Book 2 is Out: Return of the Bull

Return of the BullHere’s an excerpt from our second Sexcellent Adventure series:

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” he demanded.

I was surprised at his coolness, but turned on, too. I like it when a man takes me, does with me as he pleases.

“Spread your legs,” he said, kneeling in front of me on the bed. “Then touch yourself like you do when you think of me.”

His boldness surged through me as I did as I was told. My right fingers spread my lips apart, explored my pussy, teased my clit, while I grabbed my breast with my left hand. The closer I came to cumming, the harder I pinched my nipple. All the while, I watched Robert stroke himself.

“Now move your hands,” he said as he came toward me, and before he even entered, I could feel him inside me.

He pulled my legs over his shoulders before plunging his cock into me. The angle made him go deeper and I screamed in ecstasy and agony.

To purchase Kindle version on Amazon ($2.99) click HERE.

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New Book Out: Nick and Elise’s Sexcellent Adventures: The Cuckold

Our first eBook is available on Amazon!

NE Amazon Cover

Click on cover to purchase from Amazon.

In this first adventure, Nick and Elise explore the world of cuckolding.

Nick and Elise Sanders are two real people who, after years of repressing their sexuality with other people, feel fortunate to have finally found a loving partner with whom to share fantasies, desires, kinks and most important, love and intimacy.

They do have other careers aside from writing erotica, but writing (and, of course, sex) is their passion. One day, they asked, “Why not combine the two?”
It was then that Nick and Elise began to put their fantasies, even their realities into stories to share with others. Though they have personally experienced many of the scenes included in Nick and Elise’s Sexcellent Adventures, some of what they’ve written is pure fantasy.

They leave it to you to decide which is which.

Click HERE to purchase from Amazon.


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Bare Naked Truth


Last night, as with most nights, after we got into bed, after we finished talking about whether or not we’d be able to bear watching the next episode of Tudors–the beheading of Anne Boleyn, after I snuggled into Nick’s bare chest, inhaled his scent, felt the warmth of his body send shivers through me, his hand began to wander over me, along the curve of my waist, over my hips, to the slight roundness of my bottom. Next, he meandered to my belly, then down, down, to that part of me that always swells and throbs as he approaches.

But last night, the closer he moved toward the hideout of my little sex nub, the harder I tried to hide my smile. Soon, he’d discover my surprise.

FullSizeRender (3)

I’m not sure what happened first, the pause of his hand over my velvet spot, his slight gasp, his widened eyes or his smile.

“You got waxed,” he said, eyes still wide. “You’re so soft!”

Of course, I knew how soft I felt, because I’d already touched myself. Soft as velvet? No. Silk? Maybe. There aren’t many things on this earth softer than a bare, naked  . . . uh . . . I always get stuck here.

What word to you prefer? Nick and I call my sexy central processor a vagina. But I’m sure many find that word too clinical. Anyway, you get the picture.

I was bare–as naked as could be.

There was a time when I’ll admit, I thought it was kind of weird, gross even, that men liked a bare . . . okay, okay, I’ll say it . . . pussy.

What–you want me to look like a little girl?

But, as anyone who reads this blog knows, Nick and I like to play and experiment. With Nick, I feel the freedom to be open-minded, because I know he’s not going to hold me to something I’m not comfortable with.

So, early on, I began waxing my vagina/pussy/twat/beaver. And there was no landing strip to my man cave. No, I went all the way–bare naked.

And I love it.

At least for the first week. Then, of course, I have to deal with stubble, which I hate, but Nick still loves. You see, he loves everything about my vagina. What a lucky girl am I!

Still, I’ve told him that during those few days between silky smooth and the appearance of soft, short pubic hair, the stubble makes me feel uncomfortable and unattractive. So much so, I’ve thought about stopping with the waxing and letting it grow out to it’s luxurious softness again.

But, I feel more exposed (and that makes me feel sexier), even cleaner when I’m bare.

So, now, I’m seriously considering laser treatments.

Stay tuned!


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My Possessiveness


Paddle2Yesterday, Elise spanked me.

With each smack of the paddle, she had me recite these words several times, “You are not mine, Mistress. I don’t own you.”

We had argued the night before about an email from an ex-boyfriend, and after awhile, I finally confessed to her that I’m possessive. I really didn’t think I was that possessive, but events of the past three weeks reminded me that in some ways I am very possessive and very much inclined to want to control.

