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The Story Behind Elsie Hepner’s latest release — A Little Slap and Tickle

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The first time a flicker of my new release, A Little Slap and Tickle, tripped a writing wire in my brain, my husband was fondly admiring a hand-tooled leather armor set in one of the wooden booths at our yearly visit to the Maryland Renaissance Faire. Meanwhile, I had my eye on the leather, sheep-lined four cuff set and leather paddles. My kind of instruments. Next my eyes drifted over the super smoking leather worker who was manning the booth—and a book was born.

I knew the second I got home that Flynn was going to disfigured, sarcastic, and self-confident while Eliza was going to have her whole life shot to hell. For a normally all together person, Eliza was royally panicking—which worked to our hero’s advantage. Flynn opened her up, sent her spinning in a million different directions, and proved that chaos can be a happy state too, if only you let someone else take the reins. What once had been a sexy idea born of a hot guy and some leather cuffs I couldn’t afford morphed into an exhibitionist freak show wonderland where one floundering woman relearns how to find herself again.

Frankly, it was fun making the faire sexy when every time I go I witness all sorts of luscious, seductive costumes. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen some woman leading a man on an leather o-ring leash or a goth couple letting their freak flag fly high. More than anything I wanted my characters to embrace their setting, embrace all the little things that might make them flawed and freaky. Celebrate their uniqueness during epic, no-holds-barred sex that leaves both of them vulnerable.

While Eliza is a BDSM newbie, she’s not immune to the delicious ache that Flynn twines around her body and into her bones. What once seemed clandestine and off limits becomes a way of coping, a method of release. Until Eliza has no choice but to accept what she enjoys without looking back.

Elsie Hepner Slap and TickleBlurb:

Eliza’s stuck in a lacklustre, dead-end slump after coming home with her graduate degree to a slippery job market and her brother’s fold out couch. Unable to circle newspaper ads for another second and desperately crawling into sexual fantasy to escape her dismal reality—Eliza takes her escapism a step further when she agrees to go to the Renaissance Faire with her best friend, Dru.

Her whole world shifts when Eliza meets Hunter, a quirky, mysterious leather worker who runs a booth at the faire. He’s been a platonic friend of Dru’s for ages and supplies her with homemade BDSM bedroom toys—toys that he’s more than willing to demonstrate with Eliza once the faire closes. But can Eliza give up control in order to trust that one of her biggest fantasies will live up to her expectations?

Hunter’s skills as a dominant force Eliza to trust herself again and Hunter finds himself with a feisty submissive that pushes more of his buttons than he ever thought possible. Together they push themselves farther than any fantasy, until their lives are never the same again.

Excerpt:

“I can’t say I’ve ever…participated…in an event like this one before, Dru.”

“Is that a bad thing? Don’t you think you should expand your boundaries outside of your brother’s fold-out couch and a newspaper full of wanted ads? Come on, have a little fun, Eliza.”

Eliza glanced sideways at her best friend’s elfin, petite face speckled with sunlight from the gorgeous afternoon in the woods. Dru’s light blond eyebrows were raised in question, rose lips pursed. The dare for Eliza to question her hung unsaid in the air. A wisp of wind picked up Dru’s red, cork-screw curls and pushed them across her face. But Eliza only cleared her throat—unfocused on Dru’s warm, whisky colored eyes, and refocused onto the crowd in front of them amidst the trees.

At least she wouldn’t feel out of place in her Indian maiden leather get up straight out of some weird S&M store that she’d borrowed from Dru. The skirt brushed mid-thigh with leather tassels that didn’t exactly cover—anything. While the corseted halter top ended at an abrupt triangle showing the whole world that it’d been awhile since she’d hit a gym. What topped the whole ensemble off were more tassels threaded beneath her breasts in a weird attempt at an Empire waist effect. The outfit was an experience unto itself, even without everything to see and do unraveling before her eyes.

For a second it was hard for Eliza to think of their little adventure into unwashed bodies, crowds, and medieval costumes as fun per se. But damn if the food wasn’t out of this world. And her best friend was right. Her status as Master’s degree holding, library science geek hadn’t earned her points on any of her less than minimum wage job interviews this week. Most people in their small town were snug as a bug in their day jobs and there wasn’t much room for more work with positions being pre-filled by family and friends.

She’d been away too long at college. Long enough to lose favor when it came down to a townie and a girl with too much school experience. No matter where she looked, she was overqualified. Facts were facts—libraries were closing like mad. Not to mention they only had one in the area filled with employees who held onto their positions with their last dying breath.

There was proving to be no room for Eliza here. But there weren’t any options in the outside world with no savings and no one to lean on if she continued on her job losing streak. Until she got lucky, she was beholden to her big brother and a nine-to-five job pursuit. Better to get out of the house for a little while. Besides, she’d worn out her traditional red pen circling the newspaper ads in the back of the paper and couldn’t afford to buy another one until Monday.

Two months of moping was enough to fry anyone’s brain and she needed to leave her problems behind. So this trip back in time better offer up merriment and wonder soon. Or at least some free booze. Just because she was out of college didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge in a pint or two.

“At least it’s free exercise,” Eliza chimed in with an easy smile.

Okay, so all the men in kilts and shiny chainmail were a bit distracting and she hadn’t seen this many boobs since Christmas at her sister Cheri’s divorce celebration. But the atmosphere wasn’t that bad. As they circled all the vendor booths with creative, painted signs and traveled beneath the charming forest of old oaks, Eliza could almost forget about, well, everything. Her complete lack of independent direction and purpose in life. As well as the fact that her dreams of an easy life were more than dashed. But this was nice—a swell of happiness.

A light breeze shifted through her A-line, brunette bob and she took a long, deep breath of carboliciousness. Her mouth watered and she continued following close behind Dru.

“Whoa, did you see that?”

“What? Oh, the woman holding the man on a leash in full bondage gear? They’re here every year. That’s old news, honey. People come to this place to let their freak flag fly high and for the most part no one gives a shit.”

She shifted her gaze away from the treacherous roots embedded into the earthen floor and watched Dru’s retreating—and fully corseted—back. Where was she going?  What could be so important that they needed to rush through the crowds? Eliza was positive she’d brushed up against her hundredth stranger in only a half hour of being in the gates.

Several people must have gotten an up-close and personal brush of her bra-less breasts in her confining, leather get-up. Dru had lent Eliza her costume from last year and as they struggled through the crush of the food court crowds she wished there was a little more of it. Not only was her outfit tiny and skin tight, but the mid-summer air kept wafting up the skirt until Eliza was positive she was flashing the whole park.

