Three Tales of Erotica

By Robin J. Kingsley

Three short novels (over 200 pp). Amsterdam: Fresh out of college, a woman begins her career as a photo journalist with a magazine that features nude male models, beginning her exploration of the world of handsome, well-hung men with great physiques. The List: A woman reminisces about the various partners she has known. The Wife's Cuckold-Husband: A loving husband comes to terms with the fact that he has lost fucking rights with his wife to a superior male yet desperately wants to remain her husband.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin J. Kingsley
• Release date: May 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223133681

Book preview

Chapter 1

Leaving New Haven

She did not move to Boston—she fled to it. She took the job for two reasons: it was the first place where she could get an interview, and it was not New Haven. It was not that she disliked New Haven, where she had just graduated from college, it was that she had to escape from it. She ended up thankful to take the risqué job of photographer for a women's magazine that showed off nude males, even though that had not been her photo-journalist career goal.

How did she do in her interview with what was to be her future boss? She violated several basic human resources principles of how prospective employees should show off their wares. Her entrance, as one would call it in the realm of stage or film, was not an elegant strut across the reception area to announce her presence, but rather a somewhat ugly scene. She was rain-drenched, dripping water and making a disturbing slurping sound with each step that sounded like she was stepping on frogs. Breathless is an effective technique for an actress in some scenes in a movie; it’s not a good technique showing up for a job interview. It didn't help that the companion she brought did not measure up to the office’s dress standards. Ruffie was her long-haired mutt, very friendly and very large, very appropriately named after the dog Dennis the Menace had in the comics. The receptionist was at first astonished, then simply disdainful. When this disheveled girl said her name was Tania Peters and that she had had an appointment with the boss, the receptionist was peeved. Instead of calling to announce the visitor, she got up and went in to the boss’s office to explain the situation in person.

Her boss was in her fifties, which she thought was the best time of her life to date even though she had enjoyed the hell out of her 40s, 30s, and 20s. She calmly noticed her receptionist’s excitement and concern, listened to her account, and then laughed like she had just heard a very good bawdy joke and said, Damn! Just what I need. I’m worried about the interest rate on our next line of credit, and you bring me a wet wench with a dog! That’s much more fun. My lucky day. Show her in.

When the receptionist led the interviewee and her companion in, damp regions on the carpeting immediately following them, the dog tried to lunge forward gregariously to jump up and lick the editor, but was held back, barely, by her master holding the leash, who skidded a few feet across the carpet before she stopped him. Her future boss paused for a moment and then said, Look what the dog dragged in?

She went on. So did you lie on your resume? Letting that spear hit its mark, she went on, Because I thought you were pretty damn good running the 1500 meters in college from what you list here on your résumé, but it looks like since then you decided to take up swimming. What stroke did you use to get here?

Half laughing and half crying, the interviewee answered: "I’m so sorry about how wet we are.

You see, continued the interviewee, I had to leave New Haven quickly. A guy I had dated once, and I literally mean once, turned out to be not only a jerk but a jerk with a drug habit and violent tendencies and I don't know what he would have done to me in my apartment if the landlady hadn't intervened, scolding me for how much noise we were making. We" were making noise because he had shoved the door open, popping my security chain, and was beginning to push me against the wall.

"After the land lady’s intervention made him leave, I was thinking about the college magazine piece I wrote about doors, a long photo essay illustrated with photos of all kinds of doors—doors as the protectors of privacy, doors that open to confer upon the invitee the privilege of entering another’s space, doors that one wishes to knock on but are too hesitant to ever do, etc. etc.—all that sophomore stuff. Well, actually, I was a junior, but some of us act sophomoric longer than others. At that moment, I realized a door can have the same role as a medieval primitive gate or portcullis that was meant to keep out invaders who wanted to do you physical harm.

Anyway, I needed to get to the rental car agency in time for this appointment because the chaos at the apartment building got me behind. I was walking quickly down the street with Ruffie—this is Ruffie.

