Tag Archives: BDSM

Kay Jaybee Delivers the Goods, and How!

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When it comes to creative and super-heated BDSM, Kay Jaybee can’t be topped. And she certainly delivers the goods in her new novella, Not Her Type, published by Oysters and Chocolate Books.

Jenny is an accountant, an educated women, who works from home in a nearly reclusive way, having given up on love after one too many bad experiences. John is her delivery man, a man who has little education, isn’t interested in books, and certainly isn’t interested in the kind of artsy films he delivers to Jenny every week. The two couldn’t have less in common if they tried.

Jenny and John see each other every Tuesday, long enough for him to make his delivery and for them to share a quick cuppa and a short chat, until one day the chat is replaced by sizzling, totally unexpected sex. And the pattern is set. Every Tuesday the delivery man delivers. And every Tuesday Jenny is there to accept the delivery. Just nasty, kinky sex on the run. They both assure each other that’s all they want, and their arrangement meets both of their needs perfectly.

But nothing is ever simple. And Kay Jaybee brings an edginess into the complexity of their simple relationship that is sometimes brutal, sometimes poignant, but always steamy and rampant with the pent-up desires released in small doses only on Tuesdays, only for a few minutes. And yet, in that short time, Ms Jaybee gives us fabulous views into the lives of her two characters and gives us little Tuesday afternoon peeks into something way too big and complex to fit into that little weekly window of time.

Ms Jaybee’s characters are deliciously flawed and endearing. Her plot is ingenious, and the sex is frequent and varied, with steamy f/m/f and f/f sex cranking up the heat along with the usual Jaybee penchant for creative BDSM.

Not Her Type is pacey, sexy and quirky, and dare I use the R word? Yes, in addition to kink and edgy BDSM, there is romance – Kay Jaybee style – something I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of in the future.

Well done, Ms Jaybee! Once again the Queen of BDSM delivers the goods!

Immoral Views — The Eyes Have It!

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When it comes to sex, let’s face it, the eyes have it. Oh sure we have four other senses, and everyone uses certain senses more than others. No doubt sex is best when all senses are engaged. But the eyes have it. And certainly the eyes have it in the fabulous new Sweetmeats Press anthology, Immoral Views edited by KoJo Black.  And as if hot sexy stories for the eyes aren’t enough, Immoral Views takes the voyeuristic experience one giant leap further with the steamy illustrations of Florian Meacci.

I’ve always been a bit of a voyeur, so when KoJo asked me to write a story for this anthology, the voyeurism theme alone would have been enough to make me say yes. I’ve seen, fondled and drooled over the fabulous illustrations in KoJo’s sizzling collection, The Candy Box, so I was really keen on having my story illustrated. But when I found out I was going to be in between the covers (front and back, that is) with Kay Jaybee, Lucy Felthouse,  Rebecca Bond and Lexie Bay, I wasn’t entirely sure KoJo would be able to keep the pages of this super-heated anthology from bursting into flames before it hit the shelves.

In celebration of this hot new anthology, I’ve asked each of my fabulous co-authors from Immoral Views to tell us a little bit about their own versions of what I’ve affectionately come to call eye-sex, and I’ve included a blurb of each of their hot stories from Immoral Views. So tell me, my lovelies, just why do the eyes have it?

Kay Jaybee

He was sat in a cafe looking at the pictures that covered the brick walls. I was sat at the opposite end of the room, my notebook open, and my pen in my hand. I was not writing however. Nor was I looking at the paintings. I just looked at him from behind the safety of the menu I held before me- a menu I was not reading.

He was fairly ordinary. Not over worked, no horrid ‘gym regular’ type muscles peeking out from the arms of his plain t-shirt. I judged from how he was sat that he wasn’t even very tall. But his eyes!! They were wide, blue, and somehow never ending. If those eyes could have talked they would have only said one word, ‘Sex.’

Those eyes gave me the most beautiful daydream. Undressing him slowly, never taking my gaze from his gaze, telling him what to do- making him keeping his eyes open at all times…ummmm- you get the idea….