“Um, could you—”

Before Eliza could finish the sentence, she glanced up and Dru had alighted two wooden steps into an open air shop front. She was talking to a man in a long leather duster with delicious abs similar to the covers of the romance novels Eliza was so fond of reading in her spare—alone—time. He wore a wide brimmed leather black cowboy hat that obscured his face and matching black leather pants.

Was Dru seriously waving her over there to talk to him?

No, there had to be some mistake. There was no way she was prepared for any kind of social interaction, let alone a handsome stranger. Christ, they hadn’t even hit the bar yet. Not one drop of liquid courage had passed her chapped lips and her stomach plummeted down to her feet faster than when she’d been stood up by her date right before prom pictures. But Dru frantically waved her over and laughed with her head back so her red curls cascaded down her back in a manner Eliza imagined was seductive.

Well, no turning back now. Where exactly would she go? It wasn’t as though she knew the lay of the land. Besides, the minute the man shed his long leather duster to point to a tattoo on his bicep, smiling down at Dru, there was no longer a choice. She had to see him closer. Her mouth watered at the expanse of all that beautiful, almost naked, man flesh.

There was more to him than an intimidating, tight physique. His every movement exuded thinly veiled grace while his smile lit up his sharply masculine face. A contrast of good cheer mixed with a concentration on whatever subject interested him. Until he became riveted, obsessed, with a possessive awareness of his subject. As she got closer, she sensed his gaze snap to her face, expression unchanged. But in that split second Eliza sensed his acute judgment.

He measured her with his shadowed stare while his small quirk of a smile never wavered.

The friends continued to talk but their voices were drowned out by the heavy pulse at Eliza’s temples. All of her flesh seized with goose bumps. This stranger stood as if all the world was his to explore, with a brightness in his eyes that dared nature to defy his dominant curiosity over what he claimed was his by right. He looked as if the whole world would bow down to him. And he wouldn’t be surprised. But nothing about him screamed arrogance—only a self-certainty and a quiet sense of inner peace.

Weird that she should read someone so quickly, but he was an open book. Both hands on his hips, lean muscles stretched in his arms and back until her knees were weak. Dru spoke and he laughed, head tipped forward while one strong hand rubbed the center of his chest. The dark shadow from his hat brim obscured everything but the clean, model-esque lines of his face so she couldn’t see his joy.

But his bark of gravelly laughter hit her as a punch in the gut while her chest tightened. There were enough trees in this place that she should have never lost oxygen. There wasn’t enough air in the world right at that moment. As Eliza fought for composure she focused only on his tattoo.

Yield to life—there is only threat of tomorrow.

His tattoo was inked in thin filigree with woven rope knots all around the words. One breath. Another. Each one became easier even as she grew closer, knowing she had to hide all her ruffled feathers. There wasn’t a single nuance Dru wouldn’t pick up on and exploit.

One step after another landed her front and center next to Dru as her best friend slung her arm around Eliza’s waist.

“Took you long enough,” Dru whispered in mock chastisement.

Before she could get a good look at the man, he turned and rummaged behind his counter, giving them both an all-access pass to perfect ass land. Eliza knew she should keep her eyes closed, but they were glued to the tight, sculpted muscles on the wicked stranger. The faire didn’t seem that bad anymore.

Dru squeezed Eliza’s torso until she met her best friend’s shining eyes, lit up with nothing but pure mischief. These were moments Dru lived for—any opportunity to tease. But it never bothered Eliza, it was all in good fun and her best friend meant well. She remained oddly silent. Despite the fact that Eliza all but flinched while she waited for whatever whispered barb her best friend would deliver on behalf of her less than subtle reaction to the intriguing man.

How could she not have a reaction when his damn presence practically demanded one?

“Ah, here it is.”

His voice rushed over her tingling down her back and she had to stop herself from taking an automatic step back. Irish, too? Oh, no. No, no, no. He was more than perfect and she hadn’t even said a thing to him yet. Why was she even there? So Dru could lord this man over her head—the perfect romance hero—or so they could be set up together for an awkward date and never see each other again?

Hell, maybe she was taking this whole thing too seriously, but their history of set-ups was long and varied. Even throughout college Dru wasn’t satisfied until they each had at least two dates a week.

This had to be some kind of evil set-up because clearly Dru knew the guy. They must be pulling this to screw with her head because poor little Eliza hadn’t been on a date in forever and who knows if there are cobwebs down there. This guy was some actor from Dru’s troop of players for sure. She’d done theater every summer for as long as Eliza could remember.

He came back up from his crouch behind the counter and turned back to them with something hidden behind his back. One long finger tipped up his hat. Eliza got her first straight on look at the man that she suspiciously regarded with every ounce of her petite frame.

His nose was slightly crooked. An old wound that hadn’t been set, maybe? A five o’clock shadow roughened the strong, square jaw and lips that were better suited on a female than the masculine portrait that acted as if he had nothing to hide. It took every last ounce of her will to gaze up below the brim of his hat.

He wore an eye patch. Whether or not it was for the faire or an actual problem, she couldn’t resist the edge of danger. His good eye—light brown with amber flecks—was bright with unreadable heat fixed solely on her face. She swallowed despite the lump in her throat. Nothing he did betrayed anything of how he was feeling or thinking—only the sharp look that pinned her to the floor.

And whatever he held behind his back.

For a long blink it was hard for Eliza to even remember that Dru’s hand rested around her waist. All she could focus on was the knowing twist of the stranger’s lips. The unwelcome and unexpected blush that seared against her skin when they hadn’t even spoken to each other made her fingers twitch at her side.

How could she resist him when he fit the caricature of an ideal man she’d been reading about in romances all her life? She was only stupidly comparing him to a man that didn’t exist. A string of perfections that couldn’t be real in one man. Left in the dust of her overwhelming horniness, well, she was being an idiot.

There wasn’t any other explanation for the way her hormones were skyrocketing off into different directions. He looked down into her eyes and she couldn’t help it—she giggled. That broke whatever fake connection she nursed in her mind. He plunked an item down onto the counter and shrugged back into his leather duster that had lain on the counter.

Without thinking, she blurted out the first sentence that flew across her scattered brain. An old habit that refused to die. And often led her to want to be buried in the same grave, instead of suffering the mortifying consequences.

“An eye patch, really? Aren’t you mixing genres with a cowboy and a pirate?”

