Nuts About You: A Testicular Cancer Anthology

by Anthology

  Straining against her wrist restraints, Nora screamed in the throes of pleasure even as she continued to match him thrust for thrust.

  “Oh Sir I’m very close… Mmm…” Nora’s felt the tidal waves closing in and threating to drown her completely.

  “That’s right pet, cum for daddy!” Dante groaned as he adjusted his angle of entry so that his thickly veined shaft brushed against her clitoris.

  Not quite a few seconds after he spoke those magic words, Nora wound her legs around Sir Dante’s waist and locked her ankles tightly behind his back.

  “Oh fuck!” He moaned as he felt her walls tighten around his shaft just as she spiralled into a shuddering climax.

  Dante continued to ram his cock in and out of her faster and harder even as Nora continued to ride the crest of the orgasmic waves. It seemed to carry on forever.

  He wasn’t far behind as she heard his guttural groan, his back arched and his cock jammed deep inside her. The entire room blacked out and Dante lost track of time and space for a moment.

  When the sights and sound of his surroundings returned into focus, Dante rolled off to the lay beside Nora.

  Dante snuggled up to her as he drew her into his embrace. They kissed and cuddled as they each took a breather and withdrew into their private thoughts.

  A fundamental question was settled that night; he and Nora were good together. His instinct had led him to explore the depth of her consciousness for an inner freak, she probably never even knew existed, and now that he had succeeded not only in finding it, but also liberating it, he knew they were onto a great thing. Nora was a pet to keep.

  His train of thought was interrupted by Nora sonorous voice.

  “Thank you Sir Dante…” Nora said softly.

  “For what pet?” Sir Dante asked.

  His question was greeted by silence, as Nora had dozed off and was now sleeping peacefully in his arms.

  The End

  Don Abdul is an award winning poet and published author of erotic romance in his 40s.

  His journey as an author started as a teenager when he discovered creative writing as an escape from the dullness of small town life. His deeply rooted love for writing eventually led him into the world of sizzling erotica where he has established himself as a master poet and author of sizzling erotic romance stories.

  To date, he has three critically acclaimed erotic poetry books to his credit. This is in addition to over a dozen erotic romance books.

  Some of his other works of erotic fiction have been published under the Nom de plume, Tyrese Jordan.

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  Duched

  (A Deleted Scene)

  “Taco Tuesday”

  By

  Xavier Neal

  This is a deleted scene from my novel “Duched” which is the first book in the Duched trilogy.

  However, because I wanted this portion to be able to be read as a standalone in addition, it has been edited to allow a reader unfamiliar with the series to enjoy it as such. This means if you’ve already read the series, some of the minor details will feel a bit repetitive to you.

  Thanks for understanding!

  Enjoy!

  Additional Note From The Author:

  This book breaks the 'fourth wall', meaning it talks TO the reader. The bold italics portions are the character speaking to “YOU”.

  Kellan

  “Taco Tuesday?” I lift my eyebrows. “I take it you aren’t referring to that in the sexual context in which I’m hoping.”

  Brie puts the pencil down on top of her textbook and pulls her brown wavy hair into a pony tail. “You think that’s clever, don’t you?”

  “Given the circumstance.” My blonde head bobs back and forth. “Quite.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It is a little.”

  You agree with me, right?

  “No. It’d be as bad as me saying, something like Hot Dog Monday without the bun.”

  “But there isn’t a Hot Dog Monday.”

  The irritation in her bright brown eyes makes them glisten.

  Love when they do that.

  “You. Get. The. Point.”

  I shrug and lean back on her living room couch. “What about Bratwurst Wednesday? That sounds sexier and more fun. Besides, they’re naturally bigger and better than hot dogs.”

  She gags at me. “Be less weird.”

  A chuckle escapes. “What are you implying?”

  “That everyone knows hot dogs are better.”

  “That’s bull,” I brush off.

  Her coffee colored face tilts at me. “See. You say that because you’re not from this country.”

  “And you only say it because you are!”

  Brie pushes up her falling box frame glasses and grunts, “Ugh. Foreigner.”

  “American.”

  “Not an insult.” She winks.

  “It would be if we were in my country.”

  Tiny bit of a lie there given the fact Doctenn has so many similarities to the states. Still. It seemed like a fitting comeback to her arrogance.

  The front door to their apartment flings opens and her roommate, Jovi, comes barreling in with a huff.

  Well that can’t be good.

  Brie turns her attention to the noisemaker. “You don’t look happy.”

  “I’m pissed.” She slams the door sharply behind her.

