As the Newlyweds embark on the erotic adventure of their honeymoon the sexual tension threatens to bubble over. They have endured a selfimposed sex embargo, part of an erotic pact that dares the Bride to expose her gorgeous body publicly; a pact designed to add a little fire to their honeymoon.

The Bride is full of life and energy, “…exquisite, still cocooned in the flowing white lie, a sterile illusion betrayed by her green eyes, a sparkling window to a soul exploding in colour.”

Erotic sparks begin to fly from the moment they are in the limo to the airport and continue throughout their international flight as they tease each other with scorching erotic fantasies and confessions.

Little do they know it will ignite an erotic inferno.

The enigmatic Groom is torn between his erotic fantasies of wifewatching and his possessive tendencies towards control and jealousy and his Bride knows it.

The Bride nervously fulfils her dare and finds her exhibitionism surprisingly fulfilling. Her Groom hahoped it would give her selfimage a boost and him a thrill but he gets more than he bargained for.

The Bride rebelliously fuels the inner battle in her new husband when they meet the charismatic alpha male Lancelot and the desirable Paulo, drawing her into an exploration of her own long suppressed erotic desires and sexual taboos.

Lancelot seems to understand her hidden needs better than she does and enjoys the challenge of forcing her astray, “a wedding ring is the ultimate sex toy and you already have one of them.”

Sexual boundaries are tested and then smashed as the Bride is taken to new erotic heights. “Inch by meaty inch they drag her to the peak of her private Everest.”

And what of her Groom, handcuffed and cuckolded, will his inner conflict destroy him? Will this white hot erotic affair destroy their one day old marriage?

Genre| Erotica
Expected Release Date| 12.5.13


And when we finally hit our hotel room, exhausted, we had not slept at all on the plane and we are both acutely aware of the terms of the dare so we abstain, enjoying the burn. It sharpened our edge.

We had purchased a white one piece swimsuit tagged “Warning, fabric becomes see through when wet.” Unknown to Marcella I had painstakingly cut away the lining in the crotch designed to protect her modesty. I do my best to distract her by kissing and fondling her as she pulls on the swimsuit hoping she won’t notice the absence of the lining.

If she did notice, she didn’t protest.

Marcella is nervous and aroused as she walks along the beach with me trailing anonymously some distance behind.

I admire her audacity as she spreads her towel amidst a “Target Rich Environment” of fit looking men.

I settle down about twenty meters away, as agreed, to hide our connection.

I watch as she timidly approaches the waves, even dry, the fabric was fairly transparent and men are straining their eyes to soak in the delights of her body. Marcella emerges from the water a short while later. She drops back into the water as soon as she sees just how see through her swimsuit has become.

Taking a deep breath, she holds her head up high and her shoulders back as she walks up the beach, fighting back the urge to run. Marcella is hyper-aware that every detail of her body is on display, from her standing out pink nipples to the miniscule strip of short dark hair running vertically upwards from the top of the crease in her mound; an exclamation mark!

Her cheeks and neck blush on the redder side of pink, embarrassed but demure.

She is stunning.

She averts her eyes, only occasionally meeting the lustful looks of the admiring men with her fluorescent green eyes.

Laying on her back propped up on her elbows she spreads her legs just enough for her show. Men, trying to look casual, circle for a closer look.

Audacious men approach her at different times, I am deaf to what is said but I can see the erections they are sporting. So could Marcella, she wasn’t even pretending not to look. I knew she would be wet.

A twinge of jealousy pulls on my heart strings at the same time squeezing my balls as I watch some of these strangers make some obviously lewd suggestions to my blushing Bride.

The plan was that Marcella would signal me when she had had enough. The signal never came.

When a muscular Latino looking stud with long dark hair drops his towel in front of her to reveal his complete nudity, Marcella ogles his stallion-like cock and approves his request to join her.

This was not part of the plan. She must have asked him to wait and she hurries in for a very quick dip just to freshen the transparency to make sure he gets the full visual. Then on her return, with him sitting, her standing, she makes a big pretence of drying her hair with a towel, displaying her pussy at eye level just in front of his face.

