interesting to spend a few hours with didn't seem like such a great idea; I was unsure if I'd be able to stand up, much less get down with a nice bloke. I tried smiling at a few hopefuls as I stumbled about, but I only received blank looks in return.
The ferry made a spectacular pitch as I walked a little further—a strong hand reached out, holding me upright as I threatened to go sprawling down the deck.
"Ya haven't got your sea legs yet, have you, darlin'?" the Irishman asked as he drew me against him. "A wee lass like you shouldn't be out here anyway."
"You're right," I conceded. "I didn't think it would be so rough out here."
He led me back into the body of the ship, into the warm busy section that held the gift shop. I was suddenly reminded to spend my English pounds on souvenirs before I arrived in Ireland, where they used the Euro as currency. I glanced at the shop once more—a big green teddy bear with a four-leaf clover embroidered on his belly seemed to be the level of gift for sale. I might have to keep hold of my money after all.
"I usually like things rough," I said naughtily, "But that sea was too much even for me." The stranger looked at me sideways, grinning as he caught the not-so-hidden pun I'd made.
"How do you feel about something smoother?" he asked.
I fluttered my eyelashes, straightened my rumpled dress around my knees. "My cabin's on level nine," I said, looking him in the eye. "You can show me how smooth you are up there."
The stranger gripped my hand once more. I led him to my room.
* * * *
My new friend's name was Braydon. As well as having nice strong hands and pretty blue eyes, he also had a sweet cock that curved a little at the end. I tasted it once I'd pushed us both inside my cabin. We undressed in a hurry, only stopping when one of us saw something on the other that we really liked. Braydon seemed interested in my thighs, stroking up and down my skin with appreciation.
Braydon bent me face down over the small counter opposite the narrow bed, spreading my legs in a hurry. He stroked me some more, but this time, his hands moved up to my knickers, reaching inside to where I was wet and waiting. The boat rolled and rocked around us. We both steadied ourselves; Braydon wedged himself harder against me, rubbing his cock against my ass. I felt the smooth glide of rubber against my outer lips, the soft but insistent prod as he positioned himself at the entrance of my vagina.
"Smooth," I giggled. But then my giggles turned into noisy gasps as Braydon pushed inside in a slow surge, moving with the liquid motion of the ferry.
"Smooth and easy," he said breathlessly.
I loved being taken from behind. I loved the helpless position, how any movement I made would suck him in even deeper. I ground against him, enjoying the choked sound Braydon made. He was trying to hold on, trying to keep from coming too soon. I was having none of that. I dislodged one of his hands that gripped the counter, sweeping it to my breasts instead. Braydon instantly squeezed it, slamming even harder against me with a syncopated rhythm that made me purr. He adjusted his angle slightly, thrust deeper inside—my body trembled with the force of it. I felt myself coming undone as he played me like a professional. I danced around his cock, crying out as he brought me to a sudden orgasm. Braydon came a split second later, squashing me to the counter as he exploded inside me.
We both toppled backwards once his breathing returned to normal. We fell onto the small bed, laughing like crazy people.
"Fair play, love," Braydon said as he leant on one elbow, looking at me. "This is the way to travel." He swept his damp brown hair from his eyes.
"You're not wrong, mate," I replied. "This beats flying any day. We couldn't have done this on a plane." We both started laughing once more.
We snuggled against each other as the ferry continued to sail across the Irish Sea. I was just starting to drift off into a welcome sleep, when I heard a key in the door of the cabin. Eammon stuck his head around the corner, looking at the scene in delight.
"Jess, you got some action too!" he said happily. "I didn't do too badly myself." Eammon came inside, pulling a bewildered looking man behind him. "Sweetheart, this is Kye. He's a great kisser."
I turned around to where Braydon lay, intending to introduce him, but he was hiding beneath the covers. I yanked the blanket off him.
"Don't be shy, mate. We're all just after a good time," I reassured him.
Braydon peeked up at us, but Eammon stepped forward, his eyes as round as saucers.
"Nano?" Eammon squeaked. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry," Braydon said, holding up his hands. "I didn't know she was with you."
"Ach, I don't mean that. Jess is a sweet girl; I'm glad you two met," Eammon said amicably.