Here are three thoughts I have about why I feel so possessive:

1) I am closer emotionally, sexually and physically to Elise than I’ve ever been with a woman. I’ve been head-over-heels, crazy in love with her since the start of our relationship, a year and a half ago. When we are connected, I’m buoyant, happy, contented, soaring with sexual excitement or the pleasure of release.  When we are not connected, I usually feel a slight anxiety, a need to get back to her. Our relationship is probably symbiotic, in the sense that I am dependent upon her for a great deal of my day-to-day happiness, and dependent upon her for the deeper more intoxicating exhilaration that comes from being her submissive and her cuckold boy.

2) The second reason I am so possessive is because Elise is a great catch for me. She’s an excellent writer and artist, she’s open-minded, intelligent, kind, affectionate, physically beautiful, likes to laugh, sensual and enjoys D/S play as I’ve described. The latter is no small issue for me, as in both of my previous marriages, neither of my wives ever engaged themselves in D/S play and both stopped being sexual. I turned to porn and cheated in both relationships to get my sexual needs met. Elise is kinky. She likes to play and I think that makes me all the more possessive of her.  She’s a great catch.

3) The third reason I am possessive has to do with not really knowing where Elise stands at times. She has a difficult time saying “no,” to others, as well as to me. There are times when I’m hoping to connect, filled with anticipation and she’s not available. I’ve learned that at times she’s said “yes” when she really wanted to say “no.” This has left me feeling a little unstable and sometimes missed, left out. How could she not have known how crazy I was to hear back from her? I think a lot of this is the result of my world being a little more filled with her than her world is filled with me. I don’t mean that in any way as a measure of commitment. She has more friends and family she’s connected to than I am. And hey, I’m her submissive boy. And though in the real world we are equals, I’ve asked for this in some ways. A good submissive waits for his Mistress.

As much as my feelings may be hurt when I feel missed, I would never want to harm Elise’s sense of independence.  It gives me room to feel my desire, to let it grow, and for my chastity to chafe a little. I want to foster her strength and genuineness and I’m sure not going to do that by whining when she doesn’t call when I expect her too.

So I hope Elise and I can work on this together. I hope she can be strong at times and say “Hey, buddy boy, bend over for another spanking. I’m not yours. You don’t decide what I do or who I see or when I see them.”

Those words make me quiver, and remind me to keep on walking through my possessiveness because I believe the more I can let go, the more our love will open to wider expanses, and to a more genuine, deeper trusting commitment.

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A Quiet, Simple Phrase



Last Saturday had been a long day for Elise. She was stressed and irritated, the culmination of a two and a half week period where she’d basically given herself over to caring for others and it had finally worn her down. Her shoulders and neck were pained, with tension so tight it left her having to turn her entire body to look in a direction other than she was facing, as if she’ been in a car wreck–figuratively she had been–and should be in a neck brace.

Shortly after we arrived in our hotel room, I offered to rub her neck. She undressed down to her panties, and grimaced as she lay down at the end of our oversized bed at the Marriott. My poor sweetie. There was no hint of eroticism in the air as I dug in with my fingertips, pressed deeply, and tried unsuccessfully to massage the tension out.

Afterwards, as she stood and sighed in pain, still weary, Burt Bacharach played softly in the background. I hugged her closely, wrapped her up in my arms and swayed just a little to the music. We were almost dancing, silent, holding on. She hugged me back tightly.

I felt a need to be silent; no attempt at reassurance or comforting words. I thought if comfort came, it would come physically, by holding and moving gently. We swayed together for a few songs, then kissed, loosened our grip to caress and then kissed more, moving from ease and steadiness into a spark of arousal, the beginning play of erotic touch.

Soon the heat burst through and there was nothing else, only her lips, her eyes which though tired, now sparkled, and her neck which I began to kiss and lick, tickling her at times, so she pushed me away.

“Get in the shower now,” she said, breathless. Her arms kept me at a distance. I was sweaty from a long walk earlier in the day and needed a shower, but it didn’t matter.

I kissed her harder, tickled her neck with my tongue, bit softly, grasped her hair, took off her panties, pushed her against the wall and fingered her, one then two, raised her up on her toes, so she moaned. I had her pinned. I kissed her again, my fingers moving in and out of her wetness.

I turned her around and told her to bend over the bed, then stepped into the bathroom and undressed quickly, returning hard.

She was offering me her naked bottom. I entered her, quickly, awkwardly at first then finally thrust deeply, holding her hips, hearing the delicious smack of my torso against her butt as I went deep.

