Remittance Girl

Free Erotica – Beautiful Losers by Remittance Girl


The first Free Erotica Friday of February, month of all things love, sex and romance, comes from Practicing Erotic Phyctitian, Lotus eater, Poppy smoker and tweeter of strange dishes, Remittance Girl.

Remittance Girl thinks there is a WORLD of difference between what people fantasize about and what they actually do ~ and this we agree with whole-heartedly! Fantasies can be raw, sexy, romantic, filthy or downright depraved ~ and they’re all good. Your fantasies are your own, but trust us, sharing them with the right person can be really sexy too.

Team Sh! finds inspiration amongst the stacks of erotic books we receive each year (homework has never been so much fun!) and this hot teaser from full-length novel Beautiful Losers has certainly gotten our juices flowing… Enjoy!

‘Would you like to watch us?’

Shira is deeply, achingly in love with her best friend, Jean. This is unfortunate, because he’s gay. But with one flippant invitation, Shira, Jean, and his boyfriend, Sebastian, begin their obsessive journey into the dark heart of sexual excess. When even their own edgy subculture refuses to accept them, Sebastian builds a new world with new rules to shelter the threesome. But the baggage they’ve brought with them can’t simply be left at the door and, when the real world breaches the carefully constructed walls, it does so with tragic consequences.

Excerpt from
Beautiful Losers
by Remittance Girl,
Constable & Robinson, 2012

I had never watched anyone have sex. Not in the flesh, so to speak. I’d seen a bit of porn, and I’d done it myself, of course, but that’s different.

There was Jean, fine-boned and slight. Every gesture, every movement had the carefully choreographed swish of an electric eel in a very small pond. He had taken to black cherry with a passion – his hair, his lips, his nails. He once sighed over a line of cosmetics on the ground floor of a well-known department store and whispered, ‘So many shades of black, so little time.’

Then there was Sebastian, who rendered me insignificant in the way extremely beautiful women manage to make my existence tenuous. He was so very beautiful: six foot something and pale as alabaster, shocks of blue-black hair in a state of immaculate rebellion. He had the young dead poet thing down pat. Languid would be a vast understatement.

How I came to be sitting on the floor in the corner of Jean’s ultra-minimalist bedroom doesn’t require much explanation: he was my best friend. The boy force-fed me martinis and then plucked my eyebrows into the kind of peaked arches that a 1950s film star would kill for. He used to perch on the side of the bath, joint in his manicured hand, and supervise my leg-shaving technique. I loved Jean. I loved him in ways that, if he knew, would probably have turned his stomach. There were frustratingly minor anatomical reasons why Jean couldn’t be my lesbian lover or why I couldn’t fuck him like a man. Minor, yet sadly insurmountable.

Why, on this specific occasion, I was sitting on the floor in the corner of Jean’s bedroom had to do with Sebastian being a surprisingly magnanimous person. We’d gone out to dinner at the French Provençal restaurant, Jean’s favourite place to eat very little, and it was while we were indulging in a plate of Strawberries Fascistthe question came up – rather out of the blue, I thought – though it could have been that I was paying more attention to my second glass of port than anything else.

‘Would you like to watch us fuck?’ The question was Sebastian’s. I choked unattractively on a strawberry.

‘What?’ I croaked, too loudly, trying to dislodge the piece of fruit.

Sebastian leaned over his place setting, his chin propped on his slender interlaced fingers. ‘Do you want to watch us fuck?’

‘That’s what I thought you asked.’

‘Well?’

I looked around desperately for the waiter. ‘Can I have another glass of the Dow’s ’77, please?’ Even he noticed the desperation in my voice and gave me a quizzical look. ‘Um, now, please?’

I looked back at Sebastian, who was feeding Jean another chocolate-coated strawberry. It was incongruously shaped with a cleft that looked a lot like the head of a cock. Jean was letting him push it slowly between his lips.

‘Jesus! Stop doing that for a sec, you guys. I have to think!’ Luckily, my port arrived in time and I downed it faster than is strictly proper, considering it was a ’83.

