Like most Americans, I’m sitting at home wondering what the hell is going on? Like a lot of people, I work in a small cube farm at my day job. We work a four day week or four-tens as we say, which is common in Las Vegas.

Last Thursday, my boss asked me, “I know this is a rhetorical question, but could you work from home? Do you have a computer?”

Laughing, I replied, “I have three computers under the desk of my home office and four laptops. That doesn’t include Foxy’s desktop and laptop or my other computer, which is for photography. So yeah, I could work from home!”

He replied, “I don’t know for sure, but department heads were asked to poll their workers and report back. I assume it will happen pretty soon.”

I’m an engineer in a reasonably large firm, and while most of the office could logically work from home, I’m concerned about those who work in the field and may have trouble doing so. Scary times that will not be over for months.

On a more personal note, I’m struggling with doing something with House Party 2, the sequel to House Party. I’ve been experimenting with publishing through Kindle Unlimited, which allows readers to read for free, except for the ten dollars per month.

House Party published at over 80,000 words, which is novel size, and I decided to push it out on KU, which has turned out to be a great decision on several fronts.

I started writing erotica to talk about our experiences in the Lifestyle and, as such, creating fictional characters in my stories for Foxy and myself. Now, thirty-plus novels and novellas later, I realize that this was a terrible decision.

When I write a story involving our fictional selves, I feel duty-bound to picture the fictional Foxy and Larry as they are in real life. Every time I write about us, I have to ask myself, “Is this what Wifey or myself would do?”

Yes, our fictional selves are a little more over the edge as we are in real life, but core values are the same. So when we do something or somebody, you can be assured that if this were us in real life, the decision would be similar.

Foxy is a Luddite and refuses to read electronic stories on a laptop, phone, or tablet. If she can’t hold it, she doesn’t read it. To date, my only print story is Stripper or Nurse? at approximately 250 pages. Foxy read and edited the story for which I’m grateful and never bitched at how I pictured her.

With House Party, I decided to test our relationship. I met Foxy at a party given by a large photography club back in the mid-West. She was one of the models who came to the party, and I was mesmerized by her beauty.

We started dating before she was twenty-one and a babe in the woods. A tall, slender brunette that was all leg but a babe never the less. I’m probably at fault for shaping a lot of her perverted ways, but she was a willing subject.

When I wrote House Party, I decided to try something different. Foxy has always been a kept woman as I’ve been a reasonably successful business owner. After marriage, her day job consisted of laying out nude at the pool and working on her tan.

As such, she’s never really been on her own and responsible for her destiny. So in HP, Foxy decides to leave Larry and run off with a guy she met at a swinger’s house party. They didn’t have a fight or anything, but she just decides to try something new.

Now for me, this was a struggle to write as it violated all of our rules and the unwritten laws that most swingers live by. It is likely difficult for “straights” to believe that divorce rates for swingers are less than “normal” people, but in my experience, that’s true.

Our fictional selves are an extension of our real selves, and when I write, I have to be careful and respond as we would normally. When I don’t include Foxy and Larry in a story, I’m free to picture the characters in any way that I want.

When House Party was released, Foxy had run off to Los Angeles and began working as a porn actress, while Larry wrung his hands and worried. Foxy’s conscience bothered her, and she called a woman that Larry had been involved with, to take care of him.

Of course, pussy was never a problem for Larry as he owned The Fox’s Den, a hot strip club in Sin City. Plus, their live-in was always available to take care of him.

At the end of the original story, House Party, Foxy, is living in LA, working as an up and coming porn star, with Larry in Las Vegas taking care of his new girlfriend, their live-in, and his best friend’s wife!

In HP2, I’m trying to get them back together again, and it’s been a struggle. HP2 is over 90,000 words and approximately seventy-five percent complete.

Your typical smut story is between 20-30K words, but mine has grown to the point most are over 50K words. To focus on writing shorter stories, I just started the Cuckold Club series, and the first story ended up at 32K words. I had hoped to have the story in the 20K range, but at thirty-two thousand, it was a start.

By cutting down my word count, I can publish more stories. At least that’s my goal.

I’m trying to cut the current WIP to around 40-45K words, by breaking it up into individual stories. I hope to publish House Party 2 soon. This way, I can delay figuring out how to get Foxy and Larry back together.

To grab your personal copy of House Party, so that you can get ready for House Party 2, click this link to order from Kinky Literature, Larry’s favorite supplier of smut.

If you have Kindle Unlimited, click here to read it for free.

Below is an X-Rate excerpt from House Party 2, which will hopefully be available soon if I can get my act together.

Foxy was in the middle of coupling with the same two guys and a girl from her first “official” porn movie and seriously felt there was truth to the “getting your brains fucked out” theory.

