Wednesday, 12 November 2014

WIP Wednesday - Never on a Sunday

In super-exciting news, I've been working on an anthology with some good friends of mine, all that I met through Literotica. I'm pretty sure this isn't a secret - it's going to be an anthology chock-full with menage erotica stories. All complete, no cliff-hangers, no serials. 

I've read a few, and phew! (Fans self.) 

Anyway, I'm super-stoked. The book comes out sometime late November (still finessing the details), and I can't wait. 

My story for this is called Never On A Sunday. I even bought a cover for it, because omg excited, though as Livia Grant pointed out, my cover was very likely to send me to the Amazon dungeon, where Jeff Bezos wields a mean-ass whip, and indie authors cower in the darkness. (It might. I'm kind of reasonably positive I'll have to switch covers. Time will tell.) 

Anyway. (I say that a lot.) Here's a bit out of that story. 

Oh, you can kiss me on a Monday
A Monday, a Monday is very, very good
Or you can kiss me on a Tuesday
A Tuesday, a Tuesday in fact I wish you would
Or you can kiss me on a Wednesday
A Thursday, a Friday, and Saturday is best
But never, never on a Sunday
A Sunday, a Sunday 'cause that's my day of rest

Never on a Sunday, English lyrics by Billy Towne.
Greek: "Ta Paidiatou Peiraia" by Manos Hadjidakis.

My name is Stephanie Rice. I’m twenty six. I have shoulder-length black hair and brown eyes. I’m five feet five inches tall, and I weigh a hundred and ten pounds. If you ask me if I am a cat or dog person, my reply would be both. I drink coffee, not tea. Chocolate is a food group. I’ve never walked past a cookie I didn’t want.

I’m a badly paid marketing coordinator who lives in Brooklyn in a cunningly divided studio apartment that I share with a college friend, Sasha. Our apartment has no kitchen, just a tiny refrigerator, a microwave and a sink. Once I’ve paid the outrageous sum of money that our landlord demands for rent, I have four hundred dollars a month left over for food, a subway pass, and everything else. I therefore live on Ramen noodles and hope for a raise.

Oh, and I’m a self-diagnosed sex addict.

Right now, I’m fucking six different men. I’m quite organized about my sex life. Each man fills a different niche, and I’ve assigned each of these men a day of the week.

Monday is the Chef. Tuesday, the Technician. Wednesday, I fuck the Playboy. Thursday, Mr. Buttman has his way with me. Friday, I meet the Doctor. And Saturday? Saturday is my time with the Dominant.

Sunday, I do laundry. A girl does need clean underwear, after all.


After work Monday evening, I make my way to Chinatown, to the fifth floor walk-up that is the relatively spacious apartment of the Chef.

The Chef’s name is Mark, and he isn’t really a chef, though unlike me, he can actually cook. He’s some kind of middle manager for a biotech company. I call him the Chef because he likes to play with food. Last Monday, he rubbed cinnamon oil on my nipples, my pussy lips and around the tight ring of my asshole, and he watched me wriggle as the heat from the oil warmed my entire body. He had me begging and pleading and when he finally bent me over his desk and fucked me, I came in an explosion of scalding pleasure.

I wonder what the Chef has in store for me today.

“Stephanie,” he greets me with a smile as he opens the door. Every time I see the Chef, I’m struck by how hot he is, in a rumpled kind of way. He’s tall and lean, with curly hair that’s an endearing mix of ash-blonde and grey. His chest hair is the same colour, though right now, he’s wearing a grey t-shirt.

Even thinking of his chest hair sends a shockwave of desire through me.

He sees the heat in my eyes, and he grins. “So naughty, Steph,” he whispers in my ear. “Are you wet already, you bad girl?”

I don’t know if I was wet before he called me a bad girl. I do know I’m wet now. Name-calling is such a turn-on for me.

I step inside his apartment, handing him my coat. It’s spring, but the weather’s variable enough that I refuse to go anywhere without a hat and scarves and gloves and a coat. I grew up in Miami. The cold weather is always a shock. “Should I take off the rest of my clothes?”

I’m direct. I like the Chef; I like all the guys I’m fucking. Life’s too short to sleep with a guy you don’t like, don’t you think? But there’s no hiding the fact that I’m here for sex.