The Circus by Kay Jaybee
The line is blurred between spectator and performer in a theatre of pleasure and pain!

Lexie Bay

So what turns me on visually? Ooh where do I start with this one. I have to admit that I adore checking out gorgeous sexy men. There’s nothing nicer to look at than a strong toned forearm gripping a steering wheel or a firm bum in a pair of jeans… or what about that sexy little line that disappears into a guy’s jeans. Mmmm, yep I’m more than happy to ogle a fit bloke any day.

But I also love that secret thrill when you see something you really shouldn’t have….. and you keep watching because you just can’t tear yourself away. I don’t think women are that different to men when it comes to the visual, deep down we all love a little bit of voyeurism every now and then. I bet if you stumbled across a kinky scene you’d stay and check it out….. I know I would! Izzy, from my story Inside Looking Out definitely would, and it leads her on a deliciously decadent trail from one side of the world to the other. So keep your eyes open and give yourself a treat every now and then – you never know where it will lead you!

Inside Looking Out by Lexie Bay
Adventurous Izzy spans two continents in a search for her perverted Prince Charming.

K D Grace

I was out walking on the Downs. It had just rained. Sane people were inside where it was dry.  I had just climbed a steep stairs up to the side of the hill and stopped to take pictures of the mist clearing off the hillsides when I heard heavy breathing behind me. I turned and nearly ran in to a very wet, very fit bloke carrying his mountain bike up the steps, biceps bulging, chest heaving, dark hair mussed. His face was hard with concentration and exertion. Then when he saw me, he smiled and everything about him became warmer, softer. He said something about how the weather had cleared and how nice it was to be outside. I’m sure I must have blushed as I mumbled my agreement. Then he mounted his bicycle and rode on, leaving me feeling sexy and feminine in spite of my drowned rat hair and sweaty t-shirt.

Alloted Views by K D Grace
A nosey gardener is treated to a raunchy ritual through her bedroom window.

Rebecca Bond

There’s nothing quite like catching the attention of a stranger as you mooch about your business to give you a little flutter or giggle inside. As a city chick, the daily commute holds the most eye-fuck potential. Naturally you wanna be looking hawt, or the attention you attract could simply be down to the dark shadows beneath the eye, or the rogue globs of mascara that smatter the face. Never a good look. But whilst most people jump on and off the trains looking nowhere but their iphones, ebooks, or the daily rag, I sit back, relax and people watch like a pro. This, my friends, produces much eye-fuck fodder. Especially if a yummy tall, dark and handsome should so happen park his tushy on the seat opposite.

There is, however, danger in this sort of voyeurism. Yes, there have been moments when unintentional eye contact has been made with pure beasts and even though you know you need to look away, their ghastliness has you hooked. Just like beauty, ugliness is too fascinating too shy away from. But you must – look, look away or you might find yourself in an unexpected and utterly unavoidable mental strip-down-eye-fuck-all-out-bonkfest with Quasimodo’s twin! It’s okay though, because then the train stops, the doors open, and you never have to encounter Mr (or Mrs) No-Go again. Win!

Painted Pussycat by Rebecca Bond
An innocent student is welcomed into the Circle of Ink where tattoos, bondage and exhibitionism are all part of her initiation.

Lucy Felthouse

K D asked me to describe what turns me on visually, or something I saw that was really hot. Sadly, my answers wouldn’t have made for a very interesting blog post, so I decided to twist the question a little and let my imagination do the talking. That is, I’ve seen untold naughty things in my dreams and daydreams, and as an erotic writer, there are frequently things going on in my head that are pretty hot. And that’s definitely what was going on when I was writing my story, Caught in the Act. It took me a while to come up with the story idea, but once I did it pretty much ran away with itself. The more I wrote, the filthier it got… and it was filthy to begin with! The thought of a policeman becoming fascinated with dogging to the extent that he gets into the scene himself, well, needless to say I found the idea really interesting. There was some research involved, of course. On the Internet, I might add. There was no visiting of deserted car parks for me! So… coming back to answering K D’s question – I see things that are hot all the damn time, but they’re usually in my head!

