Category Archives: Blog

Jess Pritchard Tells Us More About Her Art

Some of you may remember that I had three very talented, very lovely artists volunteer to illustrate several scenes from Body Temperature and Rising at my launch party last February. I have had the fabulous Fuschia Ayling and the amazing Shay Briscoe on my site telling us about their lives as artists and what inspires them and sharing some of their work with us. Today, I am joined by the third of those artists, Jess Pritchard. Welcome Jess, and thanks for the interview.

 

KD: Have you always known you’ve wanted to be artists, Jess? What inspired the choice?

JP: Hahaha, I err, I wanted to be an English teacher… but I hated kids. I started doing art because I wasn’t allowed to watch TV on weeknights when I was young; I just sat in my room on my own. Boredom eventually took over and I started doodling in the back of my maths book etc and it went from there. Pretty boring story really…

KD: Tell us a little bit about yourselves.

JP: My full name is Jessica Christine- Anne Pritchard, I was born and raised in Walsall, Birmingham (shithole, never go) I went to a Catholic school and lived a strict and pathetic life at the hands of my deranged parents until I moved to Kingston last September for Uni, where I met the lovely couple; Fuchsia and Shay.

KD: Why did you choose to make sexuality the central theme in your artwork?

JP: Sexuality is a weird one for me, I shied away from it because my Mother was always so uncomfortably open and often disgusting when she talked about it to me, in an attempt to be nothing like my Mother I never explored it, and in a Catholic school, that is all too acceptable… But I realised what a waste it would be to keep this beautiful erotic-ness to myself and often the things I explore are the things a lot of women can relate to, it makes me feel fucking awesome.

KD:  Where do you get your inspiration?

JP: Daydreaming mostly… Oh how Arty! But yeah, daydreaming… and not being afraid to share stupid insecurities/stories/feelings I have, because those that see my work have never seen them as stupid, which is encouraging. I am a ridiculously honest person, doesn’t help with social circumstances but it makes for really confessional work, which is my favourite…

KD: What’s the hardest thing about being an artist?

JP: Trying to please everyone, and trying to find your place…

KD: Who inspires you, as an artist?

JP: The person I was/am, the people around me. I am also heavily inspired in spite of my Mother. Artists include Anslem Kiefer, Jenny Saville, Tracey Emin, Alphonse Mucha… oh so many!

KD: What’s the best thing about being an artist?

JP: Getting up in the morning and knowing what you’re doing is what you love and knowing there are absolutely no limitations at all… ever.

KD: What are you working on now?

JP: I have a few commissions on at the moment, illustrating a book for a friend of mine, never like to plan too far ahead because projects seem to jump out of nowhere and take over for a while, I’m always kept very busy 🙂

KD: Future plans?

JP: I’ll let you know. Maybe have a shitty art shop in Cornwall and be a batty old lady that wears capes and has rings on each of her fingers and only eats what she grows…

KD: Thank you, Jess! It’s been a total pleasure to have you on my site. And getting a peek at some of your wonderful work is a special treat. Best of luck on your creative journey!

Guest Blogger Zara Stoneley Tells Us About Her New Novel, Forfeit

I’d like to welcome Zara Stoneley to A Hopeful Romantic. Zara is stopping by on her blog tour to tell us about her new novel, Forfeit

 

Wow, it’s so exciting to be here talking about my book. I’ve only been writing erotica for a short time and I’m a bit overwhelmed that I’m now published, and talking about it with such an amazing, established author!

I thought today I’d try and give you a bit of insight into the characters in Forfeit and where they came from.

Forfeit is very much about control, and relinquishing it, and I knew from the start that the story would only work if I had a heroine who knew her mind and was normally ultra controlled. This meant I needed a hero who could be dominant, knew what he wanted, and was determined but also very understanding. And so along came Cat and Brent.

In a lot of romances, erotic and non-erotic, it is the hero who is the damaged party, who needs the understanding and the love of the heroine to mend him. But I wanted to shift the emphasis away from this kind of relationship. This story is mainly about Cat, and it is Cat who has a real issue about being in control. And if you need to be in control it’s normally for a reason….

