Naughty Novelists News and Giving Creativity a Hand

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Naughty Novelists

For those of you who haven’t already heard me shouting it on Facebook or Twitter, yesterday’s Daily Express ran a lovely article called We’re the New Naughty Novelists, in which I got interviewed along with two very big hitters, Janine Ashbless and Primula Bond. I was chuffed to be in such talented company. The topic of the piece was our ordinary lives. Of course all of this is in the wake of the Fifty Shades phenomenon. The article is very positive and supportive and I don’t know about my two esteamed colleagues, but I had great fun when the make-up artist and photographer came to take some shots of me being ordinary.

However, just for the record, we aren’t actually NEW naughty novelists. We’ve all got track records, as it were. Granted I’m the newby in the midst of such lovely naughtiness, but even I have three novels, a novella, multiple short stories, and more of all to come. I think we might actually be the Experienced Naughty Novelists, but the publicity is great, the article was fun to do, and if you missed the print version with all the lovely piccies, here’s the link with the lovely Janine Ashbless multi-tasking as only a naughty novelist can.

More Masturbation Month Mischief

If you haven’t been celebrating National Masturbation Month, it’s not too late to start. If you try real hard, I’ll bet you can even make up for lost time. In keeping with the spirit of self love, I’ll be passing on tidbits and little self-love excerpts from my novels and short stories from now until the end of May, so here’s a little gem of information worthy of a good hand.

As a novelist, who writes erotic romance, I’m proud to be a frequent masturbator, and I’m always a bit surprised that anyone could be ashamed of such a powerful creative force.

The ancient Egyptians believed masturbation was a creative act in its own right. In the Heliopolis creation myth, the god Amen rises from the primeval ocean, Nun, and masturbates the divine son and daughter into existence, and they populate the world. Even if I look at the Judeo/Christian myth in the first two chapters of Genesis, where God speaks the world into existence, I am still looking at a solo act.

Eric Francis on Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross’s Sex Information Online site writes, ‘Masturbation is the most elemental form of sexuality, requiring only awareness and a body.

Awareness and a body. Masturbating the world into existence. It happens all the time. At the risk of offering too much information, my understanding of sex, my deepest understanding of my own sexuality, comes from awareness and my own body. That’s what I have to work with. My understanding of writing, my deepest understanding of the creative forces in me also comes from awareness and my own self.

I’m astounded that in a world where solitude and the meditative tradition is a part of almost every religious discipline, we shy away from the very concepts that could have well given birth to it, awareness and Body. Can there really even BE awareness without a body? And how can we possibly understand the boundaries and the limits of either without the two rubbing up against each other. Our act of one-ness, our proto-sexuality, as Eric Francis calls it, I suggest is by its boundary-exploring nature, also our proto-creativity.

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And now, here’s a very nasty,  not-for-the-delicate-flowers, Self Love Excerpt from my naughty novella, Surrogates. (Heavy breathing is allowed)

Excerpt:

‘You were with her, weren’t you? You were with your wife,’ she said reaching a gloved hand to deposit a handful of weeds in the trug next to her, an act which made the skirt ride up even further, an act which made him breathless.

‘What? No! I wasn’t. I promise. I had a meeting with my accountant that ran long. I swear it, Francie, darling. I haven’t seen Bel since I got home. Besides she’s staying over at her sisters this evening. They’re having a girl’s night out. Sweetheart, you know if I were with her, I’d tell you. Haven’t I always been above board about what goes on between Bel and me?’

She knew he had. Not that there was much to tell, but on the odd occasion when Bel had had too much wine with dinner and demanded he do his husbandly duty, or when she was feeling morose about her advancing years, all thirty-four of them, and needed to be shown she was still sexy, he never lied about it. It didn’t matter what sex acts he’d had to perform to please his wife, when Francie asked for details, he gave them. A part of him hated that she always asked. Surly she knew it would be easier if she didn’t know, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And he didn’t hold back anything, even though he was always careful to remind her that it was thinking about her that made him come when he did his duty where Bel was concerned.

And all the while he told Francie what he’d done to Bel, told her details that made him blush, details that made his cock stretch and arch towards her, she listen while her cunt got slick and fat. Even as those details made her angry and unhappy, she asked for them. And while he told her, she played with herself, fingers darting furiously in and out between her heavy slippery folds, hips shifting and grinding as she asked him in clipped breathless words for more details. What did Bel’s pussy look like? How did she smell? Could he taste the wine she’d drank or the spices from Cook’s currey when he ate her out? How hard did her nipples get? Did she talk dirty when he pushed into her? Jesus, having sex with Bel, even though he knew it hurt Francie, was almost worth it to watch the way Francie took the pain, twisted it, turned it, reshaped it and came on it, came in lovely gushing female squirts at what she had made of it in her filthy little head.

