Victoria Blisse has Good Manors! You Should Too!

goodmanors_800Good Manors is the latest offering from the Queen of Smut, Victoria Blisse. Part of the ‘What’s Her Secret Series’ of books from Totally Bound, this is a novel with twists, turns, secrets and steaming hot erotic encounters.

Set in an English country Manor, Victoria’s novel has a uniquely British feel and gives a glimpse behind the scenes of the aristocracy including its seedier side. Told from the point of view of both of the main characters, you see through the eyes of both the secret keeper and the one kept in the dark.



Mallard Hall plays host to games of submission and Dominance for one unique couple, but do the secrets of the past threaten the new bonds being forged?

India Grace, a respected journalist, is assigned to the estate for a behind the scenes look at how it runs. It is the last place in the world she wants to be. Back when she was young and naïve she took a photo of old Lord Mallard, which led to her success and his downfall. She carries the guilt with her to the location and it’s constantly in the back of her mind when she meets the hall’s latest owner, Xander Patrick.

Xander’s father died when he was only thirteen, and he doesn’t hold many good memories of him. He helped his mum build Mallard Hall back up, and since her death struggles to keep it going single-handedly. The last thing he needs is a meddling journalist poking into estate business, especially when the meagre profits are mysteriously disappearing.

The two try to keep their distance but find themselves drawn together in many unexpected ways. A meal leads to an investigation of secret passageways and from that India and Xander explore their attraction, using different rooms of the hall for their kinky games.

In the end India’s secret will have to come out, but will it bring the couple closer together or tear them apart?

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of light BDSM and voyeurism.

General Release Date: 15th September 2015




“What did I say about interrupting?” I sighed tetchily.

“Sorry, Sir.” She dipped her head. “But you knew about the passages, right? Why didn’t you use those?”

I shook my head and loosened my tie.

“If you’d shut up I’d tell you. But no, you keep gabbling on. I think you’re doing it on purpose, naughty girl.”

“No,” she insisted. “No, Sir, I’m not.”

“Well, you won’t do it anymore.” I unlooped my tie and pressed it against her cheek. “I’m going to gag you so I can finish my story. If at any point you get uncomfortable with what’s happening raise your hand and I’ll untie you. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.” She nodded.

I gave her a couple of moments more, just in case she wanted to use her safe word, but when she stayed silent, I wrapped my royal blue tie around her mouth and knotted it at the back securely. I ran a finger down the back to check it wasn’t too tight then cupped her face in my hands and dropped a kiss delicately in the middle of her forehead.

“Right, maybe now I can actually finish my story in peace.” I kissed her cheek right above the line of the tie.

“So, as I was about to say, I didn’t want to reveal the passageways to her because she might pass that information on, to Mum, to outsiders. I didn’t want that at all. So I searched the house and believe me, that’s no small feat. Finally, I found the attic, with the same warning sign that hangs on the stairs now.

“I cautiously ignored it, pushed on and discovered this. It was the perfect place to bring Ariana. It was here I discovered she had kinks. I mean, I was a naïve virgin…”

She snapped her head round to look at me.

“Yes, virgin. Anyway, I was just eager to fuck to be truthful and she was incredibly patient with me. I set up dozens of candles in here that first night. I thought it was romantic and you know, it looked spectacular. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, but she did. After we fucked—I’m not afraid to say it was a short and fairly straightforward experience—she asked me to pour hot candle wax over her breasts. I didn’t know much, I thought it was weird, but if the lady who’d just happily taken my virginity wanted me to drip hot wax all over her then I was going to do it.”

India made a noise, muffled by the tie, which I’m sure was an indication of arousal.

“She went crazy, bucking under the stream. I was fascinated how it went from liquid to solid on her skin. She had me pick the cooled wax from her skin as I fucked her—that was an interesting balancing act. I loved the red marks that lingered, my marks left on her, physical evidence of what we’d done. I realized then—the very first time I had sex—that it was better with a bit of kink. I also found out that Ariana was submissive. She taught me all I know.

“So I like to come up here and remember. Remember all the good times. Mum sacked her when she found out we were—well, I can’t say dating, we never went on a date—fucking. I never saw her again.” I looked away from India at that moment, I knew there’d be sympathy in her eyes. I looked back to check on her once I was convinced I wouldn’t see it.

“So I keep some souvenirs of the old days up here.” I reached over behind the pile of pillows and pulled out a coiled-up length of rope, a candle and a flogger and placed them on the blanket before India. “Would you like to play?”