Cat has done what a lot of people do when they’ve had bad experiences in the past – they lock them away, bottle them up, build barriers so that no-one can uncover them and they can’t happen again. She’s not a loser though, her experiences have coloured her view on life but she’s realistic, she’s an independent career girl who has dealt with the past, locked it up and thrown away the key. But by throwing away the key she’s thrown away a part of herself.

So why is Brent the man for her? Because he’s not the kind of guy who will ever settle for second best, he wants all of Cat – mind, body and soul, but he recognises that until she accepts herself she’s not going to relinquish control and let him explore those deep dark corners.

I loved writing about Cat, loved the way Brent stuck with her even though it scared him a bit too and the only reason I hated saying good bye at the end of the story was that I felt I hadn’t really told much of Brent’s story. He’s got a bad boy reputation, but once he meets Cat he can’t help caring, which proves that who you really are wins out in the end… but maybe that’s a story for another day.

Excerpt

He raised her hand to his mouth, sucked long and hard on each finger in turn. ‘But then you turned all ice maiden on me and I never could resist a challenge.’ His voice had dropped to a husky drawl, and then he smiled, a lazy smile that turned up the heat from simmer to boil.

She swallowed, trying not to react to the sensations he was driving through her body. ‘So this is just about a challenge?’

‘Oh, I think it’s gone far beyond that, don’t you, darling?’

His hand was firm under her chin, tilting her face up so she met his gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

She nodded wordlessly, already feeling that familiar tingle running through her body at his touch. He’d left her feeling awkward at the pub, making her raise questions that shouldn’t be raised. Now the softness of his gaze, the almost tender way he touched her, sent a shiver of unease mingled with a desperate need right through her body. She’d given her body permission to enjoy the pure, unbridled lust he inspired in her, but her emotions were different, and the want that tugged at her was more than just primal right now.

‘I don’t want anything you don’t want to give, Cat.’ His voice was soft as though he knew. He leant forward, his lips skating over hers, and then he was slowly unbuttoning her top. He eased back as he let the fabric slip from her shoulders, his eyes drawing her nipples to hard peaks that scraped against the lace of her bra. Two warm hands settled on her shoulders, then ran slowly down over her breasts, splaying out to her waist as though he was sculpting the body that stood before him. She felt the sigh that eased out of her taking with it any lingering unease. She loved the touch of his hands, the dark look that clouded his eyes; wanted just to be here. Whatever the cost.

There was the softest hint of a smile on his generous mouth, a slight parting of lips that drew her finger to them. His mouth closed instantly at her touch, his teeth holding her still, his tongue caressing the fingertip for a moment, and a thrill ran through her, sending her stomach muscles into delicious spasms.

ForfeitBlurb

Cat’s life is falling apart – her boyfriend’s dumped her, she’s lost her home and she’s about to quit her job. Her boss, Brent, has a solution: become his wife for a year, to help him land a big promotion. But Cat’s had a taste of Brent before, and she knows he’s a bad boy who loves women and leaves them. So she agrees to marry him, but tells him there’s to be no sex. He adds his own condition: if she as much as talks to another man in that time, she must pay, by acting out 12 of Brent’s kinkiest sex fantasies. When she breaks the rule, the forfeit is on: but opening up and letting Brent into her heart, as well as her bed, could be the most dangerous game of all …

Available from – Xcite Books, Amazon (UK), Amazon (US), Barnes & Noble, All Romance eBooks and all other good e-book sellers.

About the author

Zara is a writer and lover of all things romantic, from the sensual to the sexual, who knows that naughty can be nice. She lives in the UK, but whenever she can she heads off in search of some sunshine and inspiration for her stories.

She love sexy high heels…good food….good wine….music…coffee (lots and lots of coffee)… and Italy. All things Italian from the countryside to the culture, the wine to the food…and of course the sexy men.

She’s been a consultant, a teacher, a mother, a wife, a lover… and has always been a writer and she’d love to hear from you.