Elise loves to be taken, loves to be taken from behind. I knew that. But it’s also a more distant way to fuck. It separates us and I didn’t want that. I rolled her over, kissed her and eventually came hard and deep inside her.

We were quiet for a long time. We kissed.

She said, “I love you.”

I smiled and said the same words back. I turned off the lights. We were still, quiet. I listened to her breathe. My mind went back over the scene. I could see her bottom thrust back, bare, her small private hole exposed.

I grinned more awake now, and asked, “You like it from behind don’t you?” I knew her answer.

There was a long pause.

“I do like it,” she said, then added without hesitation, “I can imagine you’re someone else.

Her words flipped on my cuckold-submissive switch. I smirked and got hard again and pressed against her as we lay together nearing sleep. I wanted her again but as stirred up as her brief words left me feeling, I was depleted and tired, and I knew she was, too.

I fell asleep with a grin.

I awoke in the morning desirous, wondering who it was she’d imagined as I was inside her, but I never asked. I was hard and Elise stroked me until I came, teasing me just a little.

Part of being a cuckold is not knowing. That is the romantic in me, a little torn by the possibility of not being chosen, feeling eluded, knowing I never really see her completely, knowing there’s a space between us I am always trying to rewin, a garden only she can water, can let me enter.

Elise doesn’t need another guy’s cock to let me know I’m her cuckold boy. One quiet, simple phrase whispered in my ear can remind me in an instant.

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Our Sexploration

wrong way


Sometimes the only way to discover the right path is to discover the wrong path. In the last few days, Nick and I found we’d gone “the wrong way” on our sexploration path to intimacy.

Our latest walk on the cuckold journey began a few weeks ago, when I was contacted by a prospective bull I’d met last year, shortly before Nick and I had decided cuckolding wasn’t quite right for us. Several months later, as my internal scale tipped more toward the side of desire/pleasure vs. worry/guilt/shame (usually so unbearably heavy!) I received the email from Mr. X–a perfect opening to give it a try again.

Needless to say, Nick heated up over the thought of me with another man, for his internal scale, we’ve decided, is weighted the exact opposite of mine:

nick scale (1)

Nick’s desire is full tilt–usually. But there have been times, as we approach the “event,” that his scale tips toward worry surrounding my interaction with another man, whether it is my safety or his concerns that the Bull and I will develop a relationship beyond sex, a relationship that will exclude him.

Elise scale (1)

My guilt/shame/worry is full tilt–usually. That is, until the “act” approaches and certainly during the “act” when my scale shifts to desire in heavy mode. Shortly after the “event,” my scale goes back to its “normal,” which is heavily weighted toward guilt/shame/worry.

Anyway, back to what happened in the last few days.

I went on a date with Mr. X, to get reacquainted after so many months, and, of course, to discuss the possibility of cuckolding Nick, who waited at home, hot and anxious to hear all about it.

When I arrived home, I sprinkled whisperings of what Mr. X and I had talked about into a night of very hot, pounding sex.

“He wants to be dominant,” I said, as Nick pinched my nipple. “And he likes short skirts and stockings. I think I’ll wear fishnets,” I whispered as Nick entered me. When Nick turned me over and took me from behind, I turned to look at him and said, “This is both Mr. X’s and my favorite position.”

Nick was hot, hot, hot. And when he gets that hot, it lasts for days. It’s what begins to tip the balance of my inner scale to desire/pleasure.

All the while, his scale is tipping the other way, as talk of the “event” gets closer, as communications with Mr. X heated up, as Mr. X asked for photos of me, until finally, Nick expressed that he wasn’t so sure he was comfortable with what appeared to be a relationship blossoming between Mr. X and me–even though I shared everything with Nick.

Nick admitted he’d hesitated to let me know his concerns, lest it interfere with the success of the cuckold.

I told him I thought there were times he needed to put his passion aside, and listen to his inner voice.

Somehow, I can’t say exactly how or why, we ended up arguing. Nick’s temper flared about his perception that a relationship was blossoming, and my temper flared because I felt I’d done nothing wrong.

Finally, I asked, “Why are we doing this? We rarely argue about anything, and now look at what we’re arguing about. We’re arguing because you’re not so sure you want me doing something that I’m pretty darned sure I don’t want to be doing except that it turns you on.”

The next day, I wrote an email to Mr. X, apologizing for drawing him into the situation. I told him of some of the complications that had arisen, and told him that for me, when complications arise, it takes all the fun out of it. I copied Nick on the email.

