It’s time for the Snog by the Sea blog hop! Leave it to Team Blisse to start the fun early. Clearly we’re not the only ones who can hardly wait for Smut by the Sea next Saturday. And what better way to prepare for the big event than some seriously sizzling snogging! And of course, what’s a blog hop without great prizes!
Welcome to our Snogfest which runs from the 6th-9th June.
Please check out all the links below and comment to win our fab prizes!
If you live in the UK you can win 2 All-Day Tickets for Smut by the Sea – Scarborough’s only smutty get together for Erotica Authors and Readers. Taking Place at Scarborough Library on the 14th June 2014.
If you are not in the UK you can win a mystery ebook bundle with ebooks from some of the top names in erotica.
Want more Snogs by the Sea? Join us for Smut by the Sea!
On the 14th of June 2014 at the Scarborough Library, we’ll be hosting Smut by the Sea. It’ll be a fab day full of smutty fun with writing workshops, reading slams, a buffet lunch, mini marketplace and erotic Tombola and a whole host of erotic authors to meet. You don’t want to miss it!
Find out more and get your tickets at Smut by the Sea.
Use the promo code “snogbythesea” to save 20% on tickets
I’d sweetening the snogalicious pot with a free copy of my sexy road trip novella, Migrations. All you have to do for a chance to win is leave a comment.
In the meantime, here is a sexy seaside summer snog from my short story, Skin, which is in the fabulous Smut By the Sea Anthology, Volume 1. Enjoy!
*****
Blurb:
When the mysterious Celia follows Tess home in a rain storm, the sexy encounter that follows is totally unexpected, and yet somehow, Celia is strangely familiar.
Excerpt SKIN:
(Caution: This Excerpt is VERY Adult Only)
‘Women smell of the sea as men never can,’ she breathed against my face. ‘I love that about women. With women I’m always close to the sea.’ Then she kissed me with just a touch of tongue, just as she wriggled a finger in between my labia and we both moaned into each other’s mouths. ‘You’re so creamy wet.’ She pressed her pussy against my hip. ‘Do I make you that way?’
‘Oh God yes,’ I breathed, pulling her closer, taking her mouth as though I would eat her up.
‘Then let me taste you. I want to taste you, please.’
In a wave of water that splashed out over the top of the tub, I pushed my way out until I was seated on the edge with my back pressed hard against the tiles of the wall. She sat between my open thighs. There was no preamble, no teasing. She just began with the point of her tongue pressed up against my perineum, then licked and nibbled and sucked her way upward until her lips pursed tightly around my clit. By that time I could no longer hold still. I curled my fingers into her wet hair and bore down, feeling like all of my weight was now concentrated at the apex of my pussy where she licked and suckled, none too neatly. My juices glistened on her face and ran down her chin mixed with her saliva. ‘You’re almost there, aren’t you?’ She whispered against my clit. ‘I can feel your orgasm gathering, pressing, waiting to happen all right here.’ Then she nipped my distended clit and shoved two fingers up hard into my gape and I exploded, jerking and spasming. I would have slipped back into the tub, but she held me fast with her strong arms, held me open wide and watched me come.
‘There’s nothing quite as beautiful as watching a woman’s cunt when she’s coming,’ she said. I could feel her hot breath against my trembling pout as she spoke. ‘The skin around it is dark and glistening bright and stretched so tight from desire, and it ripples and flows like the sea is just beneath the surface.’ She gave the swell of me a gentle stroke. ‘Have you ever watched a woman come?’
‘I’ve never looked,’ I said when I could finally get enough breath to speak.
‘What? And you, an artist? Come on. You have to see what happens.’ She hopped from the tub and grabbed the towel drying herself as she headed into the lounge, grabbing her wine glass as an afterthought. ‘Where do you draw?’ She called over her shoulder.
As quickly as I could, I wrapped myself in one of the big towels drying as I went, following her wet footprints across the wood floor into the lounge which I had turned into a make-shift studio.
When I caught up with her, she had shed her towel and thrown a clean cotton drop cloth across the leather sofa. ‘This is perfect. This is a wonderful place to be creative.’ She nodded out the large picture window to the panorama of sea and cloud and storm. ‘And it’s a great place to masturbate. I bet you masturbate here, don’t you?’ She asked.