Where you can find her-

Blog: http://zarastoneley.blogspot.co.uk/

Twitter: @ZaraStoneley

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ZaraStoneley

Email – zarastoneley@gmail.com

Justine Elyot Shares the Story Behind Game

It’s totally my pleasure to welcome back one of my very favourite naughty writers and all around fab Chick , Justine Elyot. And wow, has she got a scorching excerpt for us from her new novel, Game! Enjoy!

Got Game?

By Justine Elyot

I’ve had this book planned for a long time. It’s a sequel, you see, to a story I started writing in 2008. That book was published in 2009 by Black Lace and On Demand has maintained a rather startling level of popularity ever since, even though Black Lace disappeared from the market immediately afterwards.

I thought I might pitch it to the original commissioning editor when he moved to Xcite Books a few months later, but in the event, I decided to go with The Business of Pleasure instead. By the time that came out, he was gone (again) and the idea was sidelined in favour of other projects.

Another year went by and, hey presto! He popped up again, inviting me to submit something to HarperCollins brand new Mischief line. This time, Lloyd and Sophie were going to get their encore, and here they are, starring in their own story.

(Game cover)

I have a soft spot for Sophie and Lloyd because they happened by accident. I love it when events overtake me during the writing of a story and something very much better than what I originally planned comes out them. I was going to end On Demand with Sophie getting together with her much-crushed-on Chase, who had been keeping her at arm’s length for various reasons relating to past disappointments.

But when I was a little way into the pool orgy scene, Lloyd and Sophie’s fabulous dynamic of lust-disguised-under-hostility swept all aside and had to be elaborated upon. Thus, they ended up together.

I say ‘ended up’, but their story had only begun. I knew that Sophie had a lot of emotional baggage to unpack before she could really settle, and Game is all about that unpacking process. Which makes it sound deadly dull. I must reassure you at this point that there is a lot of hot sex in this book, and some pretty wild surprises.

Here’s an excerpt:

Lloyd rears up and pulls out of me, running a hand through his hair and shutting his eyes for a moment, re-orientating.

‘Shower, then.’ He picks up his clothes, frowns at the terrible state of his jacket and gives me an encouraging nod. ‘Oh dear,’ he says, clicking his tongue. ‘Can’t you stand? Poor afflicted thing.’

‘Shut up, of course I can stand.’ I swing my legs over the side and give a fair impression of Bambi’s first few upright seconds. Lloyd swoops forward and helps me. ‘So gallant, proper Sir Walter Raleigh, aren’t you?’

From the kitchen corner, Sasha snorts.

‘Are you two always like this?’ she asks, without turning around.

I pick up my neatly-folded clothes and hug them to my chest.

‘Always.’

In the shower, Lloyd directs the water over my breasts and my sticky thighs.

‘You didn’t fail then,’ he says, sounding disappointed.

‘Did you think I would?’

‘I need to up my game.’

The jets spray on to my breasts, tingling my nipples. Lloyd cups the underside of my breasts, holding them in place while he keeps the shower head no more than an inch above them.

‘What’s next?’ I ask, flexing my toes, splashing them in the lovely warm water. ‘Sex while parachuting from a plane? In a canoe going over a waterfall? In space?’

He puts the shower head back in its cradle, takes the bottle of gel cleanser, squirts it into his hand, lathers it up around my breasts and stomach and shoulders.

‘Yeah,’ he says, with an enigmatic look. ‘You keep thinking along those lines, Soph.’

‘What do you mean?’

He smothers me with bubbling foam and pulls me against him so our chests slip and slide together. Water rains into our mouths while we kiss, leaking into the cracks of lips, dripping off our noses, clogging up our eyelashes.

He turns me around and washes my back and bottom, very thoroughly, far more thoroughly than is quite necessary.

‘I mean what I mean,’ he says, letting the suds slip down the crack of my arse, parting the cheeks, massaging the slightly stinging soap inside.

‘As Confucius would say. What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It’s supposed to mean what it’s supposed to mean.’