Thank you for introducing us, Tania. Hello, Mr. Ruffie, replied the editor, nodding to the wet, long-haired beast lying on her carpet that was licking himself in various places. He perked up his ears, at least as much as floppy ears can perk. Continue. So, this being rather rainy weather, did you think it wise to rent a convertible and put the top down? You seem a bit damp.

I’m sorry I’m so wet. I’m afraid I’m soaking your seat.

My seat has been soaked on a number of occasions, but this interview isn’t triggering that response. Please continue, Tania.

Tania took a breath and tried to calm down. Being chilled didn’t help. So, I was going to rent a car, when two guys walking past me the other way suddenly team up to knock me down and take my purse. Ruffie was terrific, standing there barking, protecting me. But on the other hand, the thugs ran off with my purse. I knew I couldn’t get replacement credit cards and then rent a car and then get here all by this afternoon. The Greyhound bus station was nearby, so we ran for it.

The bus? I didn’t know they let dogs—if that’s a yak rather than a dog please correct me—I didn’t know they let dogs on buses these days.

I went ahead and, well, I lied. I faked like I was blind and Ruffie was my blind dog.

Holy shit! What expertise at deception and deceit? Are you lying now!

No, that’s the truth. I mean, I was lying then, but not now. And the really amazing thing is....everyone believed it. I sort of crossed my eyes and looked up diagonally at the ceiling, and stutter-stepped along with my guide dog leading me—he doesn’t look like a malamute but he thinks he is, and he assumes a leash is a harness. I would say words like forward and of course he would go forward. I could have said Seattle or St. Petersburg and Ruffie would have gone straight ahead.

Oh fuck! The boss laughed hard, as if she had just heard a very, very dirty joke, though once she was eventually hired, the young interviewee was to hear just how loudly and crudely her boss could laugh when actually hearing an off-color joke.

An elderly lady was quite helpful, telling the driver as I got on that I was blind. I felt like a jerk betraying her confidence, but perhaps if she had known what I was doing she would have been a partner in my subterfuge anyway. The driver said the wet dog couldn't get on his bus, but the lady read him the riot act and some language that sounded like it came from a restraining order to the effect he should cease and desist." She lectured him that it wasn't his bus, it was the company's bus, and the company existed to provide service to customers under the rules of interstate commerce regulated by the federal government, especially for needy customers such as the sight-impaired. He had a name tag on and she said, So, Mr. Jeffries—let me get that spelling straight, two fs, in case I have to make a complaint—why don't we just forget about your rudeness, and she held me by the hand and led me on. Maybe I’ll meet that nice lady from New Haven someday and be able to repay her, or perhaps we will go off together at midnight and play a prank on a fraternity, maybe a jock strap raid. She was so very nice, even as Ruffie licked her hand more than she wanted, which was not at all. I’ve never done anything so bad."

Oh my dear, if that is the worst thing you’ve done, you need a lot more mischief in your life to spice it up. So then what?

"Once we got seated, and I had Ruffie at my feet, and—surprise, surprise—no one decided to sit next to us, I thought we had it made.

"When my guard was down, however, Ruffie showed just how quickly he could lunge across the aisle of a bus and snatch a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich out of a kindergarten-aged kid’s hand. The kid froze—his eyes and mouth wide open in amazement. By the time he burst out crying my canine ninja had stealthily returned to our side of the aisle and had swallowed all of the evidence. The mother’s main concern was the commotion caused and not wanting to embarrass the disabled person across the aisle.

"Then, when we got to the bus station in Boston and we were getting off, the driver solicitously helped me down the stairs. But then Ruffie burst loose and ran off.

"Actually, that’s overstating it; he more or less galumphs, rather than runs. I sprinted off after him into the street, and all I remember about the next few seconds are three things.

"First was the stunned look on the face of the elderly lady who had befriended us, looking at Ruffie and me, putting her hand up over her face so as not to see the imminent tragedy of a blind girl getting run over. Even in that moment of total fear, I felt the irony of that. I grabbed Ruffie's leash but he had enough momentum to yank me forward so that we ended up spilled on the pavement.