One guy was in her throat, or at least as far as his big dick could go in her mouth. The other guy was completely buried in her ass. She could feel his balls slapping against her cunt every time he rammed his cock home. To top it off, her girlfriend was underneath her, licking Foxy’s wet drooling cunt.

In Foxy’s fantasy world, she could picture the heads of their dicks touching in her stomach. She was being skewered from both ends or spit-roasted as the saying goes. Almost every time the guy rammed his cock up her ass, she would orgasm. It went in so deep, and she imagined this is what a colonoscopy must feel like. Except that the scope was likely a lot smaller than the cock buried in her ass.

She had just sucked the other guy off, and he had fired his load into her mouth and across her face. The problem with huge dicks is that it was hard to contain all the cum in your mouth. Now, I need Max with his camera crew, she told herself with a giggle as she felt the cream dripping off her chin. She could feel his jizz tightening on her face as it dried and could just imagine how slutty she looked. Hopefully, I can remember to get a selfie before passing out after they finish with me.

The dick in her ass had just stopped erupting and felt like it was down to a dribble as the guy slowly pulled his cock out. When the head slipped out, she collapsed onto the girl underneath and buried her head between her sweet thighs to lap up the juice on her young shaved pussy.

Her new girlfriend June was so nasty, maybe even more than Foxy if that was even possible. She had climaxed so many times that now even with a tongue buried in her well-fucked hole, she could barely respond to the sensations that continued to pound her brain.

Then as she felt the cock juice starting to drip out of her wide-open rear hole and run down into her girlfriend’s mouth, Foxy managed to work out a feeble climax. The orgasm was so weak, it barely registered in her fevered brain as she tried to focus on the young girl’s sweet pussy in front of her face.

Through the fog of her orgasm, she heard “Larry Archer,” which snapped her to relative alertness.

“What? What was that?” she muttered as she tried to force her brain to reboot. Listening, she realized that she’d heard something on the television. “Give me the remote!” she ordered.

Turning towards the television, Foxy tried to focus on the big LED screen. One eye was glued completely shut from dried spunk and the other partially covered with a rope of cum that stretched from her hair all the way across her face, to her cheek.

Holding the unfamiliar remote in her hand, Foxy searched for and finally found the reverse button to back up the program. Thank God for satellite television, she told herself as she punched the reverse then play buttons. If Larry has gotten hurt because of my shenanigans, I’ll never forgive myself.

After a second, the screen cleared, and she watched as a line of limousines pulled up to a hotel entrance. The valet rushed to open the rear door and outstretched Porsche, one of the Mayor’s constant companions. Dressed in a typical sequined showgirl bikini outfit, she seemed ten-feet tall with the plumage from the headdress.

The Mayor was the perfect symbol of Las Vegas. He was a short chubby guy who got his chops as a lawyer defending mobsters and organized crime figures in Chicago. Everywhere he went, two showgirls accompanied him, dressed in classic costumes, complete with mile-high feathered headgear.

Porsche was Foxy’s favorite showgirl, and they had spent many hours in bed together, without the headdress.

Next, the Mayor exited his limo, carefully balancing his ever-present martini to avoid spilling it. The Mayor was a shorter, older man with a perpetual grin on his face. He was a perfect representative for the excesses of Las Vegas and, as a retired mob lawyer, well suited for the job.

Taking a sip of his martini for the cameras, he extended his hand into the limo and helped his second showgirl out. Another of Foxy’s “close” friends, she could feel her nether regions dampen from the erotic thoughts of those two.

The next vehicle up was a black Suburban and not a limousine as expected. Larry, you asshole, always have to be different! Foxy relaxed as she realized that he wasn’t hurt or in trouble. The huge armored 3500 series Suburban looked like a hungry lion among a herd of gazelles as the driver’s side and front passenger doors opened, and two girls exited.

Foxy recognized them as two valets from The Fox’s Den except they were mostly clothed, which was the unusual part. Wearing sleeveless white shirts with a diamond opening to expose their young boobs, both girls were wearing black bow ties. Finishing the look were black miniskirts with black strappy stripper shoes. Perfect representatives of The Fox’s Den, her husband’s famous strip club.

The girls opened the rear door, and from the back seat came a long, long leg exposed all the way to the waist. Foxy wondered how long she had practiced that exit as the side slit on the dress went all the way up to the promised land.

She laughed to herself as she noted that the cameraman had subconsciously centered his video camera on the girl’s crotch. The dress, open from the slit, went across the girl’s thigh and just barely hid the evidence of her wearing underwear or not. Foxy assumed she was commando, as she was Larry’s date.

The dress looked familiar, and then she realized, The Mayor’s Charity Ball is tonight and she’d completely forgotten about it. I know Larry is mortified with me being in Los Angeles, not to mention getting my brains fucked out by two huge cocks.

