Steamy Holidays: Sexy Holiday Tales

By K.D. West

The holidays are all about people coming together...

Here are four hot tales of holiday love and light, all set during the most wonderful time of the year!

Let It Snow: A blizzard traps Helen, her best friend Tommy, and his husband Al in their car overnight, where they discover a path to happiness that turns out to have been as inevitable as it is unexpected. (MMF - bisexuality)

Making Movies: Sometimes, the best movies are the ones we make ourselves… (MF - exhibitionism)

Under the Covers: Christmastime should be about being together. But Suzie and Danny have been apart for months. (MF - new adult/sneaking)

The Visitor Celebrates: Gina’s happy to be joining her brother’s new extended family for the holidays. And even happier when they decide to give her a holiday present she’ll never forget. (FMMM - Reverse harem)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stillpoint/Eros
• Release date: Oct 30, 2020

K.D. West

K.D. West is an Amazon best-selling author of contemporary short fiction, a teacher, and a performer living in a small suburb of a big city in the American West: "Not a huge amount to say -- I'm an author of steamy stories who happens to be a teacher; these things don't mix well in public, so I tend to be fairly quiet about real life in my blogging. I am, however, interested in all sorts of things -- books, writing, theater, mythology, and, obviously, erotica! I'm a huge reader of genre fiction -- mostly mysteries and fantasy, but also science fiction and historical romance." West is writing two intertwined series involving a young woman and her older lover (the Juliet Takes Flight and Erotic Tales: Letters to Allison stories), a series of stories about friends discovering that they can become much more (Friendly Ménage Tales), and a series of stories that the Brothers Grimm might have collected, if there had been traditional tales where the heroine got the princess (Sapphic Fairytales). Also on the way: an erotic paranormal/urban fantasy novel involving a long lost friend coming all-but-literally back from the dead, and showing a happily married couple just what they'd been missing. Say hello at K.D. West’s blog (kdwestwrites.wordpress.com)!

Book preview

Holidays

Let It Snow:

A Friendly Ménage Tale

This was supposed to have been a grand, romantic Christmas for Helen and Ben. This was supposed to be the Christmas where they flew off to Fiji, to the amazing five-star resort Ben’s parents had booked them into, into their own cabin by the beach, where they had nothing to do for two whole weeks but eat gourmet food, drink ridiculous rum drinks, make love to the sound of the waves breaking on the beach just outside their open-walled cabana.

She was supposed to be going on her honeymoon.

She was supposed to be married to Ben, her boyfriend of five years. Ben, the CEO of his own tech startup. Ben, the endlessly considerate man who had patiently waited for Helen to say yes, though he’d first proposed on their third date. Ben, the passionate lover whose fingers and tongue and cock could reduce her to a gibbering pile of very content protoplasm on those nights that he actually was able to make it home.

Ben the lying, sleazy, cheating son of a bitch whose Tastr account Helen had found just before Thanksgiving, leading her to discover that the many late nights he’d said he was working at his firm (which turned out to be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy) had mostly been spent picking up young men in clubs and banging them in expensive hotel rooms downtown. Some of them very young. As in, illegally young. Whose trips to Southeast Asia, which he’d said were about setting up a satellite office, had largely been spent in brothels, along with a large portion of his firm’s seed money. In the company of more young men who Helen’s research had showed her were very likely far from the age of consent.

It really wasn’t that Ben had turned out to like men — he swore to her (as if he had any credibility left) that he was bi-romantic (if not actually bisexual), that he truly did love Helen. Even if she did nothing for him sexually. Thanks very much.

It was that everything — everything — about their relationship had been a lie. That everything from his patience to his apparent empathy down to his financial security had been a carefully constructed con.

And she’d fallen for it, for five years. She was a fucking cybersecurity specialist, and she hadn’t seen the signs. Hadn’t noticed the weird withdrawals from their joint account. Hadn’t noticed the wiped browser history on the gaming computer in their den.