India nodded.

“Good.” I reached back again and after a little rummaging pulled out a box of matches and lit the chunky cream candle before me. “If at any point you’re not happy with what’s happening shake your head. I will stop the moment I see that sign. That will be your non-vocal safe word. If you understand and you’re happy with that, nod now.”

India nodded eagerly.

“Wonderful. Okay, stand up.”

India stood, and I helped her kick off her shoes, then undid her top and pulled it away from her. I let her keep her skirt for the time being. I stroked over her shoulders and down her arms. I looked her in the eye and I saw a world of desire painted in her gaze.

“Come with me.” I held her hand and walked her toward my favorite beam. It was the kind of beam developers hate. A little above waist height, it made walking through the middle of the room a pain. But I loved its old, weathered wood and the height was perfect for what I wanted to do.

I escorted India over to the beam and lay her arm flat along it.

“Keep it there,” I said and walked round her to smooth the other arm flat. I stood back and flipped up her skirt. It was a beautiful sight—India bent forward, arse presented to me. “Don’t move.”

Hurrying across the floorboards, I picked up the rope and flogger in one hand and the candle in the other. I settled the candle just beyond her reach at the left hand side of the beam, then unwrapped the bundle of rope until I had enough to encompass her wrist. She twisted her head to watch as I tied then coiled the rope once, twice, three times around her wrist and the beam.

“Now, I could loop this over your neck and hold that down too but since you’re gagged I won’t do that.” I just ran the rope underneath her and to the other arm.

She shifted and looked at me again as I wound the other wrist to the beam.

“Is that okay?” I asked, very much aware of how vulnerable she was and both turned on and grateful for her submission.

India nodded, narrowly avoiding hitting the beam with her chin.

“Good, if it gets too much just shake your head, don’t stop shaking it. If I see that I will stop immediately, understand?”

She nodded, and I stroked down from the top of her head, through her long luscious hair onto her back and over her buttocks. The subdued moan she made intensified a moment later when I rubbed down between her buttocks and cupped her pussy in my hand.

“Wet already.” I tutted. “I’ve barely touched you yet.”

Buy Links For Good Manors:

Totally Bound

All Romance Ebooks

Barnes and Noble






“Pure Blisse!” Karen Shenton

“The sex scenes are off-the-charts kind of HAWT…” The TBR Pile

“Full of sexy encounters and a gut wrenching confession Good Manors is a great page turner.” Alison Grieg

“I loved the writing on this book, it was engaging and sexy, with a hint of intrigue.” Momof3infl


About Victoria:

Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.

Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days and nights dedicated to erotica, fun and prizes. Check out for more details.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.

Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

You can find often find Victoria procrastinating on Facebook , Twitter and Pinterest

To find out more check out



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The 1003rd Post!

The 1000th post on A Hopeful Romantic completely took me by surprise, so I’m celebrating 1003 posts as an after-thought. I’d planned to rent a big hall in London, hell I’d even thought I might rent one in New York and Los Angeles as well. I’d planned to have a band, Champaign fountains, fireworks, dancing. Oh I had a really huge soirée in mind.

I’d planned to wear a midnight blue off the shoulder number made of shimmery, silky fabric, that if it didn’t make me exactly look like a fairy princess, certainly would have made me look like a very wicked witch with some very naughty magic in mind. And Raymond, well I’d planned for him to wear a kilt for the occasion and some serious bad-boy boots. He would have looked SO scary-hot.

It would have been the party of the century, I’m sure. But instead the 1000th post sneaked up on me and bit me in the butt when I wasn’t looking.

Since I’m too late to throw a big party, I thought I’d hit the highlights in pictures instead.

The Initiation of Ms Holly Started it all almost exactly five years ago. I was bursting with pride at the success of my lovely First Born.




The lovely Lucy Felthouse advised me that if I had a book, I should have a website and a blog for pimping
purposes and well, just so I could make myself known to the great big world of readers and writers out there. She designed my website and blog and helped me figure out just what the hell I was doing. And here she is, looking lovely and lusty at the launch of The Initiation of Ms Holly in Sh! Women’s Store! Thanks EP!





There were launch parties and readings and events in London and Las Vegas and Scarborough and Cardiff, to name just a few.



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Soon Holly wasn’t alone. Her family grew and grew to include 11 novels, 6 novellas and countless short stories.