"This is your cousin?" I asked, staring back and forth between the two men. "I thought he was called Nano."
"That's just my DJ name." He looked up at Eammon, before continuing, "Are you sure you're okay with this?"
Eammon simply nodded, before holding out a hand. "Come and give your cousin a hug, you little shit-head!" he called out. Braydon scurried out of bed, and hugged my boyfriend with enthusiasm.
The last addition to the party looked on, with a smile playing around his lips. "I've heard of keeping it in the family, but jeez, this is just crazy." Kye reached out to shake Braydon's hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, and then he kissed me on the lips, slipping his tongue into my mouth in a sneaky move.
"So," Kye addressed Eammon with fake innocence, "Three men and one woman. I've got a few ideas if your lady is up for it."
Eammon shouldered out of his T-shirt, undressing even as he replied, "Jess is up for most things. Why don't you tell her what you've got in mind?"
* * * *
So that's where I started this tale—on my knees in front of three men. I licked and sucked each of them in turn, leaving them teetering on the edge of coming, before I let them surround me. They fisted their cocks urgently. I watched and admired the differing styles they had of jerking off—Eammon used quick strokes, Braydon squeezed his balls in between long touches. Kye rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock as he jerked against my face. They came one after the other as I felt the ferry slow down. The warm globs of come from three different men dripped over my neck, my breasts and my belly as the port of Dublin came into view.
It may have been my imagination, but when the men all helped me up, hugging me in a big messy embrace, I could have sworn I saw a little fishing boat sail alongside, with several men on the deck, holding binoculars to their eyes, looking right up at us.
Dick Pics
I was washing up a stack of cake pans when my flat mate, Rachel came home. With only a few days before the Brighton festival of Bisexuality, or Bi Fest as it was more commonly known, we were both busy with things that needed to be done. I needed to bake several different cakes for the event, three fruited cakes, three sandwiched Victoria sponges, two without eggs, two without nuts, a dairy-free chocolate cake, and at least one without gluten. Hanging around with the bisexual community was fun, but I'd never met such fussy eaters in my life. We may all want to have our cake and eat it too, but next time, they could all just make their own.
Rachel, on the other hand, was busy trying to find a date for the masked ball that would make up the evening celebrations at Bi Fest. I would be going to the ball alone—with all of my cake wrangling, I'd have enough on my hands. Plus, my own attempts at dating were pretty poor; it seemed as if not many people wanted to become romantically involved with someone like me. Someone like me was fat, black, and quiet as a mouse—like a Big Mama, but without the larger-than-life personae to go with it. I was the complete opposite of Rachel, who was a loveable loud girl from Barbados, with a passion for tight skirts and busty tops, even though she was as flat as a pancake.
"Stupid, useless men!" Rachel yelled, wrestling her coat off. It was a cold February; snow threatened to fall every day. I could feel the chill coming off her.
"Your date didn't go so well I take it," I asked, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. I untied my apron, dried my hands, ready for her latest tale of woe.
"I just don't understand, Trish," she wailed, melodramatically. "I put my ad in the women seeking women and men section, but it's just full of losers." She sat on the counter, picking idly at the threads on her frayed skirt. "I didn't notice a women seeking morons section, so why do I get them all?"
"Was it that bad?"
"My date said that he had been saving his last Viagra just for me." I choked on my hot chocolate, looked at her where she pouted miserably. "He said that as we were sitting down to dinner. Can you imagine?"
I couldn't picture someone being that crass; although I was sure Rachel was exaggerating.
“Did he have any redeeming features?" I asked, but Rachel only shrugged. "Well, what did he look like?" I pressed. I may be naïve sometimes, but I always believed that everyone had some good qualities about them.
"Oh he was cute enough. Actually he looked really good, with green eyes, a nice smile, but as soon as he opened his mouth, yuk!"
I tucked a lock of Rachel's long braided hair behind her ear. She patted my hand, and then hopped off the counter. Rachel and I had an easy-going affection; as good friends we shared an apartment together, we hung out most of the time, but we had never dated. I'd never truly convinced myself that I didn't want that—Rachel was absolutely beautiful.