And so, on this sexploration, we took a bit of a wrong turn, and turned around to come back. But it doesn’t mean Nick and I won’t continue to sexplore.

For now, we’ve decided that perhaps our best method of cuckolding is to go to a swing club, where we have the experience of the “act” itself, but it’s wham-bam-thank-you-m’am, with none of the lead-up that can add complications.

After some hot, swinging sex, Nick and I will leave together, go home, light a few candles and revel in the hot, sultry light of the event for days to come.


When I was a little boy, my grandfather used to look at my over-filled dinner plate and tell me, “Nicky, your eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

Now, as an adult, when it comes to cuckold play, my fantasies it turns out, are bigger than my readiness to live in their reality. This past weekend fantasy and reality collided. I’m sure it was confusing for Elise and the guy she was getting to know.

While I have reveled  in fantasies about being Elise’s cuckold boy, about her being out on a date, fucking a bull, coming home with her pussy filled with cum which I submissively, hungrily, lap up, like some cuckold in a story commonly found on cuckold blogs and forums, I am learning that there are limitations to what I want in reality.

Last week Elise went out on her first date in almost a year. I was incredibly excited.  We’d decided to stop cuckolding back in August, though Elise didn’t close the door all the way. We still talked about it. She teased me, put me in chastity, dommed me and hinted she might enjoy going back to a swing club. Now she’d reconnected with a bull and was headed out to meet him.

She looked beautiful when I walked into the house. She’d waited for me to get home from work. I kissed her goodbye on the lips a little too passionately, so she scrunched up her face, and said, “Now I have to redo my lipstick.”

Though I was heated way up as Elise left on her date and stayed heated up as she sent me naughty texts and even a picture of her kissing Mr. X on the cheek, I had a vague concern I hadn’t shared with her because I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.

Her date was with the bull she’d met last year who was married and looking for a lover. Last year he wanted to spend time meeting Elise at hotels alone, with just him, before I would be a part of the scene. I was sure that wouldn’t work for me and Elise seemed to agree. So after their first meeting, she wrote him an email saying we would both need to participate even if I was in a room next door, while they played.  He never wrote us back. Apparently that wouldn’t work for him.

She was out for several hours. I stayed home writing, pacing, listening to music and checking my phone for a text every minute. She teased me with texts every 20 minutes or so, keeping me on edge. There was always the possibility they might head to a hotel–we had talked about that being a possibility. Finally she texted she was on the way home.

She arrived hot. We kissed for a long time in the doorway and then again in the kitchen. It was like the first time again. She undressed quickly, shushed the cats out of the bedroom and got into bed, flushed and with that wide, thin smile she gets when she is feeling really naughty.

She shared little details. Teased me, wouldn’t let me inside her. Said she was keeping me in chastity. I’d cum enough the day before. But I begged.

“Tough shit,” she huffed, her eyes steady. She talked about their conversation. He liked anal and oral and a specific kind of lingerie. He was Dom, liked a woman in a dress, not dressed like she was, liked to take a woman doggie style, just the way she liked it, too. I was rock hard for her, all hers.

“Are you going to cuckold me, Mistress?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, with a strength that made me shudder and slip deep into my submissive space. She’d never been so clear and direct with me. She was hot. I was fucking her but it seemed clear there was someone else in the room.

She eventually let me cum. We settled down a bit to talk. It was then the first sting hit me, when he texted her saying she had a nice kiss.  I’d thought she was keeping her phone private.

“I can’t respond,” she told me. “He’s married and he doesn’t want his wife to know.” So his marriage was no longer open.

Mr. X and Elise had planned that he and I would meet to discuss future meetings, perhaps just Elise and him, perhaps then the three of us, Elise said that would be up to Mr. X and me to work out.

This seemed reasonable but by morning I was not comfortable. It was clear Mr. X was going to be in the background of our relationship for some time.

Elise assured me that no, he didn’t want romance this time. Yes he was open to me participating and wanted to meet me. Maybe,  she said, we could all be friends and eventually go to the swinger party together. I thought the plan sounded reasonable. I wasn’t comfortable but didn’t come right out and tell Elise that. I was still under the spell of my cuckold fantasy, needing it. These old boundaries I had, maybe I could let go of them.

Elise seemed to have gone quiet though. She didn’t want to blog about it.  I asked her to write what had changed about her interest in cuckolding and she said, “Nothing except that my fear and guilt have waned. My desire to turn you on has grown.”

“What do you want to have happen with Mr. X?” I asked.