Of course she didn’t like it that someone else got his cock while she only got to watch him wank. He didn’t like it either, but there was nothing for it at the moment. As much as he wanted Francie, as much as he dreamed of riding her raw, he was still married to Bel, and he would stay faithful until he got the balls to ask for a divorce. No matter how badly he wanted Francie, he could never behave towards Bel the way his father had towards his mother.

So why was he such a coward? People got divorced every day. Lots of people. Hell he knew people who had already been married and divorced multiple times. It was a simple thing to ask for a divorce these days. And yet, here he was like a damned adolescence begging for a peek under a girl’s skirt. ‘Please, darling, he said. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend what I do have with you.’

He saw the sigh shiver up through her body, and he knew he’d been forgiven. She raised on her knees enough to take off the gloves she wore, then with one hand she eased the skirt up over her hips and wriggled slightly to open her legs a little wider on the mat where she knelt.

He pressed his thumb to the head of his cock. The urge to come at the sight of her all engorged and open was nearly overwhelming. The pearlescent sheen on the inside of her pouting labia told him he wasn’t the only one who needed to come. As she arched her back downward and forced her bottom even higher, her clit came into view looking like a heavy swollen marble at the apex of her pussy. ‘Oh, Francie –’ he breathed ‘– touch it for me.’

We’re The New Naughty Novelists

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The Daily ExpressKD Grace, 50, lives in Surrey with her husband Raymond, 51, a chemical engineer. They don’t have any children. Her latest novella Surrogates is available on Amazon and www.mischief.com.

Erotic writing is like any other. You simply do your research and use your imagination. Just because a story features a threesome or a woman having an affair with her gardener doesn’t mean that’s what I’m up to myself. There’s nothing less glamorous than my job writing erotica. I sit at the dining table in my trainers and tracksuit with not a pair of stockings in sight.

My husband loves what I do and vetoes my male characters to make sure I get the tone right. Even before I did this for a job we couldn’t have spent more time thinking about sex than we already do. Yet being an erotic author has made me aware that we’re the exception and that lots of people don’t make sex a priority in their relationships.

Although I don’t write about my own experiences I do pay homage in my novels to my love of sex outdoors – the fear of being caught makes it far more exciting. Being outside is far more atmospheric than posh hotels or bedrooms.

Read the entire article at Express.co.uk.

Keziah Hill Talks About Writing in Two Genres and the Stories Waiting in the Wings

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I’d like to welcome a special guest from wintery Downunder.  The fabulously versatile Keziah Hill not only writes erotica and crime but is also a keen gardener. Truly a woman after my own heart! Welcome to sunny (ish) England, Keziah! It’s a pleasure to have you on my site!

Thanks for having me on your blog KD.

While you’re probably reveling in the spring glory of the merry month of May, down here it’s autumn which also happens to be my favorite time of year. I live in a cool climate part of Australia, about 100ks west of Sydney in the Blue Mountains so as I write there is frost on the ground and it’s 2C. But the sun is out and it’s turning into a glorious day.

This morning, while snuggling into my warm bed, I started to concoct lists in my head about all the writing projects I have to finish. That got me into a mild panic and out of bed. The big one is my crime novel which I want to pitch to a couple of editors at the annual Romance Writers of Australia conference in August. I’ve been working on it for a couple of years and it’s nearly there. Giving myself a deadline will make me work harder!

Also on the list of things to finish are edits for a couple erotic novellas that I’ve just got the publishing rights back to, so they’ll be appearing on Amazon and other online book sellers soon.

But nagging away at the back of my mind are all the stories waiting in the wings. Characters who want their day in the sun and stories that keep revealing their twists and turns at strange moments (like at three o’clock in the morning). I have folders created on my computer with odd notes, paragraphs of dialogue and the beginning of character sketches of a whole range of stories.  I have to resist the siren call of a new story so I can finish what I’m working on.

It’s strange writing in two genres – erotica (including erotic romance) and crime. I thought I’d given up writing erotica and just wanted to concentrate on crime and suspense, but my muse (or whatever you want to call it) had other ideas. So after quite a break, I’m back writing steamy sex, which I’m thoroughly enjoying. I’d forgotten how freeing writing erotica is. It’s a larger than life genre full of possibilities.