When the rest of the girl appeared, it somewhat relieved Foxy that it was Sherry, the girl she’d asked to look after Larry. God, she was gorgeous and wearing a dress Larry had just bought for her. Sherry filled it out much better with her big melons, and Foxy could see that the top of the dress was under a lot of strain, courtesy of the best plastic surgeons around.

She remembered being shocked at the price tag and wondered why the less you got, the more you paid. The cameraman zoomed in on Sherry’s big tits as the moderators talked in the background.

“Who is that with Larry Archer? That’s not his wife, is it? I thought she was a big-haired brunette and not a blonde.”

“She looks familiar, but …, wait that’s Sherry Marsh from Channel Twelve News, isn’t it? Where’s Larry’s wife, and what’s he doing with Sherry?”

“I’d heard there might be trouble in River City, but that was just a rumor. Sherry looks exceptionally beautiful without her typical work outfit on.”

“Did you say they were having problems?”

“I just heard that Sherry was spending a lot of time with Larry and some other woman but wasn’t sure if it meant anything or not.”

“Here comes Larry out now. He is smashing in that tuxedo with his chiseled body and sexy looks. You know, I agree that he looks a lot like a young Elvis Presley. He has that sweet innocent yet dangerous look about him.”

“He is reaching back into the Suburban, and maybe Foxy is on the far side. No, no, that’s not her, it’s another tall blonde, similarly dressed or undressed.”

“Remember, the mic is on!”

“Sorry, ignore that last remark. This girl is tall, well over six-foot, and stunning to be polite. She’s wearing a similar metallic dress, open in all the right places. Larry has done all right with these two. If the Archer’s are having problems, he’s obviously not letting it bother him.”

“I guess it took two to replace his hot wife!” the one moderator snickered.

Both moderators politely laughed at the comment as the second girl slid out of the Suburban, and both girls stood with their arms interlinked in Larry’s and smiled for the cameras which blinded them from all the strobes going off.

Larry walked over to the Mayor, who stood there waiting, and they both shook hands. Larry kissed both showgirls on the cheek and introduced his dates.

“Mr. Mayor, please allow me to introduce Sherry and Delphine. Girls, this is the Mayor of our fine city.”

Handing his martini to one of the showgirls, the Mayor kissed both of Larry’s girls while trying not to stare at the mountains of boob flesh exposed. He was shorter, which put his face right on the proper level, and all he could think of was motorboating those jugs.

Turning to Larry, he quipped, “Two for one tonight, big guy?” Then after a moment’s hesitation, “Foxy indisposed?”

“She’s out of town, “ Larry answered noncommittally.

“We need to get together and talk about your upcoming Charity Bikini Golf Tournament. I’ve got some ideas on how to expand it and bring in even more money for local charities,” the Mayor said while not taking his eyes off Sherry and Del’s luscious hooters.

About this time, the Sheriff walked up with his wife and shook hands with everyone. His wife Rachel was an attractive woman in her mid-forties with short blonde hair and wearing an expensive dress that was relatively modest considering her husband’s position.

Rachel’s husband Doug was a poster boy for someone in law enforcement. He was six-foot, broad shoulders, and crew-cut blond hair. For all their differences, Doug and Larry had formed a lifelong friendship.

Kissing Larry on the cheek, Rachel whispered in his ear, “Is everything okay with you and Foxy? I’ve heard rumors and now seeing you with these two bombshells! And both blonde to boot, Larry. That’s almost heresy.”

“Everything’s fine, she’s just out of town for a couple of weeks,” Larry answered.

There was a concern on her face as she replied, “Call me when you’re alone and can talk.”

Larry squeezed her arm and replied, “Will do.”

She looked him right in the eyes and added, “Soon!” Then she gave him a peck on the lips, and Larry was sure he felt the tip of her tongue give him a little poke.

They formed up and walked in behind the Mayor and his entourage of showgirls.

The television coverage switched to a car wreck on the 405, and Foxy clicked off the TV. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she said.

“What’s wrong?” her girlfriend asked.

Throwing the remote down on the bed, Foxy fell back as a tear ran down her cheek. “I completely forgot about the Mayor’s Charity Ball and Awards Ceremony tonight. If Larry weren’t pissed at me before, he would be now! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“What’s he got to be mad about? It looks like he has two beautiful women, one on each arm,” her girlfriend asked.

“Face, it’s all about face, and that’s terribly important to Larry. I’m not there with him, and now I’ve fucked up big time. This could be trouble!” she said as she rolled over and cried into her pillow.

For more explicit erotica stories from Larry Archer, click this link. Please follow me for the latest from Larry.