Caught in the Act by Lucy Felthouse
A young policeman risks his reputation and his job for the adrenaline rush of sex alfresco!

Thanks, my voyeuristic Lovelies, for sharing the pleasures of the eyes and heating up my blog!

IMMORAL VIEWS

Kojo Black has compiled five titillating tales from erotica’s sultriest mistresses! Sweetmeats Press proudly presents a deliciously dissolute anthology of voyeurism – Immoral Views. Illustrated by Florian Meacci.

The e-Book versions are not illustrated (except with the pictures you provide with your nasty mind, of course)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emerald Talks about Pink Floyd, Being Tied Up, and Her Amazing Story, ‘With Random Precision’

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One of the highlights of the Erotic Authors Association Conference in Las Vegas this September was meeting Emerald and being totally enthralled by her beautiful bondage story, With Random Precision. I’m very excited that Emerald has agreed to be my guest and tell us the story behind With Random Precision.  Welcome, Emerald!

“With Random Precision” is titled after a lyric in the Pink Floyd song “Shine on You Crazy Diamond.”  The song plays a central role in the story, which seems fitting since it is published in the Love Notes: A Music & Sex Anthology, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Ravenous Romance.  Even before I ever saw the call for Love Notes, though, the music in “With Random Precision” was deeply connected to the story.

Virtually the entire bondage scene in “With Random Precision,” as well as the reference the Pink Floyd music therein, is autobiographical. I was tied up quite intricately several years ago by a friend of mine who has studied and practiced bondage extensively.  In a way he was practicing on me, but we’d also both agreed I might find the experience interesting.  I did—so much so that even as it was happening, I knew I wanted to write about it.

So much about the experience was noticeable—the silence in the room, his intense concentration, how strange being touched by rope felt, the absence of being touched by someone else’s flesh.  Things like how striking it began to feel on the occasions his skin did connect with mine jumped out at me, and some of what is in the story started writing itself in my head as I stood there while he wound yards of purple rope around me in silence.

Where the autobiography stops, perhaps ironically, is in the indescribable experience the narrator, Amber, has as a result of being bound.  What was not there for me when I was tied up that night was sexual attraction between myself and the person tying me up.  We were friends, but the experience for me wasn’t a sexual one.

I felt all the other things the narrator describes in the scene—the silence, the intensity, the uncertainty, and definitely the apprehension when the moment of finally realizing she is bound hits home.  Where the actual sexual attraction wasn’t there, there seemed (still seems) a part of me that inexplicably knew the potential that scenario held had the addition of attraction, that unique intensity enmeshed with a desire for intimacy and a mysterious and unquestionable trust, been there.  Even at the time, that vague understanding captured my attention.  Later, as I wrote the story, it came forth via my imagination.

There was also the music.  The description in the story is quite how it was—it was quiet, and all of a sudden I noticed it, and it captured my attention.  The degree to which it seemed to perfectly fit the atmosphere seemed extraordinary, and I was intrigued when he told me it was Pink Floyd.  I was almost entirely unfamiliar with them at the time.

To digress slightly, I met my partner a few months later.  Pink Floyd is his favorite band, and when he mentioned them to me, I found the timing striking.  I said I had only recently been properly introduced to them (beyond the radio play of “Another Brick in the Wall Pt. II” and “Money”).  My partner continued that introduction with impressive thoroughness, and Pink Floyd is now one of my favorite bands too.  Everything the narrator in “With Random Precision” indicates about how she feels about the band is autobiographical.

When I started to write the story, shortly after the bondage experience had occurred, it didn’t seem hard to recall how it had felt to stand there, how quiet the room was, what the rope pattern looked like, how I had felt being tied up.  It wasn’t hard either to remember what had occurred to me about what might have happened if the person tying me had been someone I felt that attraction to, to whom I knew I wanted to surrender what I vaguely—even unconsciously—could feel was there to be surrendered.

I wrote all that.  I didn’t have to think about it much—it was all right there and came out as my fingers typed.  When it came time to actually go further than where the bondage scene ends, to show what happens between Amber and Max, I grew continually stuck.  I tried writing that interaction countless times, with it feeling dissonant each time.