I got to be on telly!


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I decided I’d have twice the fun, twice the Romance and Grace Marshall was born and so were the Executive Decision novels.


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I wrote about walking





I wrote about gardening.


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I shared my travels.

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I won ETO’s Best Erotic Author Award 2014!





I posted about writing and the creative process and my experiences as a writer.


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I became a Brit Babe.


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I made fabulous friends and had some amazing people on my blog.




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After 1st read-thru 1 July 2013


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I shared the experience of collaborating with the lovely Moorita Encantada writing Medusa: The Eye of the Beholder a burlesque play.







I wrote my first ever M/M and my first ever vampire story for the fabulous box set, Brit Boys on Boys


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I explored the online serial, first with Demon Interrupted, a Lakeland Witches novella.


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Now with something totally different in my ongoing online series In The Flesh.



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For 1003 blog posts I’ve been sharing my writing adventure and inviting other writers and artists and interesting people to do likewise. For 1003 posts I’ve been celebrating the written word, which is and always has been the passion of my life. For every picture, every memory shared, there are a thousand that I wish I could. It’s been an amazing 1003 posts! I can hardly wait to see what the next 1003 bring.

Thanks to all of the lovely people who have been my guests throughout those 1003 blogs and to all the lovely people who read and follow A Hopeful Romantic and especially to those who follow my blog because they enjoy my books. You’re all fabulous, and I hope to see you at the BIG soiree when I celebrate the 2003rd post. (If somebody would just, please, remind me at about post 1950 so I can hire the band and the fireworks blokes :-))


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In The Flesh Part 20: Dark Paranormal Romance in Progress. Enjoy!

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It’s that time of the week again! Time for the next instalment of In The Flesh. In episode 20 of In The Flesh, Susan visits a friend and plots a dangerous path to save Annie.


In the Flesh  is very dark paranormal erotica. When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.




To read the story in its entirety up to this point, follow these links to:

 Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8Part 9Part 10Part 11Part 12Part 13Part 14Part 15Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19.


In The Flesh Chapter 20

We had all needed a little break from the reading, and after Michael stormed out of the room, Magda had set aside the computer and suggested we take some time. Everyone was strung out and on edge, especially at the idea that somehow the Guardian had managed to breach the defenses of a paranoid vampire and his dangerous entourage. It didn’t help that, thanks to the reading, they were all clearly laying the blame at my feet. Magda said the last thing we needed was to tackle the rest of what I’d written in a less than calm state. Seriously? Did the woman really think any of us were going to be calm again until this situation was resolved? I certainly wasn’t likely to find a few minutes respite anywhere near enough of a distraction to calm my frayed nerves. But then, other than Michael, I was the only one who really understood just what we were up against and how badly He could make us want Him before we even realize He had touched us.

It seemed to me that a little break was the perfect time for me to check in on Annie, whom I had Bernini Hades and Persephone close uptumblr_lg4h59T3z31qe2nvuo1_500not seen since our strange arrival at High View. But when I had asked again to see her, Magda had insisted that I wait. ‘Seeing her like she is now will only make matters more difficult,’ she explained. ‘You’re connected to her. She’s another way the Guardian can get to you, can get to both of you, and through you everyone else here at High View. In fact, it’s not even wise to keep the two of you under the same roof, but it was the only choice I had at the time. I’ve taken every precaution I can, but that means the only way I can keep the Guardian away from her and keep her unaware of your presence or that she’s no longer with him, is to keep her … asleep.’

When I asked how she had managed that, she said it was very old magic. Though how could that surprise me, when I was in the home of a vampire who had a succubus for a confidante, and I was in said vampire’s ruined palatial estate with an angel who was out of sorts because of what I’d written while under the influence of some entity similar to a demon? Before I could argue with her about seeing Annie, Magda promptly reminded me that my best friend had come at me with a butcher knife.

The woman hadn’t waited for my response. I was quite clearly dismissed. She had left the room only minutes after Michael. For a moment we all sat staring at each other, then Alonso once again assumed his role as gracious host and sent for fresh coffee and pastries while everyone took a short breather. I was no more able to sit still and make pleasant conversation than Michael or Magda had been, so I had excused myself hoping to take a quick shower. I’d been wandering down a half-restored passageway trying to find my way back to my room when Cook saw me and assumed I was looking for Annie. It turned out her room was at the opposite end of the corridor and Cook had only just been there.