But once she’d seen the splash screen for the gay dating site on his phone when he went to call his mom to finalize the wedding plans, it had taken Helen — who did after all do forensic data research for a living — all of five hours to discover that not only wasn’t her fiancé faithful, he wasn’t even vaguely who he had presented himself to be through their whole relationship. He had lied to her so fundamentally and so thoroughly that Helen was humiliated that she hadn’t seen it before.

He swore that he had never had sex without a condom. She hadn’t believed that either — but when the battery of tests showed that she was in fact completely free of any infection that her doctor could think to test for, she had to grant that there was at least one thing he hadn’t lied to her about.

His name. He hadn’t lied about his name either.

So no. She wasn’t going off to fuck on the veranda of an open-walled cabana on a private beach mostly visited by billionaires and their scions. She didn’t have any rings on her finger or any silky lingerie in her suitcase waiting to be thrown on just to be torn off. She had jeans. And sweatshirts. And sweaters. And flannel shirts. And whatever warm clothing she could find. Which, since she’d never lived further than ten miles from the California coast, wasn’t much.

Because she wasn’t going to Fiji. She was going to a cabin in the mountains with two couples from the office — her boss Jenny and Jenny’s husband Mike, who owned the cabin, and her buttmate Tommy and his husband Al. The two couples had planned the holiday trip to the snow months before, and when Helen’s whole life had imploded, and she’d spent three days weeping and screaming in the space she shared with Tommy, Tommy and Jenny had listened patiently, and finally made her promise to join them for the trip.

And so she was here, sitting in the back seat of Al’s SUV as they turned off the four-lane highway onto a two-lane road that twisted up into the Sierra Nevada’s granite canyons, watching the first flakes of snow begin to fall.

Helen liked snow. Her family would drive up from Santa Maria to Lake Tahoe every couple of years for a day or two when she was growing up. It had struck Helen as pretty as a girl, the white coating the mountains. The quiet that descended when it was actually snowing.

And Helen couldn’t stand the idea of going home to her family — to her folks’ kind disappointment, to her younger sister Connie’s excruciating sympathy, there with her stolid, trustworthy husband Jake and their four kids. All of whom she loved, but whom Helen could not bear to see just now, not when everything about their boring, happy lives felt like an accusation. A reminder of just how monumentally her life had failed to deliver on the promises that she had thought it was making. Like Ben, it had lied to her, and she had taken the bait and swallowed it whole, only to find that it had torn out her middle on the way out.

And so she was here, sitting in the back of Al’s SUV. To visit the snow. To get away from her friends and her family. Well, most of her friends. Jenny was a good friend, and Tommy was the best. And they knew that she was a ruined, sad, angry, betrayed human being, but didn’t expect her to be anything else.

As they climbed, the hills and valleys were growing whiter and whiter. Blank. It was a landscape that matched her mood, somehow. Rocky. Snowbound.

Snow was falling heavily now. Al didn’t seem concerned. He and Tommy were singing together, some song that Helen knew that she had heard by a singer whose name was on the tip of Helen’s mental tongue, but that her heart chose not to recognize, for reasons it alone knew. With a start, she realized that the singer was one of Ben’s favorites and shuddered. Surreptitiously, she slipped her earbuds in and turned on the FUCK YOU BEN playlist that she’d been compiling for the past month. All female singers. All sad, angry songs about stupid men and strong women who shouldn’t have needed them.

She didn’t really listen as she stared out the car window.

She could have put I Will Survive on endless loop and it would have had the same effect.

As they pulled into a small town in the shadowed depths of a twisting valley, Al pulled over. Blinking, Helen took out the earbuds as Al stepped out of the car. Are we here? she asked Tommy.

He smiled back at her — not a cheerful smile, exactly; not a smile, in any case, that demanded anything from Helen. No, we’re putting on chains. It’s really dumping.

The back door opened, and a blast of cold washed through the car. It felt good.

Al was pulling out something from the spare tire well.

Need help? asked Helen, because she wanted to do something other than sit there like a black hole of misery, really.

No, laughed Al, thanks. I could do this in my sleep. Poppy — His name for his car. — could probably put them on completely without me. But thanks. He grinned up at her, his bearded face tan and relaxed in a way that Helen made feel safe rather than useless.

