eXcessively pleasurable fiction
from the sweet to the forbidden
eXcessica
romance
Length: Short Short
Heat Level: eXcess 3
Price: $0.99
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Warnings: This title contains graphic language and sex.
Somewhere in England, in the midst of World War Two—a time when lovers grabbed romance, passion and sex any moment they could, and tried not to think about how it could end with death in the skies over Europe. Susan had learned her lesson, that war was no time to fall in love—too young, it had made her a Squadron Leader’s widow. After two years of pining, now she lives for every romance-, passion-, lust- and sex-filled moment, no matter how fleeting. She lives For the Moments, ignoring the whispers of neighbors as she rides her bicycle every day to the village general store and post office that she runs. Charmed by the naiveté of a Royal Air Force air-gunner years younger then her, Susan has been brought back to life by their war-time affair. She savors every moment they’re together, whether it’s making him hard with her foot under the table during their Tuesday evenings at the Black Shepherd pub, or filling the room with the scent of sex when they rendezvous at her flat. She dreams of him every waking moment, and her body quivers. In a sleepy little English village, the passionate, steamy, scandalous affair between the lonely 30-year-old postmistress and the young air-gunner named Robert takes a twisting paranormal turn when he shows up shaken at her bedside unexpectedly after a night-bombing mission. For the Moments was Aden Kains’s first erotic short story. Originally written in 2001, For the Moments was critically praised by the Erotica Readers and Writers Association, and was a feature of the month on the association’s website. Now available in general release for the first time, this eXcessica erotic tale of wartime passion and lust from Aden Kains will have you savoring the story’s every moment.
EXCERPT:
In her mind’s eye, she felt them wandering from her shoulders, down her back and over her buttocks; around to tease the sensitive insides of her thighs and her sex; and finally up her soft belly to trace the creases beneath her breasts and caress her still-firm bosom until she was almost breathless and her nipples swelled against the blue rosettes sewn onto the bust of the nightgown. The lust would overwhelm her; she would thrust her knees forward; her hips up and backward to mount him; press hard to feel him drive deep inside her from behind.
Feeling her own wetness again and her knees trembling, she reached for the support of the bedstead as the cuckoo clock in the hall let out eight mechanical chirps. She wondered if the squadron was back now, breakfasting on plates of eggs and bacon, and mugs of steaming-hot tea.
When she pushed back the thick black-out drapes, sunlight flooded the three-room flat, reflecting off the glass surface of the framed photograph sitting on the night table. She smiled when she remembered how his palm had been rubbing her mound and his fingers had been probing her in both openings at once under the picnic blanket; how her best friend Alice had giggled like a school girl when she realized the real reason for her smile for the camera. It was signed, “Susan and Robert—summer, 1943.”
She remembered telling him to meet her at five o’clock, after she closed up the shop. That was why she gasped when the door slammed and he called her name from the hallway.
“Robert, what are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you until this evening.”
“I had to come to see you,” he answered, his voice trembling.
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