The Chef’s lips twitch. “What an impatient little chit you are,” he grins. I’m quite aware the Chef thinks I’m very, very young. He’s ten years older than me, a fact that he frequently reminds me of. “Okay. Go to the bedroom and get naked, Steph. I’ll be right along.”

He walks towards the refrigerator.


I strip efficiently, and fold my clothes neatly before I pull back the comforter and lie on the Chef’s double bed. My eyes are drawn to his nightstand, where a thumb-eared copy of The Life of Pi rests. I’ve never read it, though I’ve always meant to. “Is it a good book?” I ask the Chef as he walks into the room, carrying a tray in his hands.

He glances at the book in my hands, and nods. “It is a very good book,” he replies. “Plus, it has my favourite line of all time in it. This story has a happy ending.”

I look puzzled, and he explains. “Think about the power of it, Stephanie. Right in the middle of life, if someone was able to say to you – this story has a happy ending. If you knew with certainty that things will work out, how liberating would that be?”

He’s something of a philosopher, the Chef. “Can I borrow it when you’ve finished?” I ask him.

He nods. “You can borrow it today,” he says. “I’ve read it before.” He sets the tray down at the foot of the bed, and gives me my instructions. “Lie on your back, Stephanie,” he says. His voice is more intent now. “Spread your legs for me, pretty girl. Let me see that pussy.”

I don’t sneak a peek at the tray to see what is in store for me. I’m tempted but I also enjoy the surprise. I wonder how intense it’s going to be. Last week, the Chef had hinted that today was going to be more intense than the cinnamon oil.
“Nice day outside,” the Chef remarks, sitting down on the bed between my legs. “And in spring, I always find myself craving fresh vegetables. What about you, Steph?”

He has a baby carrot in his fingers. He runs the vegetable through my folds, coating it in my juice, before taking a bite of it. I shiver. It’s very intimate, watching the Chef eat the carrot that has, just seconds ago, been in my pussy.

“Your turn now,” he says, and dips another baby carrot into my pussy. He runs the carrot through my slit, before circling my clitoris tightly. I groan and writhe, and he shakes his head disapprovingly. “Stay still, pretty girl.”


I will undoubtedly blog with purchase links once we go live, so keep an eye out! My co-conspirators on this project are some of the hottest writers of erotica I've ever read, and I'm so thrilled to be working with them on this. 


For good measure, I have to include a link to Connie Francis' version of this song. Timeless. 

Oh, I almost forgot! Find the other WIPWednesday authors here!


  1. Six - now that's just plain greedy! LOL

  2. Tara. You are very naughty. A different man each day with the exception of Sunday? I'd need a day of rest after all that sex too.
    Do the men she's seeing know about each other, or that she is fucking a different man each day save for Sunday?

    1. She's 26. Youth have stamina. :)

      Do they know she's seeing other men? Yes. Do they know exactly how scheduled her sex life is? No. This Sunday's going to be a very, very interesting day for Stephanie.

  3. Awww...I love the chef. Especially the line, "It has my favorite line...This story has a very happy ending."

  4. Good that she's getting her Five A Day, nutrition is so important...

    1. She is indeed doing it all for the nutrition. ;)

  5. Tara, that is genius! I hope we're going to get some juicy excerpts of each of these lovely weekday men, and of course Mr Saturday (My personal favourite!) Loved this little snippet, and loved the food play. For her sake, I hope he's not got some chillies stashed in the cupboard ~WEG~ OK, so when's release date already? Can't wait :D -- PS Hope you get to keep your cover. It's divine. Let's hope the Amazon police are feeling generous...

  6. Ahh .. I believe Mr. Thursday will be my favorite! LOL! I'll be watching for the purchase links - this looks delicious on so many levels!! :)

  7. Long time no see! Loved the excerpt. Wishing I was a baby carrot right now ;-)

  8. thanks for the wonderfully long excerpt, Tara :) Such an intriguing character- the juxtaposition of her studio apartment and the ramen, her organized sex life. the Chef is a great character too :) love the vegetable play

  9. Hands down, the most inspired crudite dip I've come across to-date. :-) Jane xxx