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Little-Slap-Tickle-Erotic-Novella-ebook/dp/B00H3LBBUW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1386556736&sr=8-1&keywords=Elise+Hepner

Amazon.co.uk:  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Slap-Tickle-Erotic-Novella-ebook/dp/B00H3LBBUW/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1386937714&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=Elsie+Hepner+A+little+Slap+and+Tickle

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-little-slap-and-tickle-elise-hepner/1116379648?ean=9781783751976

Xcite: http://www.xcitebooks.com/Book/10204/A-Little-Slap-and-Tickle.html

Bio:

Elise Hepner lives with her husband and two eccentric cats in Maryland. She spends the majority of her free time in her basement office concocting smutty characters and sinful situations that leaves readers satisfied. When not writing, she researches everything from automatons in the 18th century to gladiatorial rules in Ancient Rome. She prides herself on being an avid information hound as well as a blog reading addict–which is her favorite way to procrastinate. Her previous publications include books and stories with Excessica, Xcite, Ellora’s Cave, Secret Cravings Publishing and Cleis Press.

Author Links:

Website: www.elisehepner.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/EHepner

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elise-Hepner-Writing/311925106401

 

 

L.C. Wilkinson’s Hot New Novel, All of Me, is A Part of Her

The Story Behind The Story

It’s a question a lot of authors get asked: How did you come to write the story; what was your inspiration? For me, the interesting thing is that whatever the inspiration, once the story has been set in motion it more often than not takes on a life of its own and the finished narrative can be quite different to the original idea. The roots are there, if you dig deep enough, but the tree itself has a different canopy to one first imagined. Here’s my attempt to unearth the seeds of All of Me.

In the late 1990s, when I worked as an actress, I did a tour of Italy. While it wasn’t the high point of my acting career (though career makes it sound grander than it actually was) it was a fantastic and magical experience. Later, when children came along and I’d moved into writing words for a living rather than saying them on stage, friends and colleagues often said I should write about my time in Italy. It would make a great story, they said. I wasn’t convinced. Location has always been important in my work – it affects tone, pace, rhythm, language – but in itself it doesn’t a story make. But showbiz people are interesting; they tend towards the dramatic (unsurprisingly), so whilst I didn’t water this narrative seed, I didn’t dig it up either, to continue the metaphor.

I wrote other stuff: short stories, flash fiction, novels. Alongside fiction, raising my boys and a part-time job in education, I work as an editor, freelance and for Cornerstones Literary Consultancy. Last year, I edited some MSs described as erotic romance and thought that I’d like to have a go at writing in the genre myself. A female character, an actress – one who would go on to become Flick Burrows – had been rattling around my imagination for some time. She was successful – a soap opera star – and driven. An unconventional beauty from a difficult, disadvantaged childhood, she owed her success to hard work and determination. And she was no ingénue.

Because of my background, I understand how tough it can be for actresses facing 40 and I started wondering how challenging it might be if a younger, much younger, man was interested in Flick. On the one hand, the industry is telling her she’s past it; her leading lady days are numbered and there’s a wilderness period before one is old enough to play the ‘hag’; on the other hand, a young man – a rich, clever, sexy man – is telling her she is hot, fascinating and utterly irresistible. Putting my leading lady in a glass house, via her career, would exacerbate the sense of fading desirability that many women feel approaching middle age. The sense that they need to carve out a new role for themselves. It was at this point the Italian backdrop appeared on the stage that was becoming All of Me. In another country – Flick is a Londoner – she is free to reinvent herself, behave atypically and the glamour, beauty, and let’s face it, sheer sexiness of Italy was perfect.

All of MeThe theatrical tour provides the structure of the novel; the different locations and theatres marking the progression of the tour and of Flick and Orlando’s relationship. And because of my own life experience I needed to do little research on the world of the theatre and many areas of Italy, though I had to do some, of course, because of the passage of time. The real life tour did begin in Milan, before moving south to Sicily and working its way up the boot of Italy before finishing in Sardinia. However, because fiction is life without the dull bits (the quote is attributed to legendary film maker Alfred Hitchcock [replacing fiction with drama], or Clive James depending on where you look) the tour in All of Me visits many more glamorous locations than I did – Venice, Verona, Florence, for example – and takes place principally in the summertime (as opposed to the grimmer winter months). And the characters and their dilemmas are far removed from my own.

Flick’s dark past was inspired by so many people’s stories. Sadly, we hear similar tales almost every day on the news and in the papers. Similarly Orlando’s, though perhaps to a lesser degree than Flick’s. And once I knew Flick’s desires and demons, and I’d set the stage, the story near enough wrote itself. The origins date back 15 years, but All of Me was written quickly; at least by my standards. It took 11 weeks. Other works have taken two years. It is perhaps unfashionable to say this, but it is the truth. I had such fun writing Flick and Orlando’s story that for a while I thought it couldn’t be any good. I only hope that readers enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Excerpt for All of Me:

 Mr Hot led me through to a brightly lit room, the light scorching my eyes after near darkness. He pulled up a wooden stool and gestured for me to sit. I did as I was instructed. Row upon row of bottles of oil, condiments, herbs and spices lined shelves that covered an entire wall. It was a store cupboard, and the strip lighting was harsh; every fine line, blemish and open pore would be visible. Inwardly, I cursed my lack of foundation once more. I felt exposed, stripped right down, and vulnerable. I shielded my eyes, allowing my hand to drop low enough to conceal most of my face.

‘Better here, fewer people. Can I get you a drink? Cup of tea?’ he said.

‘Something stronger might be better.’ I attempted to cover my embarrassment with humour. He did not laugh, or even smile. ‘Water would be great. Wouldn’t do to be seen drunk. Imagine what they’d make of that,’ I added quickly.

Through a gap in my fingers I watched him push open swing doors with considerable force and sashay out, revealing the bustle of a hectic lunchtime kitchen; he barked out an instruction in a language I couldn’t quite place. Italian probably, possibly Spanish. This was no ordinary waiter in more ways than one. He returned moments later.

Despite his blistering good looks, or maybe because of them, I wanted to get the hell out of there; I gulped down the water. ‘Thank you. Can you show me the other way out now please?’

‘It’s not too soon?’

‘I have to be somewhere.’

At the exit, he paused and looked into my eyes, the hazel fading to black as his pupils dilated. He ran his tongue over those sensual lips. I couldn’t breathe and for a moment I thought I might pass out. The attraction I’d felt was mutual; he was devouring me with his gaze; his desire was palpable. Had it been a movie, or an episode of the cheap drama I’d been in, we’d have thrown ourselves at each other, kissed passionately, before being interrupted by an angry chef brandishing a meat knife. I coughed; it broke the spell.

