I'm about to publish the second in the erotic comedy series, Dumpsterotica: Talk Dirty to Me. Here's a nice excerpt from the book:
Here was his lawfully-wedded wife, prostrate before him with her knees in two aluminum chafing dishes once filled with what looked like baked ziti, dishing up a blow job and a teabagging, and something that Urban Dictionary had not yet invented a word for – but it needed one, stat. Lubed up hands covered in the restaurant's signature tomato sauce made their way across his tight ass muscles while her lips and tongue nipped and laved and wandered over terrain he thought only his hand and some Clairol Herbal Essences hair conditioner would ever know.
She stopped and he choked, a begging grunt caught in his throat, the need a sob.
“My turn,” she said with a grin that glittered, brighter than the pearls around her neck, part of a set he'd given her for her 25th birthday. How he wished to give her a very different pearl necklace right now, but he could wait and do that a different time. Right now he needed to make her scream a holy climax that St. Peter and Lucifer would hear at once, that would make both sigh with anticipation of a new body at their respective gates, a scream that Hades would admire and bottle and sell on eBay as elixir for the Gods on Mount Olympus. And gouge them on shipping and handling charges.
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