‘What’s there to think about?’ asked Sebastian who, not satisfied to publicly penetrate my friend with a strawberry, had taken to teasingly sliding it in and out of his mouth.

‘Well, Jean for one.’

‘It was Jean who suggested it.’ A crooked smile played at the edge of Sebastian’s lips.

I swivelled around to face my friend, my might-have-been lesbian lover, my companion in the depilatory arts. ‘Did you?’

‘Mm-m!’

‘Either eat the fucking strawberry or spit it out! I want a proper answer.’

Sharp, white incisors decapitated the brown-shirted berry. Crimson juice took a path along the length of Jean’s lips and trickled down one side of his mouth onto his chin. He made a convincing newbie vampire.

‘Don’t you want to, Shira? I thought you might like it. He has a very beautiful body, you know.’ The last sentence was, of course, not directed at me but aimed lewdly at Sebastian.

Sebastian stood up and moved behind Jean’s chair. He pulled his lover’s jaw up with one hand, bent over him and licked up the spilt red juice with the flat of his tongue. ‘Thank you,’ Sebastian murmured.

‘My pleasure.’ Jean gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, let’s get the bill.’ I looked around for the waiter again, only to find half the dining room staring at us. Admittedly, we were a pretty sight but I didn’t think that was why they were staring. Goths don’t generally patronize expensive French restaurants and, if they do, they usually don’t put on gay floorshows for the customers.

Did I want to? That had a complicated answer. On one hand, who in their right mind would pass up something so aesthetically pleasing? On the other hand, I had some half-formed idea that sex was for doing and not for watching; voyeurism had never called to me much. Also, there was the little problem of what my relationship with Jean was going to be like after. Might this fuck it up? Lastly, I was ashamed to admit, it kind of freaked me out. I had a lot of gay friends, but the finer details of how they fucked remained something of a camera obscura to me.

We paid our bill and left a restaurant full of scandalized patrons, half of whom were probably glad that the tablecloths hid their erections.

On the street outside, we waited to flag a taxi in silence. It was cold and the air smelled like rain. A group of jocks sauntered down the street, drunk-ugly from an evening of sitting in the bars.

‘Oh shit, here comes trouble,’ said Jean in a small, singsong voice.

As the mob pulled level with us, they stared and sneered. ‘Fucking faggots!’ yelled one.

‘Ass-fucking perverts!’ spat another. ‘I hope you die of AIDS.’

A tall guy in a golf shirt moved closer. ‘You come ’round my neighbourhood, I’ll blow your friggin’ head off. Sick fucks.’

My anger and protectiveness rose instantly. I glared belligerently from one stupid, hateful face to the next. A cab slid up to the kerb in front of us. Jean walked around to the other door and got in; Sebastian opened the one in front of me. The port and the brutal ugliness of the rednecks finally got the better of me.

‘We may be losers, but at least we’re beautiful, you fuckheads!’ I yelled after them. Sebastian grabbed me by the neck and shoved me into the back seat like a sack of potatoes.

Uncomfortable and awkward in the middle of the back seat of the taxi, I felt just the tiniest bit hemmed in. ‘It’s not like there isn’t a perfectly good front seat.’ I fumed at no one in particular, lacking a worthy target for my unspent aggression.

Jean put an arm around my neck and stroked my cheek with a silver-ringed thumb. Sebastian draped a long leg over mine, leaned back and nuzzled my shoulder.

‘She’s grouchy because she’s scared. This is how she hides it,’ said Jean. My best friend was taking liberties with my confidences.

‘That much is obvious. Tell her we aren’t going to traumatize her or anything.’

‘Hey, I’m right here! And, really, it’s bloody rude to evaluate my fight or flight reactions in front of me.’ I turned to Jean who had perched his chin on my left shoulder. ‘Clichés like “three’s a crowd” usually have some basis in fact, you know. You’re only doing this because you feel sorry for me for being single. It’s very patronizing.’

Jean gave me a comic begging puppy-dog look. ‘That’s such shit and you know it. Anyway, I want you there. Do it for me, Shira, as a friend.’