My latest story, Chains of Revenge is in an alternate, semi-fantasy world containing a warrior who was once a sex slave and princess who once owned him. Their power struggle was a lot of fun to write. A sequel is one of the stories that keeps nagging at me. That, and a story about two cultures with different and conflicting moral codes about sex and how the hero and heroine negotiate their way through to their satisfying ending; and another story about a minister of religion and a sex shop owner. Mmm. There does seem to be a bit of a theme here.

A part from getting all these words on the page, my garden also calls to me, particularly at this time of year when roses need to be transplanted and trees pruned. But I’m very fortunate to have some gorgeous critters in my garden including this crimson rosella.

Here is an excerpt from Chains of Revenge.

Lissa, Princess of Horvald, waited for Death. She stood, still and silent in the dank chill of the Great Hall, determined to meet her fate without cowering in fear. But fear hovered, beating against her mind like moth wings, relentless and inescapable.

Her father, the King of Horvald was gone, swallowed up in the vicious cycle of victory and defeat. Now there was no protection for her, no way of avoiding the steady creep of defeat as it seeped through the walls and curled under the doors, like a foul, poisoned miasma.

He wanted her, this Warlord called Death.

He’d killed her father and now demanded she appear before him to beg for mercy.

But she would not beg. Nor would she come at his call, like a whipped dog. If that meant her life was forfeit, then so be it.

A crash in the outer hall momentarily pierced her defiance, sending a cold finger of terror up her spine. She had no illusions about how this Warlord would use then kill her, but couldn’t stop dark, skittering panic flood her body when she realized his touch, full of hatred and violence, would be the last touch from a man she would ever feel.

No sweet strokes or murmured endearments. So different to the last time she’d lain with a man, long ago now. Lissa closed her eyes and called up the image of brown, strong muscled arms and calloused hands that had held and soothed her, all the time whispering enchanting words of beauty and love. A yearning twisted deep inside her, making her gasp with pain. If only she could see him again, just one more time before she died.  She’d been such an empty headed fool all those years ago, thinking she was so powerful she could demand a slave to service her. That slave turned her life upside down and transformed her world. When disaster struck and her people needed her, because of him, she was ready to answer their call.

Ah, Devadas, my love. I’ll join you soon.

A piercing wail, suddenly cut off, ripped through the air. Death drew near. She glanced out the window and watched the distant wheat fields, the source of Horvald’s wealth, soon to be torched. Why hadn’t the burning commenced? All her work, gone. Would Devadas be pleased? Her slave in chains, the man she in the end, had loved with such hopeless desperation.

Another end loomed. Lissa heard more crashes and shouting, then the heavy thump of footsteps in the corridor. She continued to stand motionless in a shaft of late winter sun, and waited.

Not for long. The door slammed open and with it, the full realization of her father’s treachery.

No! Goddess above, no! All those wasted years!

Her past stood before her in mockery.

Tall, broad and forbidding, his body covered in leather and battered amour, Death stood in the doorway like the conqueror he was.

Chained no longer.

Chains of Revenge is available from Smashwords and Amazon.

About Keziah Hill

After quite a few years working in the criminal justice system, I decided a tree change was needed so decamped to the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney Australia. Amid a garden full of flowering blossoms, roses and the odd marauding possum, I write steamy love stories where my characters get their happily ever after or at least their happy for now. You can follow me on Facebook and on Twitter. I also have an occasional photographic blog (not mine – other people’s) at The View From Here. I’m a voracious reader as well as writer so you can also see what I read at Goodreads. Several of my short stories can be read at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association.

 

 

What Makes Us Fall in Love

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It’s my pleasure to welcome Northern Bird, talented author, and all around fab person, Victoria Blisse, back to my site to to talk about her nasty, yummy, romantic novel, Naughty Rendezvous. I just have one question for you, Victoria, what makes us fall in love?

What Makes Us Fall in Love?

If I knew I’d be a millionaire from selling love potions to every unrequited lover in the world.  However I think I have an idea of what types of thing make us fall in love with a fictional character.

People love a good plot, they love things to happen but every fiction reader knows that they’re reading the events because they want to know what’s going to happen to certain characters they’ve been introduced to and really, really, really don’t want them to die.  So what makes a character compelling? I don’t suppose anyone can ever completely know because we all have differing opinions but I can think of a few essentials that can’t be argued about.