I blushed hard and nodded. ‘Sometimes I do.’
‘Masturbation and creativity go hand in hand,’ she said. Then she nodded to my pad and charcoal tossed carelessly across the coffee table and she settled onto the sofa in a reclining position. ‘How do you want me?’
Wrapped tightly in the towel, I awkwardly took up the pad and charcoal and moved a chair to sit near the sofa waiting expectantly.
She giggled. ‘You’re not a secretary waiting to take dictation. You’re an artist here to do a study on womanly pleasure. I’m your subject. You have to tell me what to do.’ She giggled again, and the sound was almost playful, childlike. ‘Are you blushing, Tess? You are, aren’t you? Oh darling, you have to relax 
and enjoy your pussy, enjoy all of your lovely skin. Look at you, all wrapped up in a towel like you’re trying to hide something, something you should never hide.’
She took a large sip of wine then motioned me to her.
Cautiously I put down the pad and came closer.
With one hand she shoved the towel off my breasts and onto the floor. As I yelped my protest, she pulled me down on top of her, took my face in her hands and with an open mouth kiss drizzled the body temperature red wine into my mouth. I startled, but she held me and trickled a little more, pushing it forward with thrusts of her tongue almost like she was fucking my mouth with it, drizzling wine cum between pursed lips. My pussy gushed with empathy as I suckled the rest from her, one hand cupped behind her head, the other splayed over one of her perfect breasts, stroking an impossibly erect nipple.
At last she pulled away and smiled up at me. ‘Now, I’m going to play with my pussy and make myself come.’ She held my gaze. ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to from any position you’d like to draw. All you have to do is say.’
I dropped onto the floor next to the sofa, and she draped one leg so that her foot rested on the coffee table and I was settled in between her thighs at eye level with her cunt. I fumbled for the pad and charcoal, nearly ripping the paper as I shuffled for a blank page.
‘Okay,’ I breathed, nearly dropping the charcoal. ‘I want to see.’
Her slender hand lay cupped protectively over her vulva, hiding everything from her clit all the way down
to where her bottom settled onto the couch. It took me a breathless second to realize that she was gently, carefully palming herself, pressing the flat of her hand against her slit, then shifting and rubbing her sex against it. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly pressing upward into her hand.
I couldn’t help myself. Even as I drew furiously and quickly trying to capture every nuance of her pleasure, I dropped a kiss high onto her thigh, smelling the sea on her, smelling the tide pool rising beneath her palm.
‘I want to see,’ I whispered. ‘I want to see your pussy. I want to watch you touch yourself.’ My face burned like fire as I said it, but, oh God, it was so true. I’d never wanted anything so badly in my whole life.
She slipped her hand up slowly, parting the engorged butterfly wings of her labia. Then she dipped her middle finger, at first, and then her index finger next to it, into the milky thick moisture of her arousal, which seeped down over her perineum and onto the drop cloth beneath. She raised herself on one elbow and looked down the flat of her belly at her fingers splaying and shoving into her vulva. ‘I’m already almost there.’ Her words were breathless and her abdomen rose and fell with her growing need for oxygen. ‘I could have almost come just eating your pussy, touching your beautiful pillowy breasts.’ She raked her thumb against the hard knot of her clit, and she jerked beneath her touch and bit her lip with a sob of pleasure. ‘Oh so close. So very close. But I like to make it last, don’t you?’
I nodded dumbly, the sight of her touching herself in such an intimate way had shut down the speech centre of my brain.
‘My nipples ache,’ she said. ‘My tits always feel so heavy and swollen when I’m about to come.’ With the hand not busy fingering her cunt, she tugged at her nipples and kneaded her breasts until I feared she would hurt them. Beneath me, I sat on the uncomfortable heap of the towel I had shed, which was just as well because I would have made a wet spot on the floor from my own flood. I managed to wriggle and move until it was wadded so that it rubbed and stroked up between my own folds and raked at my clit as I shifted, closer to the push and thrust of pleasuring going on between Celia’s legs.
Celia missed nothing. ‘God it makes me hot to think of you rubbing your wet cunt against that towel. Your clit must be the size of a great pearl in a succulent oyster, and you must be so slippery.’