I felt my resistance weaken. How could I be such an easily manipulated sucker? I made one last and, in my view very brave, effort. ‘What’s going to happen afterwards . . . to our friendship? It’ll be weird.’

A cool hand cupped my cheek and pulled my head around. In the back of the car, in a darkness punctuated by passing street lights, Sebastian’s eyes glinted like polished onyx. ‘Shira? Sweetheart? Darling dear? Shut the fuck up. You think way too much.’

‘It’s true. I do.’

[line space]

The room was full of candles; they covered a good portion of the floor and practically every elevated surface. Jean walked around lighting them as if he were officiating at a vigil. I sat on the floor in the corner and made myself as small as possible. Sebastian sat perched on the edge of the bed and watched me, which pretty well defeated my effort to blend into the decor. It got silly when they both sat on the frame of Jean’s waterbed and stared.

‘I told you this was gonna be weird,’ I muttered, then stood up and walked into the kitchen.

Jean kept his weed in the freezer along with his gourmet coffee. Humming something inane, I rolled the fattest spliff I could, lit it and took a deep hit. Then, just to be extra protected, I grabbed the frozen bottle of vodka. I stalked into the living room and sorted through Jean’s music until I found something I considered suitable for two men to fuck to, put it on and returned the bedroom.

Thankfully, things had progressed. They were out of their clothes. The sight of their white skin against the black sheets pulled a grin at the side of my mouth. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, legs entwined, kissing; it was rather sweet, really. I took my spot back in the corner on the floor.

‘Don’t we get some of that, too? And bring the bottle.’ Sebastian’s lanky arm reached up into the air, his fingers curled a demand.

Almost begrudgingly, I walked over to the bed and offered him the joint. He grabbed my wrist instead and smiled up at me through the mess of Jean’s lipstick.

‘Sit.’

‘Yeah, sit,’ Jean echoed.

I did. It was hard to argue with two very pretty, naked boys with black cherry lipstick everywhere. I kicked off my shoes and crawled to a free spot at the bottom of the bed. The bed responded by rippling and moving beneath us. As we passed around the joint, I got the feeling that perhaps this was just a little uncomfortable for them too. Somehow that thought made me feel better. I cracked the bottle of vodka and leaned back, propping myself up on my elbows.

They began to kiss again. It started lazy and slow, but built intensity rather quickly. It was impossible to look away; it was hypnotic. Then I noticed the erections – both of them. Well, of course, I hadn’t thought much about the details. It made it all a lot more concrete, and – oh, God – very fucking sexy. I watched them touch each other’s cock. I envied their lack of hesitation and the familiarity that comes only with having the matching equipment. I’m sure it was the spliff that made me giggle.

Jean turned his head to look at me. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. It’s just . . .’ Streams of hot blood crept up the sides of my neck and stung my cheeks. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or arousal. ‘It’s just weird. Two erections.’

‘Did you think one of us would be anatomically incorrect?’ Sebastian wasn’t all that intelligible with his face nuzzled in the crook of Jean’s neck.

Jean pumped his hips, pushing his cock through Sebastian’s curled fingers, but he was looking at me. ‘You’re blushing, Shira. You’re getting all bashful!’

The connection between my brain and my mouth was not cooperating. ‘Am not!’ I blurted out, before noticing that I sounded like a four-year-old.

All the voyeurs I’d read about in novels watched scenes in stoic silence with unreadable expressions on their faces. Why couldn’t I be like that?

Sebastian left off Jean’s neck and looked me over. ‘She’s not bashful, she’s turned on.’

If I denied the accusation vociferously it would appear suspicious, so I kicked his leg instead which was, of course, so much more sophisticated.

Jean giggled. ‘Oh, you are! You are!’

‘Just shut up. I’m supposed to be watching, not having a conversation. Wasn’t that the deal?’ I made a show of resettling myself modestly. The heat between my thighs was growing uncomfortable, but there was one heck of a pleasant buzz in my head.