Emotion.   We don’t want to read about people who just wander through life and in erotica shag the odd person here and there. No, we want to read about people who feel. We want to see sorrow and heart ache, laughter and joy and love, most of all we want to relive the wonder of falling in love. Well, those of us who love romance and erotica do anyway.

Personality. I think the one thing that stops me from reading a book to the end more often than not is when the main man or woman is exciting and real as a cardboard cut-out. When you get the prince who is tall, dark and handsome but completely and utterly vapid.  Then there’s the princess who just moons about waiting to be rescued. You know the types I mean, their actions bore you because they’re born of cliché or simply to get to a particular sex act as quickly as possible.

A past.

Even in a very short story I want to know a bit about what happened to the character before the story even began. It’s one of those things that helps you to connect to what’s happening.  It’s also something that’s pretty difficult to do and you also don’t want too much of it either. You don’t necessarily need to know her pet name as a kid or his favourite kind of cake, you know, that chocolate one with the nuts that his mum used to make. It’s got to be relevant.

So there you go, three things I think are essential for falling in love with a character. Now I’m going to introduce you to a friend of mine who I fell head over heels for whilst I wrote out his story. His name is Joe Moore and he’s the star of Naughty Rendezvous http://www.xcitebooks.com/Book/6653/Naughty-Rendezvous.html which is FREE at Xcite books until the 31st May.

First title in the Rendezvous triolgy, part of Xcite Book’s Ultimate Curves Rubenesque Range.

Joe likes to tease and single mum Leanna loves it to. When they meet up for their first official date, the sparks fly but who’s going to crack first? Will Joe’s intimate questions and kiss and run tactics bring Leanna to her knees or will Leanna’s curves, flashed in moments of exhibition drive Joe to rip off all her clothes and indulge his urges?

How will she react to Joe’s domination and will she be turned on by his spankings? She’s going to be a naughty girl, so she’s bound to find out.

Here’s an excerpt for you so you can try him on for size –ooo er!

Sometimes our typing gets sexy. It just happens. We’ll be chatting about our day or a film we’ve watched or a book we’ve read or something like that and then suddenly we’ll be saying how much we long to rip the clothes from each other’s bodies. How we want to kiss long, hard, and without limit. He tells me he wants to taste me, smell my feminine musk up close, lick me there, at the core of my womanliness. I tell him how hungry I am for him. How I want to explore every last crevice, nook, and cranny of his body. I type with fervour, spelling mistakes flying left, right, and centre, until we reach the climax. Then we go back to chatting again, content and warm and snuggled up to each other even though there are a good few miles between us.

I look up from my chocolate and my reverie as the bell on the window-filled door tinkles. When I see an imposing male outline and realise it’s him, my body shudders a sigh of relief as my tummy tightens with the excitement.

The cold early winter air blows in with him and he swiftly shuts the door. Joe smiles over at Kathy, the café owner.

‘Usual, Joe?’ she asks.

‘Cheers,  Kathy,  you’re  a  star.’  His  deep  silken  tone  is tinged with that familiar accent of the American south, bringing a touch of the exotic to the Northern British mundaneness of a cosy café. A girlish smile cracks across the weathered face of the elderly matron; Joe’s charm has worked on her too. I am sure I am smiling in just the same way. Noticing me in the back corner, his slightly squiffy smile is aimed at me now and my body goes as liquid as the chocolate I sip.

He strides over. He moves between the chairs and tables effortlessly, his dark-grey overcoat swishing and swirling around his strong legs as he moves.

‘Oh darlin’, I am so sorry I’m late!’ He smiles at me as he sits down, his grey eyes full of apology and regret. ‘I do hate to keep you waiting!’

‘Ah, you’re worth it, Joe,’ I answer. ‘And besides, I do love Kathy’s hot chocolate.’

He looks down and notices I’m on my second cup. ‘Oh, you’ve been waiting ages. Now I feel awful.’ He moves his cold hand to my thigh and squeezes. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, Leanna.’

‘Mmm, I know you will.’ My voice is huskier than I expect, the effect of his hand upon me, no doubt. ‘So what are we going to do with my precious hours of freedom?’

‘Well, honey, it is your call but please be gentle with me. It’s been a long day.’ He takes a long swallow of his hot coffee and I watch his light-pink lips darken with the heat as he sips.

‘Well, this is going to sound like a come-on … ’ I chuckle as I meet his eye, my cheeks flaring and my heart thudding for fear of rejection ‘ … but why don’t you just go back to my place? We can watch a film, I can throw us together a meal and we can just chill out for a bit.’