Once Cook disappeared down the hallway with an untouched tray from Annie’s room and, after checking both directions to make sure no one was watching, I knocked softly and let myself in. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkened space and, at my first sight of her lying there in the bed, frail and unmoving, I was sure she was dead. I rushed to her side and grabbed up her icy hand, fisted around one of the rungs on the brass headboard. But the moment I touched her, she grabbed onto me with reflexes surprisingly fast and a grip terrifyingly strong. I half expected her to pull a butcher knife from under the duvet and come after me again. But then she moaned softly, completely undisturbed by my startled yelp, and her hand went limp in mine. Within a heartbeat she had relaxed and settled back into the thick bedding as though nothing at all had happened, the rise and fall of her chest returning to the slow, even breathing of deep sleep.

Her skin was waxen and grey, her face, even in repose, ravaged with the exhaustion the Guardian’s heavy demands had wrought upon her. In spite of the shock of seeing her so, I fought back my jealousy of the attention He had lavished on her, unable to keep my thoughts from straying to what He must have done to her, what they must have done together, how He must have pleasured her. Even as the unwelcome thoughts filled my head, I hated myself for them, but I hated her more for having Him all this time while I didn’t.

I recalled my dream with the Succubus, if that’s what it was; my secret planning with the dark moon image_xl_6338206Guardian for Him to take Annie as His lover until I could return and take my place next to Him. He had promised me that by His side was where I belonged, and I had believed Him without even the tiniest doubt. And then he had taken the memory of that night from me to keep our secret, He said. He promised all of what we shared that night would come back to me once we were together, but for now, it was best I didn’t remember. That would make it easier for me to function without Him until I could join Him forever. That was what He told me, and I believed Him without question. Dear God, could I have really betrayed my friend to such a fate? But even as I recalled that night, that experience, our scheming, I burned with jealousy at the plan He instigated, the plan He said would ultimately be best for the two of us, would ultimately guarantee we would be together. Annie meant nothing to Him, He had promised me, but He would do what He had to, whatever it took for us to be together. Perhaps He took those memories from me because He know I couldn’t have endured the jealousy, I would have driven myself insane thinking about her taking my place with Him, her naked on her mattress next to the altar inviting Him in again and again, and Him taking her over and over, instead of me. It should have been me. I should have stayed. I remember thinking that just before He took my memories.

And when He took them, in the taking, He had touched me, and His touch had been like a promise, one so sweet and so ecstatic that the very anticipation of its fulfillment was only a step away from orgasm, only a heartbeat away from pleasure I could barely imagine.

Then shame rushed back on me like a tidal wave followed in short order by denial. How could I have done this – any of this — to my best friend? Surely it couldn’t have been me. Surely it had only been a bad dream, just as I had been hoping all this time. She was the one with the demon lover after all, not me. She was the one who had come after me with a butcher knife. She was the one who caused all this pain and horror… surely she was.

Carefully, as though I feared waking her, or perhaps that my touch would hurt her, I settled onto the edge of the bed next to her still holding her hand, lightly stroking the back of it with my thumb. ‘Annie, I don’t know what to do,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so, so sorry that I dragged you into this mess. I … You have to believe me, I’d never have hurt you deliberately. I didn’t know. I swear to you, didn’t know. Perhaps I should go back to Chapel House.’

The words were out of my mouth almost of their own volition and, to my horror, I found myself rationalizing my need to return to the place, and to Him. After all, it was the only way I could save Annie, right? I could surely convince Him to let her go, to guarantee her safety in exchange for me. ‘If I go back, Annie, and you stay here with Magda and Michael and … well there’s just so much magic in this house. I think if anyone could make you better, Magda Gardener could. There’s something about her. I don’t know what it is, but she could make you better. I know she could.’

It seemed the most logical thing in the world to me, as I spoke. I would go back. I would be the
sacrifice to save Annie. And Michael too, right? He still had a hold on Michael, but it was me He wanted. I knew that it was. I had always known that, hadn’t I? I was the only one who could be to Him what He needed. All the others he’d ever been with down through the ages, all the lovers he had ever taken, all of them had only been His deep longing, His timeless search to find me. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was of the truth of it. The excitement at the thought of returning to Him grew tight and full beneath my breastbone, and in the dark places at the back of my mind, I was already planning my escape from High View and back to Him. It wouldn’t be easy sneaking away at night, not from a Vampire’s lair, but I felt certain in myself that He would help me, whether I fled to him in broad daylight or in the darkness of night. He would protect me from them and aid my escape. And then once I was safe away, safely back with Him, I would send word of my sacrifice and all would be well. I knew it would. He would free Annie and Michael and we would be together, just like He’d always wanted, like we’d both always wanted.