They moved over each other like snakes, lithe and sinuous, touching everything with hands, lips, tongues. The noise Jean made when Sebastian took his cock into his mouth was just adorable – like a newborn kitten mewing and blind and insatiably hungry. He squirmed his way around until he found Sebastian’s hard-on and engulfed it with his lipstick-smeared mouth.

There was something about all the gluttonous, liquid sounds of sucking, interspersed with moaning, that turned me on with frightening intensity. It was far more effective than any visual. Although the sight of Sebastian’s fingers digging into the back of Jean’s thighs did compete impressively. So did all the undulations.

The vodka simply slid down my throat like water. Its icy shock stopped me from whimpering. This was, undeniably, the most erotic thing I’d ever seen in my life. My nipples weren’t just erect – they actually hurt. I occurred to me to be heartily thankful that most men are not multi-orgasmic. If they came this way, I figured, I could take my leave, rush home, and wank myself into unconsciousness.

The sucking pop dashed my hopes of a fast exit. Sebastian rolled over onto his stomach and reached for something on the nightstand. He held a tube of lube and a strip of condoms in his hand. Sitting up, he ripped one open with his teeth, and fished the condom out. Then he glanced up at me.

‘You okay?’

I nodded and took another pull of vodka. ‘Yup,’ I croaked.

That’s when all my assumptions about my life-long friend went out the window. Sebastian handed the condom to Jean, and then the tube. I always assumed Jean was the bottom, and as hetero-stupid as I was, I didn’t think I was the only person who did.

‘Shira, come here,’ said Sebastian.

‘Uh, no. I don’t . . . I don’t think so.’

Jean knelt, unrolling the condom onto his cock. It was rather robust, which also came as a shock. What had I thought? That he was . . . I don’t know what I thought, honestly.

‘Don’t be such a homophobe, Shira. Come over here.’ There was a malicious twist at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth.

The insult hit me like a slap. I sat there with my mouth ajar. An awful sense of doubt crept over me. Was that it? Was that why I felt so uncomfortable?

‘I am not a – Fuck it!’ I muttered, crawling over to them on my hands and knees. There was no way to do this gracefully on a waterbed. I felt like an awkward puppy traipsing through tall grass. ‘I just don’t think this is a very good idea.’

‘Can’t you take some of that off?’ Sebastian looked down at my clothes with disgust. ‘Yes, definitely, this has to come off,’ he said, attacking my shirt buttons.

I looked over his shoulder at Jean who was kneeling behind him. ‘What are we doing here?’

He slid a hand over Sebastian’s shoulder, down his chest to his nipple and flicked the metal piercing. Sebastian inhaled sharply and his fingers fumbled with my buttons. ‘Well, Shira,’ Jean said, pushing his body against Sebastian’s back, ‘I do believe we’re going to fuck.’

Off came the shirt. It might be the one time I didn’t regret having miniscule tits; big breasts just wouldn’t have been right for the occasion. Still, if I’d had them, I would have at least afforded me the cover of a bra, and my nipples wouldn’t have looked quite so obviously erect. I wasn’t clear on why it bothered me that they knew I was aroused. Silly, really – but somehow I felt that it kept me from getting emotionally involved in a situation I had no right to have any feelings about at all.

Off came the skirt too, then the thigh-highs, because I thought it looked ridiculously porny to leave them on. Plus my skin felt like it was burning. That left me with just my panties when Sebastian pulled me down beside him and flung a leg over my hip. I looked past him to Jean who was squeezing what seemed like an enormous amount of gel out of the tube. I shivered and grabbed Sebastian’s hand, holding it tight.

‘Does this hurt?’ I whispered, and then immediately felt stupid for asking.

He pulled my hand to his lips, kissing the palm. ‘No. It feels beautiful.’ He twitched as Jean spread the lube between his ass cheeks, and scissored his legs wider, the uppermost settling higher on my hip.