‘That sounds perfect to me.’ Joe smiles. He knows what I am thinking. He knows and he agrees to it. My heart does a pentathlon of actions as I hear myself saying, ‘Cool.’

We sit and chat for a while. He asks about Lucy, I ask about his day. We talk about the football, the traffic, and the sudden coldness of this bright autumn day. Joe drains the last of his coffee. His cheeks are more of an even pink now, having lost the harsh, wind-whipped look. His lips are deep, fleshy pink and plump. I look at the bottom lip as it curves under the coffee cup and wonder what it would be like between my own lips, gripped gently between my teeth.

‘Come on then.’ I shake myself from my seedy fantasy and pull myself up straight in my chair. ‘Or we’ll end up sitting here all day.’

‘OK.’ Joe replies, giving me a hand as I slip into my dark-chocolate coat. I watch him button up his own as I pull on my gloves.

‘It’s not far,’ I say as he holds the café door open for me. ‘So you won’t be out in the cold too long.’

He smiles as I pass him and his hand rests gently on my bottom for a moment before it is moved again.

Oh, he is a tease.

If you want to read more from Joe then check out Naughty Rendezvous http://www.xcitebooks.com/Book/6653/Naughty-Rendezvous.html as it’s completely free for the rest of May. He’s a hot dominant male you’ll just not be able to get enough of and I’m trying hard to resist name dropping  Fifty Shades of Grey here but apparently I just failed miserably at that. So I’ll just say it. If you loved Christian Grey then you’ll be bowled over by Joe Moore and that’s a promise. It’s free to find out, so why not download yourself a copy right now? http://www.xcitebooks.com/Book/6653/Naughty-Rendezvous.html

Victoria’s Bio:

Victoria Blisse is a Mother, Wife, Christian, Manchester United Fan and Award Winning Erotica Authoress.

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

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

Website: http://victoriablisse.co.uk

Facebook: http://facebook.com/victoriablisse

Twitter: http://twitter.com/victoriablissse

 

Launch, Lust and Self-Love

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Lots of Lakeland Heatwave News!

Body Temperature and Rising has been out in paperback and eBook in the UK since October and in eBook in the US as well, but tomorrow is the official print launch day of Body Temperature and Rising in the US! I love book launches! And I LOVE the chance to celebrate. I’m very pleased with the positive response BTR is getting, and the closer I get to the completion of all three novels in the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy, the more excited I get.

In more Lakeland Heatwave news, Body Temperature and Rising is being discussed all this month over at Coffee Time Romance. I’ll be talking paranormal erotic romance, what makes it work and what makes it hot. I’ll also be sharing some juicy excerpts, talking about what inspired me to write it, talking about sex magic, sharing a few snap shots of the glorious English Lake District, where the story is set, and just generally chatting about witches, demons, ghosts and all things paranormal and sexy. Do stop by and chat. Leave a comment for a chance to win your choice of either of my novels, The Initiation of Ms Holly, or The Pet Shop.

Even MORE Lakeland Heatwave News

I’m very excited to announce that I’ve just finished the first draft of book three of the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy, Elemental Fire. You may have remembered that I had just finished the first draft of book two, Riding the Ether, in February. I decided to write the last two books back to back so I could get the best overall view of the powerful events that lead to the grand finale. Plus, I had less chance of suffering from empty nest syndrome that way. I have to admit there were a few twist and turns that even I didn’t expect, and I can hardly wait to make all three novels available to my readers! Riding the Ether will be published in October, and there’ll be much partying and dancing in the streets.

Novellas                                                                              

Last month I was all excited about the release of my two new novellas, Surrogates, published with Harper Collin’s new erotica eBook imprint, Mischief, and Migrations,  which included in the brand new Xcite Books line of anthologies, The Secret Library, in the Traded Innocence anthology. I’m happy to announce that both are doing well and enjoying good press. I’m doing my best to have as many of the authors from the new Secret Library line as guest on my blog as possible, so please check in to see what hot, romantic offerings are deliciously hidden inside those very elegant velvet covers. I’ll also have some exciting guest authors stopping by from the new Mischief line as well, so do make sure to check out A Hopeful Romantic for all the latest heat.

Garden Porn

Any of you who have read much of my work know that I’ve got a reputation for writing garden porn. Surrogates is a very hot romp through the veg patch, and some pretty stunning formal gardens as well. My short story, Vegging is packed full of veggie naughtiness, and my story, Allotted Views is a voyeuristic romp through the allotments.  I’ve always found working in the veg patch inspiring, and it has just got a whole lot more inspiring for me, as my husband and I just got an allotment after three long years on the waiting list. I think our patch alone is big enough to feed half of Surrey. And that means, of course, LOTS more inspiration for writing hot garden porn.