  And they wonder why their downstairs neighbor hates them. All the huffing and puffing, I imagine it’s like living underneath the big bad wolf’s den from the Three Little Pigs’ story.

  “Bad day?” my girlfriend politely asks.

  Jovi’s mocha face seems to take a crimson shade. “I had the worst day at work! Apparently, my boss’ daughter has decided she wants to come work for the gallery. Okay, so no big real, right?”

  If that were true all the blood in her body wouldn’t be racing for her face. What! I’m not being an asshole. I was merely being observant.

  Brie cautiously scoots closer to me. “Sure…”

  “But this…” her mouth fumbles like the idea of using the curse word she desires is too forbidden.

  “Go ahead. You can call her a bitch,” Brie encourages.

  In what appears to be defeat, she flops down on the edge of the couch next to Brie. “This bitch spent the entire day making me miserable. Like Merrick without cars in his life type of miserable.”

  Brie mutters under her breath, “Yikes…”

  While I don’t really know much about Merrick McCoy, Jovi’s overly possessive, overly protective boyfriend, I do know the only thing he loves as much as her is cars, meaning this story is going to have a nasty ending.

  “From the minute she clocked in until the minute she clocked out, it was like having the bitchiest shadow you could imagine! She hated the coffee. It was too bland. Too cold. Why didn’t we have an in house barista? Why didn’t we import the best beans from Brazil? She hated the uniforms for those not in management. The dark gray wasn’t flattering. The material wasn’t soft enough. She didn’t appreciate that her heels couldn’t be as tall as mine or that they couldn’t be a bright color. She hated she had to wear a name tag as the front desk girl. Why couldn’t she have a name plate? Why wasn’t she a big enough deal to have her own name plate? She’s the bos
s’ daughter, it’s bad enough she doesn’t have her own office. And that was just before lunch.”

  Personally would’ve fired this woman by that point. I can’t imagine having to return from lunch to hear more of her griping. Perhaps I suggest Merrick treat his girlfriend to a pair of ear wedges?

  “When I got back I had to listen to how she hated that I could have an hour for lunch and she only got thirty minutes. She hated the employee’s lounge. Where were the plush couches? Where were the little cucumber sandwiches with the crust cut off?”

  Brie sticks her tongue out in disgust. “I hate those.”

  “I love them,” I counter receiving scowls from both of them. Innocently, I suggest, “Paired nicely with the right flavored tea as a snack right after a morning game of football?”

  Brie’s disapproving glare deepens.

  What? Was that really too ‘non-American’? That did not make me sound pretentious! You know it’s not like I decided what to serve after the game….

  Jovi shakes away her own distaste at what I said and continues. “Then she went on and on about how she hated that it wasn’t her job to make suggestions to the customers looking to purchase pieces. The way the front window was decorated. The way the janitor was ‘looking at her for too long’. It was seriously like listening to a first grader whine about her new classroom on the first day of school.” She lets out a deep exhale. “And to top it all off, she’s my responsibility to train since the last desk girl didn’t even bother giving her two weeks. She just didn’t come back from lunch last week. So now, for the next week and half, I am responsible for training her and making her feel ‘welcomed’. And it’s not like I can go to my boss and complain. It’s her daughter…”

  Brie places a gentle hand on Jovi’s lap. “I’m sorry…that is a pretty shitty day.”

  Leaning forward, I slip one arm around my girlfriend and sigh, “You know what would make you feel better?”

  Jovi’s face lifts in hope. “What?”

  “Taco Tuesday.”

  “Not this again,” Brie mumbles to herself.

  “You mean tequila Tuesday?”

  The correction causes me to frown and look at Brie. “I thought you said it was Taco Tuesday?”

  “No, I implied we could have them and today happens to be Tuesday. You’re the one who went off on an unnecessary, not clever-”

  “Very clever-”

  “-rant about tacos.”

  Before the argument can continue, Jovi interjects, “Tequila and tacos does sound really good…”

  With a victorious grin, I tug Brie into me closer, “See.”

  “But I need to keep studying…”

  “You always ‘need to keep studying’,” Jovi mocks. “Come on, Brie. I could really use this…I think it would be so much fun if the four of us went out to The Bad Wolf.”

  A puzzled look falls on my face. “The bar is actually called The Bad Wolf?”

  That’s got to be some sort of copyright infringement issue…

  “The Bad Wolf Bar,” Jovi jumps at the chance to explain. “You know, like from Little Red Riding Hood?”

  Am I the only one who thinks it’s odd how many nursery stories involved the same villainous creature? Why not a bear? Or a moose?