"Then there was the sound of another Greyhound bus that was driving in to off-load, slamming on its brakes, which is somewhat like a regular car-tire kind of screech but with a very loud heavy grunt added in.

And third, there was the incredible size of the front tire of the bus that came to a stop a few feet from my face. I never knew the tire on a bus was so huge!

I was beyond shame at that point and didn't feign blindness. I managed to stop a taxi but when I asked what the fare would be it turned out I could only pay for getting within a mile or two of your building, so we did the rest on foot. That’s when we got wet. That’s all.

That’s all? the editor asked dryly. That’s all? Either you’re the biggest damn liar or the best damn nonfiction story teller I’ve heard in a long time. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Tell you what. I already looked at the portfolio you sent. Now I know you've got the balls to do this job. You know the salary. And you are aware your subject matter will be nude hunks, not doors, I presume? Yes? Then it's settled. You're hired. Deal? She reached across the table and as they shook hands, Tania burst out in tears, mumbling thank you, thank you through her sobs. The boss handed her the box of tissues—you can tell who is the boss because there's always a box of tissues on the desk. When you fire people, sometimes they cry. People don’t usually cry when they’re hired, but it had been an emotional day for Tania.

The boss picked up the phone and talked to the receptionist: Tell Brenda to come here, please.

As Tania was getting control of her tears, Brenda knocked and came in. Brenda, meet Tania, our new hire for that open position. She's had the misfortune of being stalked, then mugged, and then, as you can see, she forgot to take her clothes off when she took a shower. Would you be so kind as to take her home with you for the night? She needs to get new credit cards, driver's license, etc.? I’ll give her a cash advance. She can shack up in the hotel down the street until she finds a place.

Chapter 2

Her First Story

Tania’s first story rapidly climatized her to the work culture of the magazine. It was a story on a prominent rock music couple, or rather threesome. The wife, the lead singer, was known for the way she sometimes stroked her husband's crotch as he played the guitar on stage. She was bi-sexual and had a live-in lesbian lover. There were two interviews and two photo sessions: one at the studio and one at the house. There was also one dinner.

At first, she felt as out of place as a docent in a whorehouse, but the first photo session she directed in the studio ended up quite well. She played those photos very straight, almost like shooting a portrait session or getting passport photos done, except the three people being pictured had parts of their bodies clothed and parts not, and as for the male, the part that wasn't was his privates. She got some quotes out of them as she posed them on the studio's large bed and by some floor-to-ceiling windows, such as the wife saying how her husband's guitar takeoffs were especially inspired when she clutched his balls in the recording studio. Once she had in fact gone down on him at one of their concerts at intermission when they were behind a wall of amplifiers but still visible to a portion of the audience. Videos posted by fans became quite popular on the Internet.

At their house, she had them explain how they lived, and they showed her the various rooms in the mansion so she could figure out where to pose them. Their bed was specially made, looking like two king-sized beds in one, but then again, with three people taking up space and engaging in various sex acts, one needs room to maneuver. Their nickname for the huge bed was Montana. So would they mind a photo of the three lounging in Montana? They not only obliged, the wife and her girlfriend started to get it on after Tania had the photos she needed, so she had the man show her his music collection, a vast room filled with mostly guitars but also other instruments. She had him pose with a few of his favorite guitars, posing nude—some with the guitar covering the key area, some having him hold the guitar so the bottom half of his dick hanging down was exposed, some with all of him showing. In the event, all three of those photos ran, a lovely striptease triptych.

Threesomes these days are not that uncommon, but a domicile with a husband and wife and wife's lover, now living together for eight years, was a bit out of the ordinary. The man explained it very simply. She is a wife who needs a man, and she also needs a woman. I'm lucky enough to be her man.

The lesbian said quickly, And I'm lucky enough to be her woman.

And the wife added, And I'm doubly lucky, a very needy, greedy, lucky lady.

It made Tania wonder how many marriages had disintegrated when one more person was added to the mix, and how many of those might have evolved into something as stable and satisfying as these three people enjoyed.