Trapped and fighting a sense of impending doom, I was having vivid flashbacks of losing my virginity. Having been a late bloomer, the event was embarrassingly recent. I glanced past Sebastian’s angular hip to Jean. He caught my gaze and held it as he began to massage Sebastian’s hole, pushing his finger inside him to open him up. A sharp squeeze on my hand pulled my attention back to Sebastian. He had the most beatific look on his face, eyes glazed over and a small, secret smile tugging the corners of his parted lips. I covered our clasped hands with my free one and stared into those blind eyes.

My gaze drifted away from his face and down the length of his long, pale body. Either naturally or by artifice, he had no chest hair. The little silver barbells piercing his nipples winked and flared in the light of the candles. His nipples were dark, almost burgundy, and peaked with excitement. My own stiffened in sympathy. As much as I wanted to touch Sebastian, I hesitated, still terribly unsure of what role I was expected to play in this event. Down the length of his stomach to his navel, my eyes followed a fine, dark line of hair that thickened into a nest at the base of a very erect cock.

The bed moved, swells rippling beneath the surface. Jean was moving, stroking his lover’s side and positioning himself to the side and above him, straddling one leg. I had a momentary thought that this position wouldn’t work that well if you were a girl, and stifled another giggle. The sharp hiss of breath pulled me out of hetero-world as the bed undulated beneath us.

‘Oh God . . .’ It was Sebastian, looking straight into my eyes. And somehow, that sense of being overwhelmed jumped the gap between us and I almost gasped with him.

‘Kiss him, Shira.’ Jean was looking rather happy himself, easing his way into Sebastian’s ass.

‘What?’

‘Go on, kiss him.’

Confused, and a little anxious, I looked into Sebastian’s eyes, although it was doubtful he was seeing anything at all. ‘Do you want me to?’

He smiled and nodded, letting go of my hand and leaning forward. The mixture of dope and vodka had done strange things to my brain; my only thought, just before I kissed him, was that I really liked that particular shade of black cherry lipstick.

His lips were butter-soft and they trembled as I kissed them. I trailed my tongue along their seam and they opened instantly to let me in. The ghosts of chocolate and strawberry still haunted his tongue as it slithered into my mouth, probing and stroking mine. I raised my hand to his face, tracing the outline of his lips as we kissed. Then I curled it around his neck to pull him closer. The bed rocked beneath us and the cold steel ball of his piercing brushed against my nipple.

Sebastian’s lips pressed mine rhythmically as Jean fucked him. Somehow that seemed painfully, heartbreakingly poignant to me. What was this we were doing? Did they know what this was doing to me? It was changing me forever in some small but terribly significant way. Next time I dragged home some wannabe boyfriend I would be thinking of this moment, and regretting that it wasn’t like this.

Sebastian grabbed my hand, pulling it down, guiding it to his cock. I curled my fingers around it and felt its heat, its urgency. Pre-come wept from the head and I spread it down his length. He groaned and must have tightened his muscles, because I felt his cock jerk upward, and I heard Jean gasp. A flood of juices soaked through my panties in what I can only describe as the deepest erotic sympathy.

I pulled my head back and whispered, ‘Is it okay?’

‘Oh yes, definitely.’

‘Do we need another condom?’ asked Jean, who was looking down at my hand between Sebastian’s legs.

‘Yes.’

‘No!’ I snapped. I pulled my hand away and squirmed back a little.

‘Oh, Jesus,’ panted Jean. ‘Is that a yes, or a no?’ The question just hung in the air for a while and Jean stopped moving.

Sebastian laughed. ‘Don’t be such a prude, darling. It’s not friendly.’

His fingers traced down my side and slid under my panties at the hip. He tugged gently at first, the next tug was more forceful and the seam ripped apart.

‘Ow!’

‘That’s what you get for not lifting your hips politely.’ Sebastian’s hand burrowed between my legs, two fingers slid back and forth in the wet mess of my cunt. ‘Good lord, little Shira. You are just soaking down there!’ He craned his head back to Jean. ‘That’s a very definite yes.’

Considering the position we were all in, it was utterly pathetic, but the fact that I was that wet seemed terribly humiliating to me. ‘I – I’m like this all the time.’