Finally, I realized I simply didn’t get to know.  Not only does the reader not see what actually transpired that night, I myself as the author do not know.  The interaction is a mystery.

As is what the experience might have been like for me under other circumstances.

When I finally let go of trying to create what happened between Amber and Max that night, the final scene of the story, the present-day one that Amber narrates, came about as effortlessly as the first part of the story had.  That scene, to me, expresses the understanding in me of the potential of what that experience could have been had something more been there.  How it could have—perhaps inevitably would have with the characters that came forth in the story—added up to an unequivocal, irrevocable surrender unlike anything I (and she) had before experienced.  The understanding, as the scene, is indirect—it was not seen by the reader, and for me it was not experienced directly.  But some awareness of it was, and still is, in me—even if not (yet…) consciously.

“With Random Precision” remains one of my favorite stories I’ve written.  I don’t know exactly how to describe why, but it has always felt very close to me.  It brings a number of things together—autobiographical experience, speculation of a potential by which I feel deeply intrigued, the opportunity to offer homage to a musical artist that moves me greatly, and the manifestation of something I feel or recognize only on a level beyond my ordinary consciousness.  Thank you so much, K D, for inviting me to talk about it here today.  It’s been really a pleasure!

BLURB:

Our favorite music inspires us to move, dance and, yes, get busy in more intimate ways. Love Notes celebrates dancing queens, rock stars, groupies, anthems and more as the characters stroke each other to the sounds that make them soar. One woman masturbates to her favorite song while a stripper slinks her way into a man’s life. From Madonna to Shania Twain to Led Zeppelin and beyond, they channel their favorite music to make love to.

Love Notes celebrates the erotic power of music to move us, whether it’s listening to a lover rock out, fantasizing about your rock star crush, or making the sweetest and sexiest of music together. Singers, sirens and dancing queens get busy to a sex soundtrack ranging from heavy metal to classical and beyond. Get ready to get serenaded, seduced, and smitten with Love Notes.

EXCERPT:   

With the final silent, firm tug Max gave the rope that secured me to the ottoman, I realized the precariousness of my position.  I had known at the beginning that this was a significant undertaking for me.  But the full realization didn’t materialize until parts of my body, parts I was used to being able to move at will, were bound in place—and the corresponding understanding that he was now in control of that part of my existence.

I couldn’t move.  I was, quite literally, bound.  I thought about what would happen if I suddenly couldn’t breathe, if the claustrophobia of my youth returned, smothering me and taking my oxygen as I lay there unable to do anything to save myself.  I thought of demanding that the rope be cut, screaming at Max to get the binding off me as quickly as possible.  Would he do it?  I wouldn’t be asking—I would be desperate, drowning, screaming inside with not only desperation but the revulsion of knowing that I was utterly, completely dependent on him.  That he could choose to disregard me if he wanted to.  To not take me seriously.  Even as it flitted through my consciousness, the liquid hatred of the idea rose inside me and started to course through my body.  My eyes were closed, but the darkness I was seeing was more than physical—I believe I would have seen it just as much had they been open, staring at the candlelit white ceiling of Max’s living room.

He touched me.  My eyes flew open.  Max was not looking at me.  Rather, he was examining the twists of rope at my left hip, his fingers resting softly on my left thigh.  The contact had brought me from darkness to the surface like a flash of lightning.  I inhaled deeply.

“That’s better,” he murmured in a tone as soft as the pressure of his fingers on my thigh.  “You okay now?”  Still he did not look at me.  His attention stayed on the purple silk strands around my hips and up across my abdomen, as though there were some imperfection there he was fixing.  And I wondered how he had known.

*****

Max shifted his hand.  I felt the knot I had noticed earlier move slightly against my clit.  The jolt of arousal that flooded through me stunned me as much with its intensity as with its unexpectedness.  I looked at Max, who met my gaze and knew what he saw there.