Even from side on I can see his big knob climbing over his thigh like the sun rising over the horizon. Jealousy wraps its big fist around my stomach, and clenches when Marcie looks, and looks, and looks again at his stiff cock and sits down on his towel close beside him.

Her head turns slowly my way to check if I am watching, I see the glance coming and look away quickly, looking disinterested not wanting to betray the battle I am waging within to contain my jealousy.

Marcella casually drops her towel in his lap and when she licks her palm and secretes her hand under the towel I know she is saying a tactile “hello” to his cock.

My stomach is practicing judo breakfalls. Picking itself up then slamming itself back down on the ground.

When he spreads the towel out across her lap as well, I see her head tilt back and her hips tilt forward and know that his fingers are probing her cunt.

Now my lungs down tools and refuse to do their job.

Angrily I ring her phone. “Yes I’m fine Dad” she says sarcastically, “no need to worry, gasp, I can handle it, gasp. I’m just rubbing some sunscreen in now. Giggle. Gasp. I’ll come soon. Bye Dad. Gasp.” She turns my way and glares.

He pulls out his phone and they probably exchange numbers. He takes Marcella’s phone puts it under the towel and hands it back to her. Then she takes his and puts it under the towel between her legs then gives it back.

Damn they are taking photos of their genitalia to for each other.

My heart takes a running dive off the springboard that my cock has become, bouncing high in the air, completing a triple piked somersault with a twist on the way down. Splash!

I pounce to my feet and stomp along the beach, a thunderstorm in my eyes as I pass the front of their feet. She metaphorically kicking sand in my face by pushing her towel from their laps exposing her fist wrapped around the shaft of his shiny cock and rapidly sliding up and down it. Her other hand covers his, urging his fingers deeper into her damp cunt. Mine was not the only radar that locked in on their heat-seeking hands either.

I wait, pacing back and forward further down the beach, still in sight, steaming. When she finally joins me, Marcella is giving me contrite little “am I bad” looks with her big green puppy eyes. As soon as she feels I have dropped my anger she holds a portion of the towel to my nose. The undeniable smell of a man’s come, and jealousy turns the vice on my balls.

“And did you?” I ask meekly.

“Come?” she asks, “not quite but I was sooo close,” she adds without a hint of remorse.

I make a mental note to delete his number from her phone before she could go back for more.

“Do you even know his name?” implying she should be ashamed.

“Paulo”, she replies with a “so there” kind of attitude.

‘Right Paulo your fucking number is gone baby!’ I think to myself. My jealousy transmutes to anger and I can’t contain it. “What the hell? You are cheating on me and we haven’t even been married a day.”

“Whoa!” she says, as if trying to pull up a bolting horse. “It’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

She is right I had fantasized about seeing her with another man but I had never for a moment thought it might happen. I had urged her to expose herself on the beach but I thought I would have more control. I realise I have no control.

Marcella fires at me, “What do you fucking want from me? What does this fucking marriage mean anyway?”

“There has to be rules”, I say.

“Fine! Rules. What fucking rules? Your rules for me? Is that it? What if I want my rules for you?” she snaps.

“Um I think we should have THE rules.” I am struggling, searching for calm logic.

“Yeah, well who decides THE rules? The law? Fucking society? The church? I want NO fucking rules”, Marcella counter-punches.

“What about we have OUR rules, we can negotiate them?” I offer weakly.

“Fuck off” she says, and she fucked off.


My suffering for my art began at a tender age when I first started my research into erotica undressing a Barbie doll to explore her firm but nippleless breasts, resulting in a fair slapping from my mother when she caught me in the act.

Only temporarily deterred, puberty found me secretly and enthusiastically studying the erotic novels my parents kept hidden in their sock drawers.

By my estimate I have dedicated around 40,000 hours to erotic fantasies, um, research, since those first tentative steps.

The Bride Unbridled is my first novella, born from the seed Barbie helped plant all those years ago and which I have diligently nourished daily ever since.

The Bride Unbridled is the beginning of a series of Transformational Erotica.



I can be contacted by email at damon.starc@gmail.com and welcome constructive feedback and suggestions.

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