“Maybe we play a few times and then become friends. ” She added that she really thought going to a swing club would be much less complicated, though she still seemed to want to see this through with Mr X.

I was uneasy. We had not ventured into the realm of having an ongoing relationship with a bull. Still I thought maybe I could meet him and we could work out a way of getting together that worked for both of us.

As I prepared and thought about what was most important to me, I realized that my main desire and concern was that nothing be hidden, no hidden emails, no undisclosed texts, everything out in the open.  What I really wanted was no ongoing exclusive relationship between Mr. X and Elise. I didn’t want another guy in the background of our relationship.

No love triangles, no polyamorous relationships, just a cuckolding threesome. If Elise wanted me out of the room for a while while she and a bull got warmed up that would fine, I’d done that. But at the end of the night, I wanted it to be just us. No more bull with us the following day.

I sent Mr. X a response to his email about our meeting and let him know that Elise had tried on some fishnet stockings she thought he might like. I copied Elise, of course. Mr. X however didn’t respond to me, instead sent a request to Elise, asking for pictures of her in lingerie.

Elise sent me a copy right away and asked if I thought she should reply. I wrote back that I thought it was okay and that I could understand why he hadn’t copied me. I could understand but I didn’t like it. A big, big understatement. It raised again, all my red flags that had been raised last year.

That night when I got into bed with Elise, she showed me the pictures she emailed him. I told her that I was struggling with some real ambivalence about going forward. I felt uncomfortable, like he had another agenda, though I couldn’t be sure.

Elise grew irritated. She’d been doing the best she could to bring something off she really didn’t want and here I was suggesting she wasn’t doing it right. We fought loudly. In the end we agreed it wasn’t going to work this way. We needed to stop the engagement.

We made love. Elise and I have incredible chemistry. After we did I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t let go. I got up and wrote an email to both her and Mr. X, stating that we needed to get it over with and do it soon. No meeting. No hidden communication. We’d just go to a hotel, do it this week and then say goodbye.

Elise read the email the next morning and was pissed. “I thought we agreed it was over?”

I realized that we had agreed to that, but for some reason I felt a need to write what I did.

Elise wrote an email that morning to Mr. X, apologizing for pulling him into the situation. I felt a little dumb, but relieved and also relieved that I’d communicated what kind of boundaries I wanted.

I learned two things from the experience:

  1. That the intensity of my fantasy can cause me to disregard boundaries and limits that are important for my well being. Some time down the road I may feel more secure with Elise having an ongoing relationship with a bull but not now.
  2. The joy of cuckolding is being in an erotic space with Elise where I’m her submissive and she’s enjoying her sexuality with another man. That space for me needs to be limited and clearly defined, likely a one time event,  such as a one time encounter at a swing club or possibly a night with a bull we’ve recently met together.

I’m sure Elise and I will have hot adventures down the road and most likely, we’ll make some wrong turns. But as always, we’ll learn from our mistakes.

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She Broke into a Laugh

We got to her bedroom and began to make love. The room was dark. I quickly wanted inside. I was hungry for her, greedy. Nothing languid and slow in my thrusts. 
She began whispering to me and told me a story about a bell boy at the hotel she’d visited that morning.
I leaned into her. “What about Ed?” Her ex, she’d fucked on her trip home.
“You want to hear the whole story?” she whispered quietly to me as I thrust into her. 
“God, yes,” I huffed. I swelled.  
She began going through the details. She sat on his face, something she’d only done once with me. “I liked the feeling.” She’d sucked him. He’d fingered her while she orgasmed. I burned and thrust and weighed into her deeper and deeper as I listened.  
She was hypnotizing me. I wanted to wrap her into me, merge and man I tried. I thickened and soared. 
He got behind her to fuck her. She’d played with herself while he did. She heard, felt him building, going in harder, and then he came in her. 
I was breathless, the wave rising hard and fast in me. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so solid with desire, so completely wanting. I pinned her, thrust and drove in, my cock, I swear, nudging the back of her womb as my groan turned to a cry. 
I poured myself out and into her and came. I finished breathless, gasping, burying my head in her neck. I could hear her half giggle and hug me against her nakedness tightly, clinging. Could smell her breath. 
I pulled back to look at her. She was grinning, Cheshire Cat-like. I shook my head.  She looked young, awoken, more feminine. She had taken all I had to offer.  
“Baby,” I huffed worn out,  “you liked that didn’t you?”
She interrupted, broke into a laugh, brightening as though she lit a new light in her soul, surprised at herself, her words rang out, “I did! I did!” 
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