The Merry Month of May…er National Masturbation Month!

Okay, how could I possibly NOT end this little update with a happy, touchy-feely mention of National Masturbation Month? The celebration of May as National Masturbation Month started in 1995 in San Francisco as a response to the forced resignation of then U.S. Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders, for remarks she made that masturbation should be taught as a healthy part of human sexuality.

The comment ended Elders’ career. National Masturbation Month came about as an act of protest against Elders’ ouster and a celebration of the safest sex of all. I’m definitely planning to do my part to celebrate in solidarity! And I intend to start by giving you a few very hot excerpts of the self-loving kind throughout the rest of the month – my contribution to the celebration of solo-sex. I hope you find them inspiringJ

Since all the latest news is Lakeland Heatwave, I’m going to start the self-love lit with a hands-on scene from Body Temperature and Rising. Enjoy!

Excerpt:

(in which much naughtiness ensues. Not for the delicate of disposition)

Marie woke to the awareness of a man sitting on the bed next to her, a man who, from the looks of his clothing, must have been at the same costume party as Anderson. His fly was open and he was stroking a substantial hard-on. Instead of being frightened, as would have been the normal response to a stranger rubbing one off on her bed, she simply admired his pale hair and the way his large hand moved over heavy equipment. She liked it when she conjured sexy men to visit her in her dream world. Better yet she had conjured one obviously ready to play.

She watched through half closed eyes as he shoved his trousers open further and worried distended balls free from the press of his underpants. With one hand, he caressed the length of his cock, with the other he cupped himself and stroked with his thumb.

‘I heard them talking about you.’ The man said. ‘They didn’t say how strong you are.’ He groaned out loud and shifted to slide his trousers down so that his pale ass settled onto the duvet, allowing easier access to himself. ‘Even if they had, I would not have believed them.’ His voice was a harsh whispered. ‘I long to know what you look like beneath the duvet, beneath the nightdress. Please let me look at you.’

So far this dream was shaping up well. She was happy to play I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours. Strangely Dream Guy sounded like he’d studied the same romantics Anderson had. Who’d have thought antiquated poet-speak could be so damned hot? She eased herself into a sitting position against the head board and pushed back the bedding. The night shirt lay high against her thighs, barely covering her cunt.

She was amazed at how well she could see in the moonlight drifting through her window. She could see the shape of him, the anxious rise and fall of his chest, the parting of his lips. She could feel his gaze on the hem of her night shirt. She scrunched and raked at it until her hand rested against her pubic mound obscuring his view, and he groaned his frustration. Slowly, carefully she raised her bottom and shifted until the night shirt was out of the way and her bare buttocks pressed against the smooth cotton of the sheet.

His gaze on her felt almost physical, as though with his eyes alone he could gently nudge her open. ‘Please let me see,’ he whispered.

She had played the voyeur with Anderson and Tara earlier. Now it felt wonderfully wicked to play the exhibitionist, as she shifted her ass again and slowly, teasingly opened her thighs, still nestling her hand in her curls, stroking and caressing, making herself wait until that magical moment when her fingers first slipped between the swell of her lips.

‘I can smell you,’ he said. ‘The scent of your sex is intoxicating, please, please let me look at you.’

This time, she moved her fingers down over the hard rise of her clitoris and in between the pout of her lips, her breath catching, her hips jerking with that first electrical touch. Then she spread her labia as wide as she could manage with two fingers and opened her legs still further until she was certain Dream Guy could see every detail of her dilating pussy, every fold of her slippery landscape.

He gasped at the sight, and she could see his balls tighten and jerk with the intake of breath. He shifted a fisted hand down the length of his penis, lingering for his thumb to caress and circle the head, its slit opening and closing with each stroke. She could feel the gentle rocking of the mattress and wasn’t sure if it was from her dream lover, who was now grinding his ass against the bed with each stroke, or if it was from her own bearing down.

‘Touch yourself for me,’ the man said. ‘I want to watch you pleasure your lovely womanhood.’

There was a strange man sitting on the foot of her bed watching her masturbate. The very thought made her juices run thick and hot.

*****

Wishing you all a very merry, touchy-feely month of May! And here’s a lucious link to The Center for the Intimate Arts and some fab visual stimulation.