I didn’t respond. I kept drawing like a crazy woman, all the while my hips were rocking back and forth against the towel and Celia’s fingers were dancing and thrusting up inside her pussy, first two then three, deep into the grip and squelch of her creamy wet spot. And I drew and watched and held my breath, anticipating her orgasm, anticipating my own orgasm that I didn’t figure could be too far behind.
She writhed and arched and ground against the drop cloth offering me flashes of her back hole and the rounded clench of her buttocks, offering me the bounce and sway of her cupcake breasts, offering me grunts and whimpers and little animal sounds that I couldn’t capture on paper, but wished I could. At some point I realized not all of those sounds were coming from Celia. And the smell. It was as though I had opened the windows and the scent of the sea had washed in over us, but it was a female sea awash with the earthy wet smell of ripe, needy womanhood.
She looked like she might shatter into pieces as she drew nearer and nearer her orgasm. Her movements and thrusts became tight and stiff, and every muscle in her body was tensed. My own body was more than empathetic. I had found a rhythm on the towel, a rhythm that matched Celia’s. My gaze was so tightly focused on her cunt that my eyes burned like fire from not blinking, and yet I watched.
And then it happened. ‘Oh my god,’ she gasped. ‘I have to come, Tess. I have to come now.’
She arched up off the sofa and roared like a lioness. Her pussy drenched her hand and her buttocks clenched and released around her tight back-hole then she collapsed onto the sofa. ‘Look,’ she gasped. ‘Look now, watch my orgasm.’
And sure enough it was as though an earth quake were happening just below the surface of her vulva. All the tiny muscles trembled and quaked and gripped. Her cunt hole spasmed and relaxed and spasmed again and again, pushing out its little rivulet of girly juices.
I tossed aside the drawing pad and pulled her to me, hands cupped beneath her bottom. I pulled her to me until I could lick and slurp and relish the taste of her. I used the advantage of my extra weight to hold her as she squirmed against me, making incoherent sounds as I nibbled at her clit and tugged at her labia with my lips. Then she spasmed again so violently that she tumbled onto the floor and I engulfed her. I slid up her body, kissing her beautiful breasts, nursing on her nipples, nipping the tender nape of her neck. I longed to explore every centimetre of her delicate strength. I ached to lick and touch and taste every inch of her translucent soft skin. I longed to drown myself in her female sea. As I slid up her body, her hand found its way between my legs and tweaked my clit and I came, rubbing my body against hers, wrapping myself around her kissing, tasting, fondling, caressing.
I don’t know what time it was when I threw together a fry-up between kisses and gropes and giggles in the kitchen. I’d never cooked naked before. I would have been embarrassed to do anything beyond bathe naked up until now, but Celia made me feel at home in my own skin. She touched me everywhere. No part of me was too embarrassing or too secret for her to love. We fed each other bacon and egg and chocolate éclairs I’d bought from one of the bakeries on Broad Street. We bathed again and made love again, this time in my bed.
It was long toward morning when I woke to find her missing. I grabbed for the robe, then changed my
mind and went looking for her naked. I found her in the lounge sitting on the floor looking through my sketch pads. ‘You know the sea,’ she said when I settled next to her, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. ‘You feel it inside you like I do. I can tell.’ When she looked up at me there were tears in her eyes. ‘That’s
what drew me to you. That’s what I love about you. Most people don’t feel it that
way, and even if they did, they could never make anyone else feel it that way.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘You move me, Tess. You move me deeply.’ She kissed me and when she pulled 
away I looked down at the charcoal she had been admiring. It was the last drawing I’d done of the little harbor seal before the storm broke and we went our separate ways. ‘I draw a lot of seals,’ I said. ‘They fascinate me, and they seem to be comfortable around me. I don’t know why. Sadly there aren’t a lot around here anymore, so it was a special treat to find this one, who let me draw her for two days.’
‘It’s lonely for them here now,’ she whispered. ‘This one surly appreciated your company.’ Then she lay the open pad aside and came into my arms, feeling tiny and delicate in my embrace.
Lucy Felthouse is having a month-long celebration for her birthday, and she wants you to get involved!