The wife's lover reported that it was quite easy to share the same bed. You know, he is such a generous cuckold. There are several positions when we ‘go to Montana’ in which I can give my dearest cunnilingus while he is fucking her. She’s a naughty lucky lady!

Did the lesbian ever ball the husband? No, I have a chromosomal preference for the YY type. However, she did use a dildo that she and the wife shared that was an exact match for his penis.

And it works out fine for you? Tania asked him. After all, you're in bed with two very attractive women, but only having sex with one of them.

She's a great dyke. She lets me look her over all I want, and she knows it turns me on. She indulges me. He leaned over and gave her a kiss. I massage her sometimes after she and the wife have exhausted each other. Decent massage is it?

Oh my god it's the best. He's so good. It's as if he's wrestling with me, twisting me around, pulverizing my back and ass, kneading my thighs up by my crotch. Sometimes I let you massage my labia, my fluff boy getting me ready for your wife. Sorry, my dearest, but he's much better than you at massage. He has that delicate male touch...kind of like a sledgehammer. He massages the way he fucks, achieving total conquest. But he can also be a very dutiful cuckold, our nude manservant bringing us our lattés in bed. I do love him so.

At the dinner with them, which came about as an informal extension of the interview at the house, she had ended up in the hot tub, the four of them laughing hysterically about pleasantly witty things that their high-grade marijuana made profoundly humorous and which were completely unprintable come the morning—not because they were so hedonistically extreme, but because they were so silly and banal or simply couldn’t be remembered or if she could remember some of the conversation it didn’t make much sense. Putting her camera on a tripod Tania asked them if they would mind another group picture. They agreed, as long as she was part of the group. Thus, she had ended up in one of her more well-known photos. Looking at it afterward, she felt embarrassed, but it was obvious from the grin on her face that at that moment she was having a great time, and the boss decided to run the photo. The gist of her accompanying article was that she found the female-female sexuality to be as erotically worthy of the camera as the male-female variety, and she enjoyed the company of the women, but no, she didn’t have the inclination to indulge in that particular sport.

One of the most alluring shots in the article actually wasn’t by her. As his wife was refreshing her make-up, looking in the mirror, he grabbed one of the cameras and stood behind her taking a few shots. It was not only a great shot that Tania hadn’t thought of, it was an extra erotic twist that visually told the reader how that picture was made.

After her first story ran, the boss called her in, asked how Ruffie was, and gave her a bonus on the spot. It wasn’t a huge amount to the magazine, but it was immense to the recipient, and it made her something of a peer of the other staff who had been there much longer. They would have been a little spiteful and jealous except that her naiveté was so genuine they had a hard time doing that. They were also sympathetic about why she had to get out of Dodge so quickly.

Chapter 3

Muscle

In Tania’s piece on male muscle her subjects had her continually aroused, partly due to the impressive aesthetics, as when viewing a statue such as the discus thrower, or David with his luscious balls, and partly because she was erotically stimulated, as when staring at a magazine photo of a gorgeous hunk of nude manhood whose eyes stare at you from the page as you masturbate your way to a climax, seeing bulging pecs and big genitalia in your peripheral vision as you stare into his eyes, then your eyes focus clearly on that delicious looking phallus and low-hanging balls, then back again to his eyes. From the reader surveys the company did, it was obvious the articles she was in charge of were using up vibrator batteries at a great rate.

From the photos of possibles, she picked out two superb specimens of the male physique. Even one would have been excessive, one might have thought. There’s more complexity to a Shakespearean sonnet than a limerick, more species of birds in the tropics than the desert, and there’s one hell of a lot more topography to a body builder’s body than is the case with the ordinary male's. Merely following the shape of one of these guys from clavicle to steeply undercut pec was worthy of a close-up. The arms were excessive exhibits of muscle upon muscle, and when tensed up for their poses, she could actually see why ripple was the right word to use in describing how their bulges hardened in turn as the man twisted around slowly going from standing to kneeling, each set of muscles in turn showing off.