‘Oh, Annie,’ I said, squeezing her hand, ‘It’s the right thing to do. It just has to be. I mean what else can I do?’ I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it fervently. ‘I just … I just want you to be okay, Annie. I just want you to be okay that’s all I want. That’s all I ever wanted.’raindrops 2

‘It’s not all you want.’

I nearly jumped out of my skin as I turned to find Michael leaning against the frame of the door, hair sparkling with droplets of the light rain that has started outside during the reading of the account of my little encounter. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, but as I shook myself back to reality, I knew it had probably been long enough for him to understand exactly what was going on. Long enough to realize the dangerous precipice upon which I now teetered.

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Sexual Sorcery: An Erotic Tale of Sex, Mystery and the Occult, in Victorian England by C M Fontana

sexual-sorcery-cover-600wideAn unwitting academic stumbles into the erotically-charged occult underworld of Victorian London. With a cast of characters including an investigator with a talent for seduction, a mesmerist collecting a harem of beautiful ladies, and a woman who believes she has had sex with Satan, Sexual Sorcery is a sizzling story of decadence, conspiracy and carnality.

When a collection of books go missing from the University’s collection, Fredrick Clifford travels to London in search of the likely culprit, an apparently respectable gentleman named Victor Braystone. But he soon finds that he is not the only one with an interest in Mr Braystone, and the manipulative Catherine Wolseley soon draws him into her own schemes.

As he, Miss Wolseley and their seductive accomplice begin to unravel Mr Braystone’s plots, Fredrick Clifford finds himself both confused and entrapped in a shocking world of of sex and duplicity. And as the trail leads him from the seductions of a London club to a Satanic altar in the wilds of the Welsh borders, he struggles to make sense of both the dark uncertainties of the occult, and of an unfamiliar realm of debauchery and sex.


Buy Links:

Amazon UK:

Amazon US:


Author Bio:

C M Fontana is a British erotic author, fusing plots of mystery, intrigue, and the supernatural with racy erotica. The first full-length novels, Sexual Sorcery, was published for Kindle in September 2015, with two novellas continuing the series released soon after.

Author Website:

Author Twitter: @mystic_erotica



By Saturday morning, Fredrick had still not had time to visit the agency to advertise for a new domestic servant, and he was becoming heartily sick of bread and marmalade for breakfast – or, indeed, for any other meal that he could not reasonably eat out. It was also an irritation that he had to answer his own front door, and now he found himself greeted at his front step by a small grubby boy, in bare feet and ragged trousers, presenting him with a sealed envelope.

He took the letter, tipped the boy a coin, and closed the door.

The paper was expensive, that handwriting feminine. Inside, a note simply read:

Two o’clock. My carriage will collect you. We cannot have gaps in your education as a gentleman. Please be an attentive student. Such classes are not inexpensive.

And that was all. He assumed that it was from Miss Wolseley, and resigned himself to having to follow her cryptic instructions. In the meantime, he thought, he would finish his newspaper, and then visit the agency to and see if they could alleviate his domestic difficulties.

And so, soon after lunchtime, after a satisfactory visit to the agency he found on returning to his house a familiar carriage parked outside.

“My good man, am I late?”

“Not at all Sir,” the gruff coachman tipped his hat. “I’m early. Take your time, Sir. We aren’t due til ‘alf past.”

Fredrick re-emerged promptly at two o’clock, and climbed into the carriage, and sat back while it bounced and swerved through the city’s congested streets. Out of the window he saw gentrified houses, and, as the traffic moved slowly on the main roads, although the journey was barely two miles, it took over twenty minutes. He was relieved to find that they stopped in a fashionable West End street.

He stepped down from the carriage, and the coachman indicated the door across the road.

He crossed the street and rapped with the brass door knocker.

Promptly, the door was opened, and a short, grey haired maid opened the door.

“Fredrick Clifford,” he introduced himself. “I may be expected?”

“Of course,” the maid curtseyed, with a hint of an accent, perhaps Italian or French, and stepped back to let him in.