‘That must make laundry a chore.’

Jean offered the condom to Sebastian, who freed his sticky hand to take it. He started a tear in the package with his teeth. ‘You’re such a liar, Shira. You’re all hot and bothered.’ His tongue flicked out, licking my wetness off the back of his fingers. ‘Mmm. Girly.’

‘Gee, thanks. And anyway, how would you know?’

Jean draped himself over Sebastian’s side and smirked. Their intercourse, it seemed, had come to a stop. ‘Oh, he’d know. Believe me.’

Sebastian rolled the condom on, grimacing at the chill. Then he put his arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. ‘Come here, darling,’ he purred. ‘I promise to respect you in the morning.’

I giggled at the retroism, right up until he rammed his cock into me. True, I had seen it, touched it, but I had never associated it with being inside me. I yelped when he entered. The speed of it, the size of it, I thought he’d ripped me apart.

‘Jesus Christ, Sebastian. You’re fucking huge! Do you think you could be a little gentler?’

Jean, who was still peeking over Sebastian’s side, smiled sweetly. ‘That’s why I don’t let him fuck me.’ And with that, he thrust into Sebastian with considerable force, which began a sort of chain reaction. Jean grunted, Sebastian moaned, I gasped. It got pretty noisy.

We all kind of slid sideways until I was vaguely on the bottom, although everyone was very nice about distributing weight. The waterbed did what I guessed waterbeds were supposed to do, which added an odd rebound effect to all the moving.

It wasn’t the fucking that made me come. Not the first time. Regardless of how wet I was, Sebastian’s cock still hurt. It was the echoes of pleasured gasps as Jean thrust into Sebastian, and Sebastian pushed into me. Like waves on the shore that follow and sometimes overtake each other, then retreat into chaos and foam before they wash in again. I didn’t want to be the first; it seemed so pathetic and girly. I felt weak, somehow, amidst all that strength, but the sounds just pushed me over.

I started to shudder. It might have started in my crotch, but it flowed up my body until I twitched all over, arching my back.

‘Shira, are you coming?’ panted Jean.

‘Uh – yes,’ I whimpered.

‘Me too. Oh, fuck!’

Sebastian was silent, but I felt him. He dug his fingers into my ass cheek and gave me this insane grin before he jerked and the smile got lost amidst the shuddering. The violence of the ensuing thrusts prolonged what had begun as something quite intense. I was convinced if I didn’t stop coming soon, I would go irredeemably insane. Sebastian finally stopped shuddering and came, gasping unintelligible things in my ear. His cock twitched wickedly inside me, and I heard Jean moan.

We lay in a panting puddle for a while. Then everyone politely pulled out of everyone else’s orifice.

‘That went well, I thought,’ said Jean cheerfully, standing up. He tied a deft knot in the end of his condom.

Sebastian rolled off me onto his back, pulling off his own. ‘Very well. Extremely well, actually.’

I opened my mouth but nothing much came out. They both looked at me with sweet but crazy expressions on their messed up faces. I moaned, tucked my hands between my legs and curled up on my side. A trickle of warm tears slid over the bridge of my nose. ‘Oh, God.’

‘That’s your fault, Sebastian,’ said Jean.

‘Don’t be insane! Women have babies.’

‘My point exactly. Just look at her. She looks like she’s just given birth to something unnatural. There’s no way I’m going to let you put your cock up my ass.’

The spasms in my cunt slowly ebbed away leaving behind a dull ache. I glared up at them both. ‘You planned this from the start, didn’t you? Way before dinner,’ I said quietly.

Jean fixed a ‘who me?’ look on his pretty face. ‘Anybody for a post-coital Grand Marnier?’ He turned and left for the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

‘We did discuss the possibility,’ said Sebastian dryly.


Beautiful Losers, by Remittance Girl, published by Constable & Robinson is available on Kindle

Beautiful Losers is the first novel-length work by erotic fiction writer Remittance Girl. Read more erotic fiction here: remittancegirl.com

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