I try to slap him, but it isn’t easy when you’re facing the wrong way and he has his hands on your bum. I manage an awkward collision of elbow (mine) and hip (his) and reap my inevitable reward.

‘Ouch!’ I always forget that a smack on a wet bottom is worth about three on a dry one.

‘Impatient,’ he reproves, keeping me close and tight with an arm around my ribs. Something semi-hard pushes into my right buttock, distracting me from the newly-laid sting. ‘All will be revealed in time.’

I lean my head back on his shoulder, looking up while he looks down.

‘You know, I really hate you, Lloyd.’

He nuzzles his nose against my cheek, kissing the space beneath my ear.

‘Mmm, I know you do. That’s why you’re always so wet for me.’

‘That’s because I’m in the shower.’

‘Not all the other times. All the dozens of scores of hundreds of other times. All those times you’ve begged me, on your wide-open knees…’

‘That’s because I’m trying to kill you with sex. I’ll do it one day.’

‘Mmm, best assassination technique ever.’

His hands are low now, fingers moving down with the trickles of water, flowing and meeting at the delta of my sex. He holds me by my cunt and bites down into the softness of my neck.

I give in to it. My body knows no other way. I spread my feet further apart, granting him full access to my lips and clit and vagina, all so recently used by him.

The water provides an extra element of friction when he starts the slow up-down rubbing of my clit with the side of his hand. It almost feels rough, refractory, needing extra force, which he gives.

Because I am facing away from him, I can see the way his arm crosses my body, watch the sinews move beneath the skin, slide my gaze down to his wrist, see the point where the fingers bend and disappear beneath me. Watching the intricate interplay of those muscles, knowing but not seeing what they are working on, is powerfully aphrodisiac. I can see what he is doing, and I can feel what he is doing at the same time.

But then he changes tack, puts his hands on my thighs and slides down behind me until he is on his knees. A tongue joins the lapping water at my pussy, a strong push brings it between my lips. I pivot at the hips and press my palms flat against the wall, holding myself up, keeping myself in position for more of this oral delight.

It’s as if he drinks the warm water away, lapping it up, replacing it with his own luscious licking, cleaning me to make me dirty.

I drip into his mouth, rotating my hips, beginning to moan. He holds me fast, flicks that tongue faster, flicking the engorged bead of my clit over and over. My palms begin to slide. I fear I might fall, but he claps his hands on my hips, keeping me upright.

In the cage frame of his arms, my body slumps. My core burns and blooms, ribbons of sensation unfurling inside me, gushing out to join the combined waters of his tongue and the hot water pipes. I become a fountain.

My splashing self slips down to the tiled shower basin. I want to lie there while the droplets cover and bathe me. But Lloyd has other ideas.

Still on his knees, he clears his throat and looks forlornly down at his erection.

His hair plastered to his scalp, his eyelashes brimming with water-sparkles, his face clean and shining, he looks too completely fucking adorable. I can’t resist him. I haul myself to my knees facing him and take his testicles in my hands, testing them for firmness and fullness. Lloyd has seemingly endless supplies of testosterone, as his cock testifies.

I suck him gently at first, then with increasing urgency, pinching the base of his shaft, squeezing his balls, getting my lips down lower and lower until he is deep in my throat. My cheeks are wet when his thick load of cream shoots into my mouth, but the shower isn’t the only reason for that. There’s a saline element to the damp patches, a stickiness.

When I lie back in his arms, letting the water engulf us both, I hope he hasn’t noticed, but the way he traces a finger beneath the lower lid of both my eyes suggests he has.

And if that’s made you want to read on, you can!

Game is available from Mischief Books: http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/game/

Or a number of third party retailers, including Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Game-ebook/dp/B006PW46MA/ref=sr_1_15?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338292481&sr=1-15

And right now, it’s only 99p for a full-length novel! Grab a bargain.

Many thanks to my wonderful friend and colleague, K D. It’s always a pleasure to visit her – and thank you for reading.