She had them do several poses in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, a set-up clearly showing her with her camera in the reflection, knowing many of her readers would stare at the image and wonder: which one would she screw? The answer was both, but she left that personal part out of the story. Her boss casually asked her how well they had fucked her, surprising her with having found out so quickly, though having shared the guys with her photographic assistant, who was a total slut, she should have known that information would get leaked. Tania photographed her assistant getting used by the men and then the assistant documented how thoroughly they serviced Tania. Those photos were a bit too extreme to be published, but they made nice keepsakes. Quickly saying she didn't mean to violate any rules, her boss even more quickly interrupted and said Rules? Rules that would prevent you from enjoying these studs? The most handsome, well-built, well-hung studs you are ever going to see? Lady, you may be becoming my best writer and my best photographer, and if you weren't getting turned on and enjoying the boys you wouldn't be as good. Besides, our boys like an occasional perk to go along with their compensation. None has ever complained about a staff girl scoring with a model. The magazine had developed a plan for annually issuing a book or two that contained more explicit sex photos than were published in the magazine, and the boss had Tania carefully archive all of her more graphic photos.

Tania had a voluptuous female weightlifter model come in to pose as the masseuse of the two hunks. Her well-oiled body was almost man-like with bulging muscles. Her short-nailed hands obviously pressed with great force on her subjects. The shot of this nude woman kneeling behind the backs of the models, firmly grasping both men around their thighs where the multiple sinews of those leg muscles extended up into the abdomen, her thumbs a short distance from their plump, dangling, shaven genitalia, was a classic, perhaps even more erotic than the next pose where she had the manhood of both firmly in hand. Or the next, where her grasp on those heavy, plump pricks brought them close enough to her face for one to rub her cheek while the other was being kissed and sucked. Tania had to tell her when to cool her lust to get some usable photos.

The erection photos of these two hunks were shot with high-contrast lighting, the gleaming contours of those stiff male organs seeming to be made of the same hard stuff as the sweaty, oiled up sartorius or rectus abdominus muscles nearby.

She had her assistant photographer shoot furiously in the minutes right after her two models had almost been primed to fully-hard erections by the staff's fluff girl, during that photogenic period when the cock is heavy, distended with its load of blood with its veins expressed, but is more flexible than stiff. She knew what her readers would be fantasizing about, how those heavy-hanging genitals would become aroused and ready to screw. You have to give your readers some blanks to fill in.

One of her models had a nice heavy prick extending down below his balls, while the other, even though his member was longer, had low-hanging nards that hung down even lower, ripe and heavy, looking even larger than life when she got on her back on the floor and pointed her camera up at the genitals. Once hard, the models seemed to take forever to lose the rigidity of their phalluses. This delayed shooting the limp prick photos of them a while. Tania always like to show the guy's flaccid penis as well as when it was erect so the reader could imagine starting to fondle and suck it to get it hard enough to fuck, or a reader could imagine cuddling with it after it had orgasmed.

The two guys alternated working out with their female bodybuilder, literally working out by lifting her in various ways. One pose had one man holding her by the legs with her powerful arms doing push-ups in a wheelbarrow position, her taut tits touching and squishing against the floor as she did so, while the man driving the wheelbarrow was burying his prick deep inside her. In that position she could also go down on the other model’s cock as he was lying on his back. Women have commonly experienced intercourse with the male in the push-up position, but rarely the reverse push-up position: one of the males lied on his back, gripping her at the waist to lift her a few inches till her breasts squished against his chest while her pussy was anchored to his erection, she doing planks that each split second made different muscles swell. In another scene, Tania had her straddle a supine guy lying on a narrow weight-lifting bench. Tanis gave her instructions as to how to slowly take in all of the cock and then rise up to almost release it from her cunt's grasp, sometimes holding the pose, and the dick, for fifteen seconds to get various angle shots. The woman moaned slightly and was quickly asked if she felt OK, to which she replied she felt very very much OK. Can I fuck him? It seemed rude to deprive her of a sense of completion, so Tania told her that