He leant forward to grab the door handle, the bouquet of his aftershave mingling with a distinct, very masculine aroma. I was soooo tempted, but this was real life, and my personal life was enough of a mess. He opened the door, leant forward to look up and down the street before turning back to me and nodding that it was clear. Neither of us knew what to say. I had no idea if he knew, understood, or even cared why the press were hounding me, and I wasn’t inclined to explain.

I held out my hand. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’

He took my hand, but rather than shaking it, as I had intended, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back. A charge raced up my arm, exploding in my mouth and groin. ‘It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.’

‘Thanks anyway,’ I gasped. I had to get out of there, and quick. My internal red light was flashing: danger, danger, danger.

I stepped into the street and, unsure which direction to take, turned right and walked; the skin on my hand still thrumming from the touch of his lips. I wanted to look back, and tried desperately to resist the urge. After a few metres, I gave up and turned my head. There was no sign of him.

Blurb: Actress Flick Burrow’s career is in the doldrums. Dumped by long-term boyfriend at the altar and nudging forty she escapes to Italy touring with a theatrical company.

Orlando Locatelli is a successful businessman. He’s rich, clever and drop-dead gorgeous.

When the two meet, the attraction is instant. But Orlando is 15 years Flick’s junior; he’s the controlling director’s son; his stepmother is possessive and destructive. He’s trouble and he’s determined to have her.

Sparks fly when a tour romance turns into something altogether more dangerous, threatening to reveal pasts, and desires, both lovers are keen to bury.

All of Me is published by Xcite in paperback and e-book formats.

You can buy All of Me here:

Amazon.co.uk

Ebook

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Amazon.com

eBook

Print

Xcite Books

eBook

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Laura L C Wlikinsonone eyeAbout L.C.:

L.C. grew up in north Wales and now she lives by the sea in Brighton with three fellas (her ginger sons and her husband) and a cat called Sheila. After many years working as a journalist, copywriter and editor of hagsharlotsheroines.com, she writes fiction and works part-time as an editor for Cornerstones Literary Consultancy. All of Me is her first romance for Xcite. She hopes that it is the first of many.

To find out more about L. C. visit her site – www.lcwilkinson.com – for news and freebies. Or follow her on Twitter: @ScorpioScribble You’ll also find her GoodReads, and she loves to hear from readers and other writers so do get in touch.

 

Lily Harlem Cofesses All About Her Naughty Night Nurse

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I’m very pleased to welcome my launch mate, Lily Harlem, to A Hopeful Romantic today. We had the pleasure of launching our petite novels for Mischief Books on the same day. Naughty Night Nurse and Kinky Boots are mates in naughtiness, so to speak, and I’m very happy to be in such exquisite company. Welcome Lily, do tell!

Thank you so much for inviting me and my naughty nurse over to play today, KD, so very kind of you, though be warned, she’s a bit of a handful as you can tell by that jaunty jut of her hip and the way her uniform is just a little bit too tight!

I’ve always had a nurse story bubbling away at the back of my mind. I trained as a nurse when I was 18 and then worked in London for many years. The hours were long and hard, the work certainly stressful, but it was also incredibly rewarding. Helping patients was part of the job and I thrived on the adrenaline-inducing department I specialized in – Accident and Emergency. This was my home, be it during the day or on the night shift. One of the things I adored most was the sense of teamwork between doctors, nurses, the porters, lab staff, radiographers and domestic workers (cleaners and kitchen staff). If everyone didn’t get on, communicate, work hard, then the place just couldn’t run. It was very rare to find a lazy staff member; that type of personality just didn’t survive! It was a case of working hard, then a bit harder, then if you had time, go play too. Mmm, yep, we played pretty hard if I remember correctly!

The hospital social club was an ancient building, tin roof and drink so cheap I was sure it was subsidized by someone – don’t know who. It was generally full, mostly people in a uniform of some description, or if not in uniform they still had tired faces and were most likely just out of scrubs after being in theatre all day. Mr Harlem and I had many a date at the ‘social’, in fact, I think we probably had our first date there!

During my nursing years I made many friends, most of them are memories now but a few have stood the test of time and without them still in my life there would be a great big hole. It does that to you, working in such an intense environment, you see people for who they are, beneath the layers. Those girlfriends have made up for me not having a sister and we’ve continued to rise and fall together on the crazy crests of life.  I adore them.

I’ve certainly called on hospital experiences and drawn on remembered characters during my last five years of full time writing, but none so much as Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse.

Now don’t think this book is a memoir, it isn’t (OMG, if it was…!) but certainly the main character reminds me of someone I used to know, as do the two main doctors, Javier and Carl, though, of course, their personalities have been embellished considerably.  Some situations in the book are also reflections, and the descriptions of the hospital wards, corridors and Rose Cottage – that the fluffy name given to the morgue – are all exactly how I remember them.

Lily Harlem self publilybanner

I’ve just had a review for Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, and much to my delight it is written by a nurse…

It (Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse) centers around Sharon, a night shift nurse in a hospital somewhere in England. If she lived in the U.S., she’d be called a float pool nurse because she can work almost anywhere in the hospital. You follow her sexscapades over the course of a few days/weeks and see how much trouble she gets into as well as how many people get between her legs. She’s naughty, remember?

This book had the potential for utter ridiculousness. As a nurse, I take my profession pretty seriously and I didn’t know if this book would make nurses look like trollops. It didn’t though. It felt real! The author’s grasp of medical lingo as well as the possible happenings in a hospital all felt right. I swear she mentioned Maslow and I guffawed. It appealed to the nurse and the instructor in me. The sex was good, but not overdone and I enjoyed the characters.

And my gosh, the book actually had a plot and a decent one at that. Plus, I was rooting for her to end up with the sexy doctor. Well done, Lily Harlem. You definitely won me over.

lily harlem night nursemaslowI don’t mind saying that I was pretty damn nervous when the reviewer reached the point were she said the words ‘utter ridiculousness’ and then stated that she was a nurse, but phew, thank goodness she went on to say it ‘felt’ real. That is exactly what I was trying to achieve, an amalgamation of two big parts of my life, my erotic romance writing and my nursing days – this lovely reviewer made me happy dance. Oh, and if you’re wondering what Maslow is, it’s a psychology model used for assessing needs, starting from the very basic, moving up through the need to achieve, be encouraged etc and finally reaching self-actualisation.

I hope if you do read Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, you enjoy Sharon’s naughty escapades. Here is the blurb and a sneaky excerpt taken from the beginning of the book.

Blurb:

When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for mischief …

I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.

Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.

Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job, satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.