Fairy Tale Filth and Lush Illustrations: Janine Ashbless Shares the Story Behind Named and Shamed

It’s a pleasure to be here on your blog, K D!

I thought I’d talk a bit about Tansy, the heroine of my filthy fairytale novel Named and Shamed.

Here’s the backcover blurb:

Once upon a time, a naughty girl called Tansy stole a very precious manuscript from a kindly antiquarian. But all of the world’s ancient and powerful magic, lost for centuries, has returned…and now there is much more at stake than a few sheets of parchment!

Thus begins a rude and rugged fairytale the likes of which you NEVER read when you were little! Poor Tansy is led though the most pleasurable trials and the most shameful tribulations as her quest unfolds before her. Orgasmic joy and abject humiliation are laid upon Tansy in equal measure as she straddles the two worlds of magic and man.

And this is how she describes herself:

“Most men get no further than some reference to Amazons as they paw at me, because at six feet tall and with a rack like this I can’t help but invite the comparison. I’ll never be skinny but I keep active, which means I end up with a taut waist, but I’m still plenty curvy in other places. Add to that my red hair — not an insipid ginger but ferociously bright metallic waves — and pale skin that explodes into freckles all over my shoulders and arms at the first touch of summer, and I get a lot of attention from a certain type of guy. Not necessarily the sort of guy I want, to be honest. Pretty much every man who goes for me has this submission fantasy and they want me to wrestle them to the floor or crack a whip over their ass. Goddamn. That’s not my preference. I want someone who can look me in the eye and not be intimidated. I want a guy who can make me feel overwhelmed.”

Tansy isn’t anything like my previous female protagonists. When I started writing this book I was told to aim at a default male readership – whereas normally I write for publishers whose readership is at least nominally female. So I had to give this some thought. Named and Shamed is a BDSM novel, and Tansy spends the plot discovering quite how deep her submissive kink goes, and how much punishment and humiliation she can take. In a normal stroke-novel it’d be easy to make her a blank cipher, a passive innocent who is used as a pawn by the dominants.

But that wouldn’t work for my fairytale plot. Tansy is not at all passive. She’s a woman on quest. She’s out to save herself, and her friend and lovers. She has to be intelligent and decisive and incredibly courageous, or else she’s going to get nowhere. She can’t be a cipher. And yet she has to enjoy the most extreme and challenging submission: whippings, bondage, public humiliation, and rough sex with two, three, or more (including some monstrously non-human). Stuff that, let’s face it, most normal people couldn’t cope with.

So I’m not saying Tansy is a realistic female character. Far from it: she’s my porn ideal of what a woman should be like. She loves sex, of course. But more than that, she’s got no emotional baggage. Despite a kink for public degradation, she’s not messed up, or insecure, or needy. If she makes a mistake and screws things up – which she certainly does – she always takes responsibility for fixing things afterwards. Kindly, and intensely protective of her cousin Gail, she is quite capable of love, but she has no emotional dependence on anyone else for her own validation. She’s completely self-actualized. She can do almost anything – and have almost anything done to her – and it doesn’t cause any damage to her ego, any loss of self-worth.

“A pleasure to meet you, Tansy.” The Gaffer lifted his gaze from an unabashed consideration of my boobs and looked me in the eye. Without blinking, he added. “You’ve done well for yourself there boy. She’s pretty. Magnificent knockers.”

It was a test, of sorts. A calculated slap in the face, to see how I would react. I flushed and giggled, dropping my gaze coyly. I could feel my pussy swelling at the compliment. Because it was a compliment — degrading and crude and offensive, it was still an acknowledgement of my desirability by the most important man in the room. I got it. In times of trouble, scared people look for leaders. It just so happens that the sort of guy who wants to be a leader is usually a tool of the first order, but that doesn’t matter to them. Even if he chooses to impose some sort of weird elder-tree cult it doesn’t matter, as long as he leads. I knew that with a single word from this man I could be on my knees in this back bar, tugging open his flies and sucking his cock while he sipped his pint with a complacent smirk and everyone looked  on.

I wet my lips.