She took his coat, hat and cane, and then led him up the stairs, and into a well furnished sitting room. Tall windows let light flood into the room through lace curtains, the room was decked with a range of plushly upholstered chairs and settees, the largest of which, unusually, seemed to be the size of a single bed, but with ornate arms and a high back.

The maid motioned him to take a seat in a plush chair by the window. She assured him, “I will say that you have arrived,” and then withdrew.

As he waited, he looked around. The décor was, the more he considered the details, eccentric.

Not only were the chairs unusually deeply upholstered, and the main sofa far wider than was needed, but there were numerous sturdy hooks, which looked like they might have hung chandeliers before gas lighting was installed, both in the ceiling and also, inexplicably in the skirting board at the foot of the wall. There was also a faint but spicy scent in the air, which he suspected might be incense – an unusual scent to encounter outside of a High or Catholic church.

The door opened, and he turned to see a tall, graceful woman step into the room. She wore a red silk robe like a dressing gown, and around her neck an ornate necklace of black beads. Her brown hair hung loosely in flowing curls, cascading over her shoulders, and Fredrick’s eyes were drawn further down, to the sides of her firm breasts, indecently visible where the two sides of the robe met.

“I’m so sorry!” he instinctively stood up and turned his back on her, to stare fixedly out of the window.

“And why, Mr Clifford, are you sorry?” The voice was soft, the accent unmistakably continental.

“I am… that is to say…” He could barely hear her approach, her bare feet on the carpet. “Perhaps I should return when you are properly dressed.”

Her voice, now just over his shoulder, chided, “Mr Clifford, I was told that you were a gentleman.”

“Well, yes!” he replied, indignantly.

“And is it polite, when a lady enters a room, turn your back on her, and then proceed to criticise her choice of clothing.”

“Well, I… there is a question of what is appropriate!”

“Your lessons today,” she corrected him, “are to deal instead with the question of what is courteous – gentlemanly. You may be quite right about what is appropriate. But this afternoon, that is not our subject.”

To Frederick, what was gentlemanly and what was appropriate seemed intimately connected. But Miss Wolseley had, presumably, some purpose in sending him here.

“I apologise,” he conceded, turning to face her. It would be a shame to argue with such an attractive hostess.

She smiled and inclined her head. “Then shall we start again?”

Fredrick nodded.

The woman turned and walked softly back to the door. He watched her robe sway against her legs, and was impressed by her grace. She left the room, and shut the door after herself. Fredrick sat down again, and waited.

After a minute, the door opened again, and the woman returned.

Fredrick stood up, and stepped forwards to greet her. “Fredrick Clifford, Madam. At your service.”

She held out her hand, palm down, and he took it gently, and bowed slightly as he motioned to kiss it. He could not help, bending forward, but appreciate the gentle curve of her breasts, barely draped in thin red silk.

“Signorina Maria Cenci,” she replied with a hint of a curtsey. “Charmed to meet you, Sir.”

She motioned him across to the wide sofa, strewn with cushions, and when he sat she took a seat next to him. Her robe fell open at the knee, revealing her slender, pale calf, and Fredrick made an effort not to look too intently.

The door opened again, and the elderly maid entered, carrying a tray, which she set down on the table by the settee.

“Milk and sugar, Mr Clifford?” Signorina Cenci asked.

“Please, yes.”

“Tell me Mr Clifford, she asked, as she poured the tea and the maid withdrew, “how should a gentleman behave towards a lady?”

Fredrick considered for a moment, and then, taking the cup and saucer offered to him, replied: “A gentleman should always be respectful.”

“And why is that important?” she asked. And when Fredrick had no ready answer, she clarified, “Why should a gentleman be respectful to a lady, and not, perhaps, to a tree or stone?”

“Obviously, trees and stones don’t have feelings!”

“So when you say respectful, you mean that you should be aware of the lady’s feelings?”

“Quite so,” Fredrick said, taking another sip of tea and then setting the cup aside. “The male is the stronger sex. It is our duty to protect, both physically and mentally, the frailer gender. It shows us to be civilized human beings, and not savages.”

“And so,” Signorina Cenci asked, “you see that, if a man turns his back on a woman as she enters the room, she might be upset. In which case, the gentlemanly response is to greet her courteously, perhaps?”

“I see your point, Madam,” Fredrick acknowledged, not wanting to argue.

“But is it also gentlemanly,” she teased, “as you bend down to kiss her hand, to stare so intently at her breasts?”