  “The bar is so cool. It’s decorated in all these deep red and gray colors, with wacky framed wolf art on the walls. It’s got leather bar stools and couches. It has a post-modern cartoonish feel to it.”

  “Plus if you’re a chick and wear a red top, they give you a dollar off every drink you buy,” Brie adds. “Sometimes two if your top is cut low enough.”

  My eyebrows raise in question.

  “Not me,” she rushes to explain. “I’ve just seen it happen.”

  I nod my understanding and try to hide my relief.

  No. I wasn’t jealous at the idea of her using her beautiful boobs to get free alcohol. I just…I don’t like the idea she would ever belittle herself like that.

  All of a sudden she snaps, “Wait. When she first said Bad Wolf, your brain went straight to Doctor Who, didn’t it?”

  I innocently shrug. “Perhaps.”

  “Just because it’s the television show of your people-”

  “I’m not British!”

  She snickers and stands up. “I know. I just like giving you an actual reason to put on that wrinkle cream you don’t think I know about.”

  Jovi catches her giggle in the palm of her hand.

  What! You try being a Prince and having your face constantly blown up across social media against your will. See if you don’t occasionally need a little assistance to make the lines of stress disappear…Hey, it’s not like I wear make up! Now that I could see you judging me over. But her remark does raise a very important question. Has she been going through my cabinets?

  Kellan

  The bar is precisely as Jovi described. While it is a little smaller than I was imagining, it allows the intimate setting that college students often crave from their ‘regular’ hangout location. The crisp colors and clash of tacky artwork on the walls definitely gives the impression of a type of humor I can appreciate.

  “But I hate drinking games,” Jovi whines from the barstool on the other side of Brie.

  “That’s because you’re not very good at them baby,” Merrick says in a less than comforting voice.

  Not smooth.

  “I am too!” She squeaks. Brie starts to snicker into her margarita when Jovi lightly taps her on the arm. “Tell him I’m good at them!”

  She reluctantly argues, “But…you’re not…”

  Jovi’s jaw drops and Merrick slides his arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay, Jo’. You don’t have to be. You’re better at sober things.”

  I know what you’re thinking. For a guy who looks like he steals cars for a living or lives in and out of a jail cell, he’s rather gentle. Well he’s not to the rest of the world. Just people he loves. From what I’ve learned in the two weeks I’ve been around him is he treats his friends like family and the rest of us like Germany in WWII trying to invade England. It’s definitely taken some energy getting used to having him bark at me like a guard dog when I say something towards Brie that can be misconstrued as too unkind. I have a big brother who already tries his best to dictate my dating behaviors. I don’t need another one.

  “I wanna be better at drunken things,” Jovi pouts.

  “I don’t think that’s coming out the way you think it is,” Brie giggles.

  My attention lifts from the menu I was scanning to Brie. “You any good?”

  She gives me a playful look. “Probably better than you.”

  And people think I’m the cocky one…

  “Care to make a wager?”

  Brie instantly rejects the idea. “No. I still have to study. I’ve got a test tomorrow. I agreed to come out and have a drink. One drink.”

  She doesn’t actually need to study. She just wants to. And trust me, I would know. Who do you think has been helping her study with a naked reward system? Tell the truth. Wouldn’t you study a little harder if the reward was seeing these abs? You don’t have to pretend you don’t. This body is meant to be enjoyed. I’ve spent years making sure these things could cut diamonds and this mug could melt panties. Hey, as a blonde, I have an obligation to have more fun…

  Rather than take the understanding approach, I push her with a cocky smirk. “It’s fine if you’re too much of a pussy to accept the challenge.”

  A hint of red fills her cheeks. “Why is it whenever I refuse to do something you assume it’s because I’m too chicken to?”

  With a casual shrug, I state, “Because usually you are.”

  “I am not!”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not!”

  “So,” I continue to poke over the sound of her friend’s laughter, “when you refused to try ox liver and crispy onion strings that was…what? You waving your flag for animal’s rights?”

  She glares at me sharply. “I refu
sed to try it because it’s next level gross, jackass. Not because I was too scared.”

  After a chuckle, I wave my hand from side to side. “Sounds a little like you were being a pansy.”

  Like I hoped, she pushes her empty margarita glass away, and snaps, “What’s the bet?”

  See. I knew all it would take was a little extra pushing. You can put your scolding away. She does this shit to me all the time. Just wait. You’ll see.

  “A simple game of quarters. Five chances. You get it in, the other person drinks. Whoever misses the most, loses.”

  “And the prize?”