Her resilience, both physical and mental, is off the scale. She regrets nothing, and she can’t be broken – at least, not for more than a night.

It’s not a bad ideal. I admire her, actually.

Though I’ve got to admit I never met a woman like her.

😉

xxx

Janine

www.janineashbless.blogspot.com

http://sweetmeatspress.com/

Buy links:

http://1eroticaebooks.com/erotica/named-and-shamed/prod_2896.html

http://1placeforromance.com/erotica/named-and-shamed/prod_7834.html

These e-versions include 19 illustrations by John LaChatte, as does the paperback:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Named-Shamed-Janine-Ashbless/dp/0957003781/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1337623893&sr=1-3

http://www.amazon.com/Named-Shamed-Janine-Ashbless/dp/0957003781/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1337623953&sr=1-1

Named and Shamed is also available on Kindle, but without interior illustrations.

The Story Behind Clarice Clique’s Sexy BDSM Novel, Hot Summer Days

For me it’s always exciting to have a first-time guest on my sight, and I’m particularly excited to welcome the very talented Clarice Clique, whose BDSM novel, Hot Summer Days is heating things up. Welcome Clarice!

Hot Summer Days was the first full length novel I completed, and to date the only one that has been published, so it will always be a special story to me.

I was nervous about attempting to write something so long, but was encouraged by a very good friend of mine, not coincidentally the same friend who proof read and helped me write my very first erotic short stories. It is embarrassing to say how long it took me to complete Hot Summer Days, so I won’t. However, I will say that there was lots and lots of planning and editing and redrafting. I learnt a lot about the whole process of being a writer, how sometimes you have to be brave enough to cut out favourite scenes and even whole characters if they aren’t fitting into the narrative.

In my stories there is an element of creating dreams and fantasies, but I write a lot from the heart and share with my readers experiences that have touched and moved me.  People who know me scarily say they can tell which parts of my fiction are closest to my own experiences. With Hot Summer Days there are elements of my personality and life both in Vanessa (although unfortunately I don’t share her perfect body!), the heroine on a journey of erotic discovery, and Penelope, the poised Mistress, always in control of herself and quietly dominating her subs.

Like many of my short stories it is focused around BDSM. I love the dynamics of power play and painting scenes of beautiful people bound together and adoring every minute of discomfort and pain.

I’m attached to my characters and when I get time it is a world I would like to return to and discover the next part of Vanessa’s sexual growth. For now though I hope you enjoy Hot Summer Days and get as much pleasure as I did writing and living it.

Excerpt:

When they reached the entrance to the ballroom, Penelope clicked her fingers, and the mousy maid emerged through the doorway holding a small bowl of steaming water, a beautiful blue bottle filled with liquid, and a towel draped over her arm.

“Prepare her,” Penelope commanded.

Harvey stepped forward and took the rope from Penelope’s hand and then, with consummate ease, began to untie the knots that had kept Vanessa’s body tightly bound for most of the day. Even when he had freed her and allowed the now useless rope to drop to the floor, Vanessa still felt that she was tied up and unable to move of her own free will. Then the mouse was next to her. She put the bowl of water onto the floor and poured some of the liquid onto her hand before carefully placing the blue bottle beside the bowl. Vanessa drank in the sweet scent of roses as the maid slowly began to cleanse Vanessa’s face. She may even have enjoyed the mouse’s gentle touch if she hadn’t been aware of how quiet the room was now. It was eerie how quiet so many people could be. She kept her eyes fixed on a point on the floor as she was scared to look up and see all those people in their strange costumes, no longer fucking, but looking straight back at her.

When the mouse began to clean her breasts, Vanessa closed her eyes and concentrated on mathematical equations to prevent herself from moaning with the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain that arose from the maid touching the skin where the ropes had bound her flesh. She opened them again, though, when she heard a loud crash. Harvey had swept all the food off one of the tables and was now dragging it across to her. Vanessa stared at the floor where chocolate, strawberries and cream were losing their separate identities and merging into one. At the edge of her gaze, though, she could not ignore the sight that she’d feared; the whole room was still and all attention was focused on her. Then a velvet hood was placed over her head, and she could no longer see anything.

