Here Be Smut

M. Christian is an extraordinary chameleon of a writer.

The first story I read was a bit of lesbian erotica, and I was quite dubious years later to see the author referred to with a male pronoun. He writes quite convincingly from every possible perspective about things that he has not necessarily experienced. And more than that, he's just a damn good writer.

So I was awed and honored the first time he asked if I would contribute a piece to his blog Frequently Felt. I complied, of course, and have sent him a few more pieces since then.

Not long ago, he asked for another story. My attempt at writing something specifically for him fizzled out, but I had recently created something for my Master's amusement and arousal, and the sadist generously permitted me to share it. Well, I suspect it was more than mere generosity. He is proud of me, and of course my successes reflect on him, as if I were a prize race horse and he were owner, trainer, and jockey, all rolled into one.

The story, Tailgate Party, appeared today for the first time anywhere outside of the sadist's inbox. It's one of the hotter, more explicit pieces I've written, as my owner loves to read about strange cocks pounding into me. So gather your vibrators, grease up your palms, and head on over to to M. Christian's place, which is the only place you can read it.

OK, since you insist, I'll give you the first few lines here:

You gather with the guys for an afternoon of football, beer, and debauchery.

"Toss me a beer," one friend says.
"Send over the chips," says another.
"Have some pussy," you offer.

Damn, I wrote the thing, and it gets me wet and twitchy!

Go read and masturbate.