Diary of a Sex-Starved Housewife: An Erotica Story of Infidelity and Desire

 My new book of short erotic fiction is available on Amazon

Diary of a Sex-Starved Housewife: An Erotica Story of Infidelity and Desire

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FDV81RN

Natalie Macleod is a full time housewife married to a busy and always tired executive who can never get a boner. Bored with her daily routine and frustrated by his inability to fulfil his matrimonial duties, she was slowly becoming a sex-starved young woman until a strapping stranger pulls up in a muscle Camaro 68 few meters from their driveway.
Jake an ex Navy SEAL becomes the answer to Natalies sexual question; the solution to her sexual problems and the spark to her dwindling sexual life. From a bored housewife, she became a bold participant in a number of threesomes. Because all good things come to an end it appears that this good ride will come to an end also or maybe it wouldn’t. Read on to find out.

Excerpt:
Have you ever experienced an ecstatic full body orgasm, the kind that leaves you shaking like electricity running through your entire body? The type that makes your body vibrates like it was made from a thousand helical springs, you probably will never be able to understand or explain how I felt a while ago…

I heard the sound of the revving car outside the window thrice. It was midday, and I knew in an instant that something was up. Our neighborhood is known for its quietness, not raucousness. The well-tended gardens and trees that made up the boulevard were not made for bikers or engines of that sort. I would have ignored it if it sounded merely once and written it off as one strange occurrence in my typical boring day, but I stepped towards the window at the third roar.
I could have sworn that I was Alice in wonderland, but I didn't see any rabbit outside my window. Neither did I fall through a rabbit hole. I saw a strapping man coming out of an equally imposing Camaro 68 whose hood was open, just in front of my house. I couldn't miss the engine's sound, and even if I hadn't seen the car, I knew it was a customized car with 12 to 16 valve engines. The years spent in my father's workshop couldn't be wasted- but I wasn't looking at the car, neither was I concerned that it was parked in front of my house, I was staring at the trespasser—the thickset brown colored man without shirts and with hands blackened by the engine oil. He had on a tight white T-Shirt that accented his chest and abs in all the right places.