A pair of hands was on her waist, and she was lifted onto the table as if she were a doll. She stood frozen, completely disorientated by the darkness, and scared to move in case she fell over.

“Undo your blouse,” a voice said from somewhere behind her. She knew it was Penelope, but even her friend’s familiar tones were distorted by her mind making her uncertain what to do.

There was not much of her blouse left to undo after Harvey had ripped it open earlier. She fumbled with a button; her heart beating fast as the remains of the fabric fell away leaving her torso completely revealed. There was a whoop and a cheer from somewhere in front of her. Vanessa didn’t have a chance to digest whether she was more intimidated or excited by the sudden sound before the whole room was full of voices all shouting at her. It was as if a signal had been given and the crowd was allowed to give free reign to their lust again.

Vanessa couldn’t distinguish individual voices, but all the separate cries seemed to merge into direct commands that she immediately obeyed. One by one, she removed the rest of her clothes until she was naked, apart from the hood. Then she turned around and bent over, and then she was dancing for them, gyrating her hips, shimmying, willing them to give her more commands, to take her further.

Fuck me, she thought, one of you bastards, all of you bastards, fuck me.

Then she realized that she didn’t have to wait for them; she wasn’t tied up anymore; she could do what she wanted. She reached down between her legs and stroked her wet sex. It was such a release to be able to touch herself that she immediately moaned.

Either her action or her evident pleasure in it provoked someone into action.

“On your knees, bitch,” a gruff voice close to her commanded; and, without thinking, she fell to her knees.

The hood was pulled up just enough so her lips were exposed.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

She obeyed and a thick cock was pushed into her mouth. She sucked hard; but, in her thoughts, she cursed the fact that she was only going to be allowed to give oral again and not have her body filled the way she was yearning for.

Then she heard someone climb up on the table behind her, and her legs were roughly spread, and a cock was pushed into her pussy. She would have gasped with the sheer size of it, but the man in front of her began fucking her mouth harder. Hands were pinching her nipples. Someone’s fingers were on her clit. Something was pressing into her ass. The orgasm ripped through her body in a way that was almost painful. It was such a relief that she felt her body trembling and shaking. She pulled her head away from the man’s cock and wiggled away from the man behind her. She would have fallen off the table, but a strong pair of hands caught her. Whoever it was wasn’t offering her an escape though; she found herself on the floor with her legs in the air and a head buried between her thighs. The sensation was too much to bear, and she pleaded for whoever it was to stop. Finally they did, but then she was rolled onto her front and someone was sliding their cock between her butt cheeks. She cried out, but her body had a will of its own, pressing backwards into the stranger’s groin. The man creamed over her ass, but Vanessa knew it wasn’t over. She knew her night was just beginning.

Places to buy Hot Summer Days

http://www.adultebookshop.com/Hot-Summer-Days-p-1441.html

http://www.pinkflamingo.com/brands/Clarice-Clique.html

Bio: 

I live in a small terraced house in England dreaming of all the lives I am not living. Some of these dreams make it into stories and some of these stories make it into print. In 2009 I had my first novel published, a BDSM, sub/Dom story called Hot Summer Days, by Pink Flamingo Publications. Since then I have ad many anthologies published.

I am currently working on a few more novels, simultaneously hoping that somehow I shall finish them in the next few years. However, I am easily distracted from my work by an internet addiction which means my brain is brimming over ‘facts’ about obscure television stars gleaned from Wikipedia. I own many different shades of thigh-high boots ordered from a surprising variety of internet shops; I can count to ten in ten different languages; I have a secret life as a tall blue woman complete with tail, hooves and horns in a certain online game, and I am having several simultaneous internet affairs, wondering if cybersex and a nice vibrator might not actually in fact be better than the real thing.

Where to Find Clarice:

Website: http://friendsofclariceclique.webeden.co.uk/

Twitter: @clarice_Clique

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002358066273