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Archive for the category “Samples”

“The General” a small excerpt from my new erotica series

General, four star, erotic, erotica, rowen starr

“The General” is a story about power, love and trust. It explores the working mind of the top soldier in Afghanistan, addicted equally to love, morphine and sex. He risks it all for just one more fix.

Adult Warning: contains explicit content intended for adults only. If you are under the age of legal consent in the state or country in which you currently live, if you are offended by explicit material, or if it is illegal to view explicit material in your area, do not continue further. 

18+ only

I didn’t know if the Colonel wanted to play. You have to be so careful because any off-color remark taken the wrong way could set you back in your career. When you have enough old secrets hanging around to strangle a horse, you need to be careful who you make new ones with.

Colonel Rachel had started in a civilian hospital after med school and became one of the nations top emergency room doctors. It wasn’t until after 9-11 that she decided to join the forces, a patriotic pang that motivated many soldiers who signed up at the time.  She quickly, in only a matter of years worked her way, up the ranks and the food chain. As we walked down the hallway of the clinic, I asked her how difficult it was to consolidate her service to keeping the war machine going and her medical service. She had no difficulty. “Those soldiers who bleed on the battlefield, need help,” was her matter of fact answer, adding “and besides God is on our side” almost as an afterthought.

Rachel was a little slut when I got her back in my shacks later that night. Being a General I had my own building to myself inside the Army HQ compound.  At night, the grounds were surprisingly deserted. Across the courtyard Officers and senior officials would hang out smoking cigars, but not on this night, which made it a little easier for Rachel to slip inside my building. She told me later as we smoked our $2 a carton cigarettes that if anyone had seen her coming into the compound she was going to keep on going across the courtyard. Luckily for my dick there was a movie playing in the mess that occupied most free people who may have been milling around.

She had brought a little morphine with her. The candy made us happy. We deserved it. When your country orders you to march soldiers into minefields and into the countryside where bullets waited to rip cleanly through living flesh, it can leave your mind in tatters. You become susceptible to any salve available. We are just human beings after-all doing what our country says is good for us to do.

I could taste the dust on her skin. She smelled of flowers. How I craved that perfume smell of a woman. It was indescribable how badly I wanted her. She was more perfect than I had imagined her being. There was only a slight resemblance to be found between Colonel Rachel of earlier today and Rachel of the night who stood naked before me, our serious eyes meeting. She drove the pain from my mind. How blessed was this doctor.

She injected me and then held her cool hand behind my head as she eased me back on the pillow. Her loving smile and her wonderful scent. She sat up and pulled the hair pin from the tight professional bun. In one fluid motion, she dropped her head down towards my bare chest until her hair just came into contact with my skin. She swayed her hair across my skin like she was made of feathers. When sleep finally comes, I selfishly thought to myself, it will feel so good. The only problem with morphine candy is it can make you think that death would be better than sleep or that it would be better never to have been born.

She lowered her head even further and kissed each one of my nipples. My cock began to take its harden shape and she moved her hand down along my front until it came to rest on top of my hardness. I was still wearing my combat pants and she began to stroke me through the cloth. It was turned sideways and she rubbed it until it had lengthened along and just under my belt. She rubbed her hand along it sucking and biting my nipples. I let out a small fool-hearted moan and felt my control slipping and slipping slowly away as the morphine began to dance its way through my system.

I took both of my hands and cradled her head between them like I was holding a precious Persian painted vase from the market. I tilted her head slightly back and leaned ahead to kiss her. She didn’t kiss me back and moved her head away and went back to my chest. I wanted to show her that I could be tender and loving, but she didn’t want any of that. She went back to kissing down my chest and slid a hand under the top of my pants. As her fingers and palm came into skin-on-skin contact with my cock she let out a raspy breath, the warm air condensed on my stomach as she moved lower. The head of my cock now had moved between her palm and my stomach and peaked out the top of my pants. I reached down and undid my belt and pants and she instantly started kissing the head of my cock.