Buy Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse Here:

Amazon US $1.60  – http://www.amazon.com/Confessions-Naughty-Night-Nurse-ebook/dp/B00ALKUMDO/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358408815&sr=1-1&keywords=confessions+of+a+naughty+night+nurse

Amazon UK  99p – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Confessions-Naughty-Night-Nurse-ebook/dp/B00ALKUMDO/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358409386&sr=1-1

Kobo – http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Confessions-of-Naughty-Night-Nurse/book-cCHlzlkIyU23I5Gh_oCMFA/page1.html?s=cyqUFVT0e0O2NUFOibKLaQ&r=1

Barnes and Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/confessions-of-a-naughty-night-nurse-lily-harlem/1113965701?ean=9780007513024

More buy links available on the Mischief website http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/confessions-naughty-night-nurse/  – and Lily Harlem’s website – http://www.lilyharlem.com

Lily Harlem Confessions of a naughty night nurseimage001(1)Excerpt:

I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.

 You coming?

I typed back quickly.

 Yes, so will you soon!

The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand.

‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.

‘Yes, sideward six.’

Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.

‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’

‘Right you are.’

The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.

If only I could see into his mind.

I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical senior house officer since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.

I thought better of it. My asking alone could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.

Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking at the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their boughs strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.

The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.

Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.

We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.

‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’

Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into its ponytail.

‘Yeah, good job the VIPs in here don’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.

‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’

‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’

He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’

‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’

‘Bloody hell, thanks . . .’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.

‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’

‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.

Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.

‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’

‘They all do to start with.’

Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.

He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.

‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky-blue eyes twinkling.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’

‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’

‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform – dark-navy trousers and shirt – Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.

My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopaedic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.

I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretence for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skilful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’

He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’

Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’

He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.

I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.

‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’

‘No, please, no,’ I said with a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.

He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.

I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.

Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.

‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.

‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.

But it was futile; he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.

He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom, I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.

‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’

‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’

He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.

He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lie back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.

‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’

‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.

‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh –’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.

‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek.

About Lily Harlem:

Lily Harlem is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance and lives in the UK with Mr Harlem and a host of rescued pets. Since giving up a career in nursing she loves to spend her days dreaming up naughty stories that have a happy ever afters. When you read her books be warned though, the bedroom door is always left wide open!

Lily Harlem links

Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/

Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/

Twitter https://twitter.com/lily_harlem

Facebook http://en-gb.facebook.com/people/Lily-Harlem/100003519563064

Facebook author page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lily-Harlem-author-page/200182030094568

Pinterest http://pinterest.com/lilyharlem/

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4070110.Lily_Harlem

 

 

 

 

 

Katie Salidas & Willsin Rowe Share the Story Behind their Consummate Therapy Series

I’m very excited to welcome Katie Salidas and Willsin Rowe  on their virgin visit to a Hopeful Romantic to share with us the story behind their very intriguing Consummate Therapy Series.

Willsin: Let’s see…billionaire? Check! BDSM? Check! Just like seven thousand other titles out there? Well, let’s just wait a minute, shall we?

Those elements are probably the main ones people will notice if they happen across the books in the Consummate Therapy series. We have a billionaire, we’re employing BDSM, and it’s a romantic and erotic experience. Where we veer away from the current trend is by making our billionaire female. And making her the submissive.

Katie: Willsin, dear, we should probably add the caveat, we try to make her submissive. Natasha isn’t one to just submit easily. Where would the fun be in that? I mean, face it. If she was a billionaire just deciding to submit then we would be falling into another stereotype. Where Natasha really differs is that she is so resistant to the idea. “I have underlings for that,” she says. She feels that everyone is beneath her. Though she’s a tough egg to crack, she really and truly needs to be broken. And that’s exactly why Dr. Benson prescribes her “Radical Therapy.”

Willsin: Absolutely right, Katie. Without drama, a story is really just a bunch of words about people breathing. It’s Natasha’s resistance, and indeed her volatility, that makes her such a vital character. She’s a woman who readers will probably take a little while to warm up to. It may even take until the second book.

So anyway, we’ve bucked the trend to a certain degree, which probably doesn’t make great commercial sense. But what we’re doing here is to tell a believable story that has an element of gritty reality without shying away from the romantic elements.

Katie: And I think that extra “grit” as you say, is what makes the romantic elements  that much more believable. There is no sugar coating the relationship between Natasha and the Master. She’s given hard lessons to learn and only in that learning, and doing what Master demands of her can she hope to overcome her own issues and maybe even find real love, if there is such a thing?

Willsin: Well, we’ll have to wait until book 3 to find out, won’t we? (Is this the time for a judicious “muahahahaaaa”?) Another motivating factor for this series was as a response to the misapprehensions some people seem to have formed about the BDSM lifestyle. It’s not, as some may think, a viable outlet for cruelty or cold sadism. It’s not a place for disrespect, and it’s certainly not something to be tackled in earnest without a great deal of trust.

Katie: I have to chime in here yet again. Willsin is so right! The lifestyle is so misunderstood by the general populace. I’m not in that lifestyle, but in researching for our book, I learned how wrong I was about what really happens. It’s not just about spanking, or public humiliation. The root of it is trust. The master may test the limits of their sub, but in a safe, sane and consensual way, with the ultimate goal being mutual gratification. And that was what we wanted to do with Natasha. She needed her limits to be tested but the “Therapy” would only work if she could let her guard down and trust in the Master to not push her beyond her boundaries. It is a delicate line they walk, with the end result being a healthier outlook and a deeper understanding of each other.

Willsin: Sing it, sister. We were adamant about including those elements, and the beauty was that we each came to this story independently with those factors in mind: trust, respect and understanding. Wherever we have physical punishments, we have object lessons attached to them. This is no game for either Natasha or the Master. This is serious therapy and He is as determined for her to succeed as she is. That being said, though, it certainly does end up being a lot of fun.

Katie: And let me tell you, writing this series was totally fun! Willsin and I work very well together. We both saw the same vision and the story took shape before our very eyes!

Blurb Submission Therapy:

Billionaire CEO of Blakely Incorporated, Natasha runs her empire with an eagle eye for every detail. She’s an obsessive, compulsive, micromanaging hard-ass, consumed by the need to control every aspect of her life and her business.

But underneath that seemingly strong façade, Natasha is a swirling mess of anger, anxiety and sexual addiction. Only her therapist, Dr. Benson, knows how close she is to burning out…or exploding. He insists on a radical form of treatment – Submission Therapy – knowing that it’s her only hope.

Skeptical but intrigued, Natasha agrees to attend the first session. What she finds there is an erotically-charged environment that will forgive none of her habitual bad behavior. And a steely-eyed man who seems to read her every desire – even the ones she won’t admit to herself.