Fredrick blushed, “I am so sorry, Madam, I didn’t intend to.”

She laughed, and stood. “Then shall we try again?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

She left her tea cup on the table, walked to the door, turned, paused, and then returned towards the sofa.

Fredrick stood, stepped forward, and took her hand when she offered it. This time, as he bent and motioned to kiss her hand, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Again Signorina Cenci laughed.

“Mr Clifford,” she smiled, placing her hand on his arm. “Do you really think that if a lady deliberately appears dressed like this – ” she raised her other hand to her neck and let her index finger slowly trace a line along the hem of the robe, down her chest, over the mound of her breast “ – that she does not want to be admired?”

“Really, Madam, I protest,” Fredrick sighed, “You say that I should not stare, and now you say that I should stare. What am I to do?”

“Mr Clifford, you are to be a gentleman. You are to behave with consideration for the lady’s feelings.” Seeing that he was still confused, she continued. “If you stare dumbly at my chest – “ she turned slightly, so that he could fully appreciate the silhouette of her breasts – “I might consider the stare to be aggressive, or I might worry that you are no longer capable of rational thought. You are still capable of thought, Sir?”

He raised his eyes from the curve of her robe, to look her in the eye again. “Yes, of course.”

“But if you ignore me entirely, I might think that I have failed to impress you, or that you consider me ugly. You do not consider me ugly, do you?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then, Mr Clifford, please, stop trying to guess what the rules are. There is but one rule to being a gentleman. Consideration for the feelings of the other person. And so, consider my feelings, and act accordingly.”

“Very well,” Fredrick acquiesced.

“Then shall we try once more?”

She walked back to the door, and again turned to face him. She paused for a moment. “Are you ready, Sir?”

Fredrick nodded.

She ran her finger down the front of her robe, and deliberately opened the gap at her chest a little further, so that the sides of both breasts were quite bare. “Are you certain?”

Fredrick paused for just a second and then answered confidently: “Yes, Madam.”

Signora Cenci walked across the room, her hips swaying, and held out her hand, palm down.

Fredrick took her hand. As he bowed and raised it towards his mouth, he let his eyes glance over her soft flesh, and at the lowest point of his bow he glanced up to look her in the eye. Then he looked back towards her hand as he stood, and looked her in the eye again, keeping a lingering hold of her hand before releasing her.

“Mr Clifford!” she smiled, “Have you not been taught that it is too forward, even impertinent, to look a lady in the eye as you kiss her hand?”

“Signora Cenci,” he countered, “From the way that you adjusted your gown, I understood that you wanted me to be forward, even impertinent.”

“Bravo!” she clapped her hands three times and smiled. “Please sit, and explain to me your strategy.”

As they both sat down, he on her right, she on his left, he explained. “I trust that you wanted,” he glanced again at the curve of her breast, “to be appreciated, but with discretion. And I gathered that you would not mind a little impertinence. When I first looked up at your eyes, you could have looked away, but you did not. And so I inferred that a little more impertinence might be in order before I released your hand.”

“Perfect, Mr Clifford! You considered my feelings, and acted accordingly. One might almost say, appropriately?”

Fredrick smiled, “Yes, I think that you have proved that point.”

“Which is exactly why you are here,” she explained. She put her right hand behind her on the settee and turned her body towards him. “I am told that you are an intelligent, educated gentleman. But you have been taught to be a gentleman by following a set of rules. And now you find yourself in situations where the rules do not seem to work. Situations for which no rules have been written. Is this so?”

Fredrick nodded, “Increasing so, it seems.”

“And you are particularly unsure how to deal, in certain, unusual situations, with ladies?”

“I understand how to make polite conversation,” he admitted, “but there there are things, I find, that I do not really understand.”

“And that is why you have been sent to me,” Signora Cenci smiled. “Because if you are to be a gentleman in these situations, you will be more confident, yes?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“And to be a gentleman you need only two things. You need to act with consideration or the other person. And you need to understand what the other person wants. You see?”

“Theoretically, I suppose.”

“At this moment, yes, quite theoretically. Because you do not know enough about what a woman wants, and so you cannot treat her…. appropriately. So we shall give you a basic understanding.”

She looked at him, saying nothing more.

He felt that he was expected to react in some way, but had no idea how.