She began to kiss and lick my cock like I had wanted to kiss her on the lips, affectionately, warmly.  At that moment I realized she was a better person than I. She knew what she wanted and was all woman about it.  I felt annoyed and uneasy. She sensed this. Her reaction was to take me completely in her mouth. She slid her head down and worked her lips closer to the base. She made small gagging noises as she chocked on the fist that was the head my cock. This was closest I could ever get to feeling love. I could never get love right. Feeling emotional pain is why I can fuck so good.  As I am thrusting my mind lands somewhere between regret and lust. I can be at peace enveloped in the warmth of a pussy.  I am happy and sad, but thankful that I have someone I can fuck. I pushed my hips forward. Her eyes started to water as she gagged. It was some sort of language that was passing between us, a secret test to prove we were both the sluts we had hoped we were. We linked our bodies as the night drifted across our part of the planet.

The Wrong Goddess, a sample from my new novel… release date coming soon

Warning 18+, intended for adults only. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are all products of the author’s imagination.  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, photocopied, printed, or uploaded or downloaded onto other devices. This sample is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

As I walked down the hallway towards Mrs Meedu’s office, I didn’t know what to expect. I hated dropping in on anyone unannounced, hell maybe I should have made an appointment to see her. Now that would have been more professional of me and would have made a better impression.  Instead, and knowing my luck, I’m probably going to catch her off guard while she’s having lunch or something. I can picture her now, in my mind’s cyclop eye, turning around and having a big piece of lettuce wedged in her teeth.
I should just turn around now before I get to her door, which in all likelihood will be open.  Once I round the next corner, she could see me from her office out in the hallway and by then it would be too late to retreat without some loss of dignity or self-respect.  I wasn’t afraid to face her, just intimidated, for Mrs. Meedu was the best known writer in the valley, and here I was a nerdy, geeky, first year university student who couldn’t write my way out of a paper-bag.
What brought me here to this confluence of time and space, was this lofty goal of mine- and I don’t know exactly where this idea came from-to be the best writer in the county. I did think my writing was that good, a product of being both naive and stupid.  I can make it, I would say over and over in my head so often that I came to believe I had made it.
If only I could get through the next couple of minutes and the obtuse construct of introductions that would undoubtedly frame my interaction with Mrs. Meedu. You see I was a classic introvert and avoided these kind of situations. In my final year of high school, I came to realize I would rather stay at home writing, playing video games, or masturbating to my father’s porn collection he kept handy over the door inside his unfinished closet. I would consciously avoid situations where I had to go outside and do things that involved interacting with other people by pretending I wasn’t feeling well.
In my final year, I stopped seeing my friends altogether. It wasn’t a conscious decision. I had lost the skill to make friends and the interest to work at keeping them. I would come home from school and head straight for my room. My parents, rightly so, were afraid I was suicidal. I gave them good reason to think this, because every time they asked if everything was ok, “are you ok honey?” my mom would ask, I would tell them to fuck right off.  This would shock them into silence. One time my dad threatened to take away all driving privileges I had to the family car- a particularly ugly plum colored Dodge Dynasty, I used to refer to as the Die-Nasty.  I told him if he tried to take away the car, that I would shit on his bed. He backed off. My parents never swore, beyond the odd “shit” here and there which usually was only reserved for when my father rapped his knuckles after a wrench slipped, or a knife rolled the wrong way off a potato. I found the more shocking I was with my colorful use of language, the easier it was to just have them leave me alone.
I wasn’t particularly good at talking with people. I was always afraid they would find out my secret-that I was an introvert and so the cycle would continue. Generally most people, like my own parents, thought I was strange, I mean what guy teenager carries around a journal to write in. While my friends would be talking about who was going to win the super-bowl, I would be listening in just to find out who was playing so I could fake a conversation later just in case I had to make some meaningless conversation with someone.

If you are interested in reading more… send me a tweet or email @rowenstarr or rowenstarr@gmail.com

I am always looking for readers.

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