Will Natasha learn what it means to submit? Or will she allow her brittle pride to rob her of what she truly needs?

Excerpt Submission Therapy:

Master Sweet rested his hand back in my hair. “Natasha, it’s time to begin.”

He fisted that hand again, reigniting the heat in my scalp, while his other swept down my calf and stopped at my red-black two-toned peek-a-boo toe Louboutin pumps.

“What size do you wear, Natasha?” He drew the shoes off one at a time.

“Six.”

“Yet you have size eight feet.”

“Guys exaggerate their dicks, girls shrink their feet.”

He turned his already-tight fist, pulling a sharp breath into my lungs. “That kind of language is a privilege. One you’ve not earned.”

I couldn’t speak through the tension in my body, and I couldn’t nod without risking searing pain. Thankfully Master Sweet eased his grip just enough to allow my voice back.

“Yes.”

“You will address me as Master Sweet, or simply Master.”

“Yes, simply Master.” I tensed up, ready for him to squeeze again. Instead he shocked me by pushing forward, overbalancing me until I was on hands and knees, my cheek buried in the carpet. His pelvis nudged up against my ass, and he was definitely packing something hard in there.

He took a long, deep breath in. “I do so enjoy these early stages.”

“Yes, Master,” said the toadying redhead.

He brought his free hand back down to my feet. He appeared to still be addressing his off-sider. “Look at the deep lines her shoes have carved. The rich redness of constriction.”

“Yes, Master.”

His breath seemed to falter for a moment. “It will be exquisite to see this all over her body.”

All over my body? What exactly was that supposed to mean? I should have known better. Never agree to a deal without the terms being spelled out in a contract. Business 101. “Listen, Mister Sweets. Unconventional sex therapy is one thing, but no one is putting any kind of marks on my body. Are we clear?” I threw his condescending words back at him.

“Do you understand what it means to submit?”

His callous tone caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered.

“I have underlings for that.”

“So you see submission as a form of weakness.”

“Absolutely. I bow to no one.”

“You do now. “ The finality of his words was chilling.

Need more therapy?

Occupational Therapy blurb:

Natasha’s experience at the hands of Master Sweet has left her both drained and enlightened. Wanting nothing more than to curl up against him for as long as she can, she is dismayed when he sends her home to dwell on all she’s learned.

But being a creature of habit, Natasha’s stubborn and rebellious nature leads her back into her old patterns, threatening to undo all her progress. When her symptoms return in full force, she begins to doubt not only the effectiveness of Submission Therapy, but also the motivations of her Master.

Learning of her disobedience, Master Sweet brings forward Natasha’s next session. But recognizing her behavior for what it is – a cry for attention – leads Him to change His approach dramatically. If Natasha thought her first lesson was hard…she’s in for a real eye-opener.

Does the embattled billionaire have the internal strength to earn back her Master’s trust? And how will she handle it when his intentions suddenly become even more serious?

Buy Submission Therapy here:

http://www.amazon.com/Submission-Therapy-Consummate-ebook/dp/B00A020MQK

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Submission-Therapy-Consummate-ebook/dp/B00A020MQK

Buy Occupational Therapy here:

http://www.amazon.com/Occupational-Therapy-Consummate-ebook/dp/B00A8865LW

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Occupational-Therapy-Consummate-ebook/dp/B00A8865LW

About Katie Salidas:

Katie Salidas is a Super Woman! Endowed with special powers and abilities, beyond those of mortal women, She can get the munchkins off to gymnastics, cheerleading, Girl Scouts, and swim lessons.  She can put hot food on the table for dinner while assisting with homework, baths, and bedtime… And, She still finds the time to keep the hubby happy (nudge nudge wink wink). She can do all of this and still have time to write.

And if you can believe all of those lies, there is some beautiful swamp land in Florida for sale…

Katie Salidas resides in Las Vegas, Nevada. Mother, wife, and author, she does try to do it all, often causing sleep deprivation and many nights passed out at the computer. Writing books is her passion, and she hopes that her passion will bring you hours of entertainment.

Blog
http://www.katiesalidas.com/

Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Katie-Salidas-Author/214780936916

LinkedIn
http://www.linkedin.com/profile?viewProfile=&key=58814031&trk=tab_pro

Twitter
http://twitter.com/QuixoticKatie

About Willsin Rowe:

Willsin Rowe falls in love with a scent, a playful expression or an act of casual intimacy more easily than with physical beauty. When confronted by any combination of those elements he is a lost cause. He has done many things over and over, done even more things only once, and half-done more things than he cares to admit. He loves to sing and doesn’t let his voice get in the way. He is intelligent but not sensible. He is passionate but fearful. He is not scruffy enough or stylish enough to be cool.

Blog:

http://willsinrowe.blogspot.co.uk/

                                             

 

 

 

Making Him Wait- Kay Jaybee’s Tale of Denial, Discipline & Reward

Kay Jaybee has been very busy this last year, and readers who like a hot tale of BDSM are now benefitting from all of her hard work. It’s a pleasure to welcome her back with the story behind her hot tale of delayed gratification, Making Him Wait. Welcome, Kay Jaybee!

A huge thanks to KD for inviting me to stop by today to chat about the birth of my brand new novel!

Making Him Wait (published by Sweetmeats Press) is my third full length novel. As with my previous books (The Perfect Submissive and The Voyeur), Making Him Wait contains plenty of high kink and elements of BDSM, but unlike my previous tales, this story, rather than centring around submissive survival and erotic challenges, is based around the concept of self-control.

Maddie Templeton has always been an unconventional artist. Themes of submission and domination pulse through her erotic artwork, and she’s happily explored these lustful themes both on and off the canvas.

But, when Theo Hunter enters her life, she is presented with a new challenge. Maddie sets out to test his resolve as she teases, torments and toys with him. But, as Maddie drives Theo to breaking point, she soon becomes unsure whether her own resolve will hold out!

At the same time, Maddie must put on the exhibition of a lifetime. As the hottest gallery in town clamours for her best work, Maddie pushes her models harder and higher until they are physically, sexually and emotionally exhausted. Will Maddie’s models continue to submit to her, or will she push them too far? And will she be ready for the exhibition in time?

The only way to find out is to wait and see…and the waiting only makes it sweeter!

The elements of self control have always fascinated me. I wanted to write a story that encapsulated and revolved around that trait when entwined with sexual denial, but it took me a long time to come up with a believable scenario in which someone would be willing to ignore or suppress the physical satisfaction they craved from a particular person.