“Mr Clifford,” she flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and then lowered her hand to her knee, where she parted her robe a little. “You are alone with a woman who has chosen to greet you in a quite indecorous outfit – so indecorous, that she has not even troubled to put on underwear, but instead has nothing between you and her but a single layer of very soft, very thin silk. And now she has sat mere inches from you, turned her body towards you, and is now waiting for you. Can you not imagine a gentlemanly reaction?”

He sat, confused, uncertain.

“To make this simple,” Signora Cenci coaxed, “you have two options. If you are not sure what I want, then you can construct some witty, sensitive line of conversation to draw me into disclosing my desires. Or you can take action, in such a way that my response will tell you more of what I want…. Do you feel able to engage in witty conversations at this moment?”

He shook his head, mutely.

“Then Mr Clifford, take action!”


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Out Now! – Eyes Wide Open by Lucy Felthouse #erotica #romance #bdsm #menage #mmf

eyeswideopen_800 - CopyBlurb:

A standalone novel from the Totally Five Star imprint.

An ordinary girl catapulted into an extraordinary world meets two even more extraordinary men—but what will she do when she discovers their sexy secret?

Fiona Gillespie moved to London shortly after graduating to take advantage of the opportunities the capital could offer. However, months later, she’s still living in a horrid flat and working in a grimy East End pub. The problem is, she doesn’t really know what she wants to do, career-wise. So when she happens upon an advertisement for a job at a plush Mayfair hotel, she jumps at the chance. A great deal of determination and a spot of luck land Fiona her dream role.

But working at the Totally Five Star London is just the beginning. She adores the role and flourishes, impressing her bosses and making her increasingly determined to climb the career ladder.

While her career is flying, though, her love life is non-existent. She hasn’t even thought about men, never mind met or dated one for months, so when she bumps into two gorgeous businessmen in the hotel, she’s surprised to find her head has been well and truly turned. Even more surprisingly, they flirt with her—both of them! She’s drawn to James and Logan, despite feeling that they’re way out of her league.

When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover. Scenes of people-trafficking, drug-pushing and wild sex parties all appear in her active imagination. Yet what she actually sees is something she’d never even considered before, something that piques her interest.

After discovering their sexy secret, what will she do with this new-found knowledge?

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of anal play, spanking, sex toys and bondage.

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Continuing to surreptitiously peer at the men over the rim of her glass, it hit her that this was the first time in months that she’d looked at a man with interest, much less two men—and at the same time! But, ready to snatch her gaze away if one of them happened to glance at her, she realized that it wasn’t surprising that the pair had attracted her attention.

The tailored business suits would draw the eye even on an ugly guy. But on these two, the fine clothing was practically an orgasm for the gaze. They sat opposite each other, and their angle to her meant that she had a view of both their profiles—lucky her.

The one to her right had very dark, almost black hair, with a bit of a curl to it, a long straight nose, a trimmed goatee and, if she wasn’t mistaken, deep blue eyes. It was hard to tell for sure from this distance and perspective.

The one on her left had lighter, shorter hair, stubble that by some magical feat still looked smart, and the most sinful lips she’d ever set eyes on. And speaking of eyes, she thought perhaps his were green. What she wouldn’t give to go and check both of them out close up, preferably naked.

Shocked at her own sudden lustful thoughts, she inhaled more than drank another sip of the juice. Unfortunately, it hit her throat all wrong and she almost slammed the glass down as she started to cough. She tried so hard to suppress the cough, eager not to draw attention to herself, that she made it worse. Snatching up the thick linen serviette from the table, she held it to her mouth as she spluttered in a most embarrassing manner, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. By now, she was sure that the whole damn restaurant was staring at her, and she wished the tablecloths reached the floor, like the ones in the restaurant upstairs, so she could hide under the table until she regained her composure.

Swallowing repeatedly to try to soothe her irritated throat, she gasped as a gentle hand laid on her shoulder, which set her off all over again.

“Oh God,” came a voice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. See if I could help.”

Unable to speak, Fiona waved a hand to try to signal that she’d be okay, but unless the guy was a mind reader, he’d have no luck figuring that out. Blinking through the tears that marred her vision, her urge to hide underneath the table grew stronger. Christ, it was only the hottie with the blue eyes. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, his sexy friend with the green eyes was also hovering close by, concern etched into his handsome features.

Managing to drag in a breath, she huffed out, “Thank you.”

Just then, Jeremy arrived with a carafe of water, complete with ice, and poured her a glassful. “Here you go, Fiona. Drink this. Are you all right? Anything else I can get you?”


Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:


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