Al worked for the state — he was a civil engineer, Helen knew, and spent a lot of his time inspecting the dams, reservoirs, canals, and pipelines that brought life-giving water from the parts of California that generally had plenty — the mountains — down to the parts that didn’t always. For the past few years, Helen’s had been the shoulder Tommy had cried on whenever his husband had to be out of town.

Al’s out-of-town trips, at least, had been real. The SUV showed it. This was no yuppie status wagon. It was a working car, beat up on the inside, but clean. She could only envy it its durability.

Tommy was saying something.

Sorry, Helen sighed.

Tommy’s smile remained completely undemanding. I said Jenny just texted. Their dogsitter was late. But they’re only an hour or two behind us. She told me the code for the key lockbox.

Helen attempted a smile in answer. Nice.

Well, yeah, Al said, getting back into the car to back over the chains he’d laid out. It’s definitely dumping. Wouldn’t want to have to sit in the car waiting for them to show. Where did Jenny say they were?

Just outside of Sacramento, answered Tommy looking down at his phone.

Al grunted, Huh.

What, huh?

Hold on, let me get the chains on so we can get back on the way.

Once Al got them back on the winding road up the valley, he said, loudly enough for Helen to hear, If it keeps snowing like this, the roads are likely going to be closed in another couple of hours. And Jenny’s car isn’t four-wheel drive. She may not make it up tonight.

Well, then, chuckled Tommy, it’s a good thing we’re the ones bringing the booze.

A small laugh bubbled up from Helen’s chest, completely shocking her.

Tommy turned around, eyes warm and knowing, and poked her.

Hey! she shouted, but there it was again — another laugh — and Tommy gave her a broader grin before turning back to the front and letting his arm flow over his husband’s broad shoulders.

They’re such a good-looking couple. Helen found herself blinking, the laugh forgotten. Where had that thought come from? Sure, she’d always thought Al was handsome and Tommy… Well, there wasn’t a better word for Tommy than pretty. Sure, they were a fabulous study in contrasts — Al dark, broad-shouldered, square-jawed; Tommy blond and fine-boned. Both with trimmed beards she had to stop herself running her fingers through.

But she’d certainly never thought of them…

Well, if she were going to be honest with herself — and Helen felt it essential after so many lies that she be brutally, completely honest with herself — she’d always admired them, in a purely esthetic way. Plus the odd late-night fantasy or two. It was never going anywhere. They were ecstatically happily married — had been since before it had been legal, even, in California. And Helen had been…

Well, Helen wasn’t now. Helen wasn’t anything now.

Why? she growled inwardly at her traitorous brain. Why are you choosing to tease me with this shit now, when I’m going to be stuck in a cabin with these two in the fucking mountains for a fucking week?

Because it’s true, answered her brain, still traitorous but certainly right. You’ve always felt that way.

But what difference does it make!? They’re married! They’re gay!

Doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate what you see.

Face now set in a frown that had been its habitual expression for most of the past month, Helen stuffed the earbuds back in her ears and hit play on Nicki Minaj.

They reached the last town before the cabin a bit over an hour later, and it seemed as if there was more snow than air outside. Though it wasn’t yet sundown, it was dark, and the entire landscape was a sea of white in the foreground fading to black.

Helen should have been nervous. But she wasn’t. Al knew what he was doing. And if they plunged off a bridge into a bottomless chasm never to be found until the spring thaws…

Well, if that happened, a part of Helen would greet it as a relief.

Helen recognized the unhelpfulness of her own despair, which was constantly hiding in ambush, waiting for dark thoughts to open up a pathway from the deep, black pit of her psyche into her conscious mind. She knew she didn’t really want to die.

But dear Ritchie, she didn’t want to feel this way any more.

And over what?

A lying boyfriend.

Boo-hoo.

Fuck him. She was just… Well, not young anymore, but sure as hell not old, whatever the hell that was. She’d find another man. One who didn’t lie or cheat. Hell, she’d find a whole army of men to keep her warm and happy.

That thought pulled her