The answer came to be when watching a very good friend of mine (the wonderful Mayo- who’s art you can find in my website gallery), painting a picture. She was 100% absorbed in what she was doing, noticing neither lunch time, nor the ring of the phone or front doorbell. I began to wonder how someone who (unlike Mayo!) likes to play power games, and who is suddenly confronted with the best artistic challenge of her life (her very first gallery exhibition), and a promising romantic partner at the same time, would cope. Who would get her attention- the man or the art?

My leading lady in Making Him Wait is the artist Maddie Templeton, and her hopeful admirer is Theo Hunter, an electrician who, after a visit to her studio to fix new lights, becomes fascinated by her apparent indifference to the extreme images of eroticism which constantly surround her.

As a writer my challenge then became- if Maddie decides she wants the best of both worlds, – how do I find a way for Maddie to keep Theo interested while all her energy is centred on her art? The answer? Texts!

Ever since the introduction of mobiles (or cell phones) into our lives, texting has become a way of life. Erotic stories involving text sex were bound to follow in the wake of this phenomenon as, let’s face it; text sex can be very arousing.

I have written a number of stories that have included texts, such as Perks of the Job (Tricks For Kicks, Xcite) and Not Her Type (OCPress). It was so much fun to add this dimension of communication to my tales, that it seemed obvious to make texted conversations an integral part of my new novel, Making Him Wait.

Here’s a little snippet from Chapter One to whet the appetite!

Theo: Tell me where u are

Theo: Tell me what u are wearing

Theo: I bet ur fucking someone

Theo: Who is it? Who are u fucking?

Theo: I can see u in my mind – ur hair is in a ponytail isn’t it?

Maddie had deliberately turned her phone to silent as she’d pushed her overfull supermarket trolley around the packed store. Sitting in her car now, she couldn’t help but smile as she read the five messages while running a hand along her ponytail. She knew Theo couldn’t actually see her. He’d be fixing up new lighting in someone’s house somewhere. But her favourite electrician didn’t seem to have the ability to consider her other than in a sexual situation.

“I do have to eat like everyone else, Theo!” Maddie spoke to herself and the steering wheel before tucking the phone away without answering his list of texts and heading back to her home-based studio to get ready for work.

An hour later, dressed in the attire she’d been requested to wear by that day’s model – a black pleated mini-skirt, a long baggy shirt and absolutely nothing else – Maddie sat at her cluttered desk to read the handwritten notes she’d made after Sara’s last session.

Issues involving going commando

Has a partner (Jake) who wishes her to live out erotic fantasy scenarios for him

She wants to oblige, but lacks the nerve

Sara’s compromise is to have a picture of herself going commando – she hopes it will give her confidence

Almost there – just need her to be brave enough to uncover her pussy for me to draw

Working with Sara had been slow progress at first. Now, three sessions in, at least she was happy to walk to the studio in trousers or leggings without wearing underwear. Maddie wondered if Sara would hold her nerve today and wear her partner’s favourite skirt with nothing beneath, as they’d arranged during their last meeting.

Relaxing back in her chair while she waited for Sara’s knock at the door, Maddie picked up her mobile and sent Theo the reply she had no doubt he would be waiting for.

Maddie: I’m waiting for a client. She is beautiful. U would love her.

His response came almost instantly and Maddie grinned as she imagined his workman’s hands diving towards his phone as her message reached him.

Theo: What’s her name?

Maddie: Now now honey – client confidentiality…

Theo: Spoil sport

Maddie: Ur dick hard for me?

Theo: Yes

Maddie: Good boy. U out on the road?

Theo: Yes

Maddie checked the time. Sara was never late. In fact it was rare for her not to be at least ten minutes early. That meant she had approximately five minutes before Sara’s arrival in which to play with Theo.

Maddie: I am going commando. I want u to do the same.

Theo: Fuck woman, I’m on my way to a customer!

Maddie: Park the van and take ur boxers off.

The pause before Theo’s reply confirmed for Maddie that he was doing exactly what she told him to. When his text did come through, it seemed almost as breathless as she guessed he was.

Theo: Done. Now what? Tell me!

Maddie: Sorry honey – got to get to work – think of me fingering my client’s pussy – then later u may masturbate.

Theo: What!? U can’t say that and then go!

Maddie: I can. No playing until I say so.

The moment she’d pressed the send button on her last text, Maddie threw her mobile carelessly onto the desk. She knew Theo would reply, but he’d have to wait. For now she had work to do. The double ring of the doorbell told her Sara had arrived.

As arranged, Sara had dressed just as Maddie had, including the similarly styled short, pleated skirt that she had declared to be Jake’s favourite. One glance at her backside however, told Maddie that her client’s underwear was still firmly in place.

Careful not to make Sara feel ill at ease, Maddie said nothing about her model’s overdressing and gestured towards the stairs. “Come through, we’ll get you more comfortable.”

The nervous yet happy energy that was radiating from every pore of Sara’s skin was a familiar condition to Maddie. Nearly all her visitors had the same excited yet apprehensive aura about them. Only when that apprehension had been replaced entirely with excitement, did Maddie consider them ready to be properly painted. Otherwise there was no way she could capture the essence of their sexuality on canvas.

Sara risked an anxious smile as she walked up the narrow stairway that separated Maddie’s living quarters from her office-cum-studio – a studio which held everything that might come in useful. There was a double bed, a battered yet comfortable sofa, and a multitude of different chairs, so her clients could choose where they wanted to be while they posed for a portrait. As well as the furniture, there were stacks of discarded empty frames and potential props, a battered metal trolley holding Maddie’s artistic supplies, as well as a kettle, toaster and small sink where she cleaned her brushes.

Next to the bed stood an old-fashioned chest of drawers. Unbeknown to many of her customers, its three drawers contained every instrument of domination and submission imaginable – from tubes of lube, condoms, countless packs of batteries, dildos, whips, paddles, vibes, ropes, blindfolds and gags. Thus, Maddie was always prepared for any request from her clientele.

Ignoring the flashing light on her muted mobile, telling her she did indeed have more messages from Theo, Maddie addressed her companion. “So, Sara, how have things been for you this week?”

“Okay, thanks. Jake is really pleased I’m for doing this for him.” The smile that wasn’t quite as shy as it had been in previous weeks became wider as it spread over Sara’s neat asiatic features.

“And so he should be. Hundreds of women say they’ll carry out their partner’s fantasies. Very few ever actually have the will or courage to go through with their promises. I have always thought that, if you make a promise, then you must do whatever it was you agreed to. Even if it takes some time to fulfil your oath.”

Sara knew Maddie was probably right, but she refrained from comment as Maddie placed the large canvas that held her work-in-progress onto the easel.

The artist let Sara nervously pace the room while she selected the handful of chalk pastels she’d need to finish the basic design of her work. With the background and outline of the picture already complete, Maddie could go no further until Sara was comfortable enough to show the feminine folds hidden under the black knickers she wore.

While Sara fiddled with the high wooden bar stool she would be leaning over once the session began, Maddie ran a critical eye over the canvas. She’d chosen pastels instead of oils or charcoal to best capture the mocha lustre to Sara’s skin. Some blocks of colour were already filled in – her subject’s jet-black hair shone from the page and the crisp white of her long t-shirt, rucked up at the waist, contrasted perfectly with the beauty and lustre of her flesh. The artist reached out a finger and ran it over her representation of Sara’s toned thighs and legs, and the varnished wood of the stool over which she was bent. All that remained was the gap in the middle of the canvas. A space that Maddie fully intended to sketch today.

It was a shame, Maddie thought as she nodded encouragingly to Sara, who was gesturing towards the CD player in the corner of the room, that she was drawing her client’s back view. Consequently, the girl’s exotically feline, emerald eyes, which suited her perfectly and yet somehow seemed startlingly at odds with her skin tone, would be missing from the finished scene.

Once Sara had chosen some light, almost ethereal, music to play softly in the background, Maddie took charge. “Would you like to remind yourself of what we’ve produced so far?”

Standing next to each other before the canvas, the blankness in the middle of the nearly-finished piece virtually screamed out loud. Tentatively, knowing the importance of keeping her model relaxed, Maddie reached out and took Sara’s hand in her own. “If this is going to be completed in time for Jake’s birthday, then I have to draw the rest of you today, honey.”

Sara tightened her grip on Maddie’s hand, the pulse in her wrist hammering against the artist’s. “I know. I haven’t stopped thinking about what I have to do since I was here last week.”

Gently taking Sara’s arm, Maddie manoeuvred her to stand directly in front of the stool. Taking a pace closer, so that her chest was pressed against Sara’s back, Maddie wrapped her arms protectively around the younger woman’s waist.

“It isn’t that scary, honey All you have to do is take off those panties and lean over this stool just the same way you did during the last three sessions. In only half an hour, I will have all I require to complete the picture, which I can do once you’ve gone. I can make it even quicker for you if you allow me to take a couple of photos.”

Sara said nothing for a moment, secretly relishing the heat of the curvaceous body behind her. “I know but, well…what if you don’t like what you see? What if I’m ugly down there?”

This was a fear that Maddie had heard many times before. She neither laughed, nor scoffed, nor judged. As an erotic artist, this was something she came up against a lot. Everyone seemed to be afraid that they might be abnormal or insufficient in some way, be they male or female.

“Honey, I have seen all sorts in this studio. Trust me. I am sure you are exquisite. Jake loves you down there doesn’t he?”

Sara blushed coyly as she remembered the countless times her man had worshipped her with his tongue from between her spread legs. “He certainly seems to.”

“There you go then.” Maddie took hold of Sara’s shoulders and firmly but gently turned her so that they were face to face. “I am happy to do what I suggested last week, if you think it would help.”

Sara dipped her eyes to Maddie’s skirt. She knew without asking that there would be no knickers under its short pleats.

The air of eroticism that was a permanent feature of Maddie’s studio took on a sharper tang, as if it was now something solid that could be grasped. Sara had been thinking about Maddie as much as she’d been thinking about the prospect of having to reveal her pussy, and she was afraid of giving herself away. She knew that if Maddie looked at her pussy, she would see how it glistened – wet with the hope that the artist’s slender fingers would touch her.

Realising Sara was lost in her own thoughts, and fairly confident those thoughts concerned sex with her, Maddie adopted a firmer tone. “You do want to get this done for Jake, don’t you? If you have changed your mind about going commando, then I have to know now so we can change things.”

Visibly pulling herself together, Sara took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. Jake will love it – I just have stage fright, that’s all.” She forced herself to raise her eyes to meet Maddie’s and, with her chest tightening, said, “And yes, if you are still up for it, then the plan we agreed last week would be good.”

“Excellent.” Maddie stood up straight and dropped her hands from Sara’s shoulders. “Well, as you can see, I am wearing similar clothes to your own, as discussed. I, however, have gone commando. You, I can see, have not. I understand that it isn’t exactly nice weather out there today, which is presumably why you didn’t walk here panty free?”

Both women knew that the fact it was unseasonably cold for a summer’s day was not the reason that Sara had failed to leave off her undergarments. But Sara was grateful for being given the opportunity to blame the dull drizzle for her last minute failing of nerve before she’d left home.

“Exactly. I didn’t want to catch a cold.”

Keeping up the pretence, Maddie picked up the high, pine barstool Sara was to lean over and put it exactly where it had been positioned during the other three sittings. “Well then, if you take off those undies and stand by the stool we’ll crack on?”

Sara’s hands shook as she edged down her knickers, trying not to notice that the fabric was rather damper than it should have been as she slid them to the floor.

Once the small scrap of black material was placed gingerly on the end of the bed, Sara walked to the stool and hovered uncertainly, wondering if Maddie really was going to do as she’d promised last week or if, now she’d gotten her model this far, she wouldn’t feel the need to keep her side of the bargain.

Maddie picked up her mobile. “Do excuse me for a second, Sara. I must answer these two messages before we start.”

Theo had been getting impatient…

Theo: What are u doing?

Theo: I have work too woman – and I can’t concentrate with this bloody hard on! For fucks sake Maddie – tell me what u are doing right now!

Maddie smiled as she typed.

Maddie: I’m about to calm a nervous client by showing her my pussy…

*****

Poor Theo is going to have to learn to be a very patient young man!

I hope you enjoyed that! Thanks again for letting me visit your wonderful site KD

If you would like to buy Making Him Wait, it is available as a paperback or e-book from Amazon UK, Amazon .com, Sweetmeats Press, and all good retailers.

Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Making-Him-Wait-Kay-Jaybee/dp/190918117X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1351103726&sr=8-1&keywords=making+him+wait+kay+jaybee

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Making-Him-Wait-Kay-Jaybee/dp/190918117X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1351168468&sr=8-1

Sweetmeats Press: http://www.sweetmeatspress.com/illustrated_erotic_literature_contributors.html

Find Kay Jaybee and the latest on her novels, novellas and stories here:

http://kayjaybee.me.uk/

 

 

 

 

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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