He smiled.  “It’s not about fucking tonight, Amber.  Don’t you know that by now?  You think that’s what you want, but what you want is so much more.”  His voice was quiet, a contrast to the newfound desire pulsing through me that didn’t feel quiet.  Confusion gripped me, twisting my inside with a movement my physical body wasn’t at liberty to reflect.

Max stood and walked until he was no longer in my field of vision.  I heard him kneel behind the top of my head, and his warmth reached me before he did as he slid one hand through my hair against my scalp and the other gently around my throat from behind.  His lips touched my ear as he whispered into it.  The sensation jolted through me like a gunshot, starkly contrasting with the barely existent contact of his flesh to mine.  What was he doing to me?

“Let go.  Let go, Amber.  Do you hear me?”  His voice ran like liquid silk, its gentle seamlessness giving no hint of the boulder-like intimidation of the order as my mind perceived it.  The voice was gentle, lulling, leading where it wanted to take me, knowing that was a place I wasn’t sure I had ever been.  So much so that I didn’t know where it was or how to find it.  The fierce resistance inside me reappeared, surging furiously and searing my senses.  A snowy fuzziness filled my vision.  An acidic sour seeped into my mouth as I raged against this position he had me in.

And somewhere even deeper, I saw that I was really in a battle against myself.

The voice knew that too.  The grip on my throat tightened ever so slightly.  The heat of his breath coursed through me via my ear:

“I know you don’t know how, Amber.  That’s what I’m here for.”

BUY LINKS:

Ravenous Romance (publisher)

Amazon US Kindle

Amazon UK Kindle

Barnes and Noble Nook

BIO:

Emerald is an erotic fiction author and general advocate for human sexuality as informed by her deep appreciation of the beauty, value, and intrinsic nature of sexuality and its holistic relation to life. She holds a particular interest in the connection between sex and spirituality and deeply reveres sexuality’s inherent sacredness.  Her erotic fiction has been published in anthologies edited by Violet Blue, Rachel Kramer Bussel, and Kristina Wright, among others, as well as at various erotic websites.  She is an advocate for sexual freedom, reproductive choice, and sex worker rights and blogs about these and other topics at her (NSFW) website, The Green Light District: http://www.thegreenlightdistrict.org.

 

What Happened in Vegas: Part 2

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Friday morning, I arrive at registration for the Erotic Authors Association Conference to find Nan Andrews, DL King and Kathleen Bradean working the table. I’m in awe. My heroes are giving me a swag bag and a name tag! If that’s not enough, my name tag has a red ribbon that tells everyone I’m a panelist. That’s right, me. I’m a panelist!

Breakfast is a bit like Christmas morning. We’re all pawing through our goody bags when Hazel Cushion, my publisher from Xcite Books, arrives followed closely by the lovely Sharazade — at long last we meet face to face!

There’s barely time for greetings and to ask how everyone’s trip was before the publisher’s panel begins. Hazel, representing Xcite Books along with M Christian from Renaissance E Books, Brenda Knight from Cleis Press, Lori Perkins from Ravenous Romance, and Cecilia Tan from Circlet Press are all on the panel.

I take notes fast and furiously and there is no shortage of questions about ePublishing vs print as well as the future of self-publishing in the age of the eBook. Everyone agrees that in spite of all the upheaval eBooks have brought into the world of publishing and in spite of all the changes, it’s a very good time to be a writer. Now there are more possibilities than there have ever been before.

I’m on the Erotic Romance panel with Shawn Clements and Lorna Hinson from Torquere Press and Sascha Illyvich from Renaissance E Books. Talking romance, whether erotic or not, is always a chemistry lesson, and one of my favourite topics, so the hour goes fast.

As one who has a deep appreciation of the beauty and symmetry of grammar, the next session could have been tailor-made for me. I hurry off to Sexy, Sexy Grammar, taught by Jean Roberta and Sharazade. Grammar has never been so hot, nor so much fun!

For every session I attend, there are two I miss, along with a group of fabulous readings, and the readings are sizzling! I need clones of myself!

I have lunch in the darkly paneled, stained glass gloom of The Victorian Café in Bill’s Gambling Hall. What starts out as lunch with Sharazade and Katie Salidas ends up being a party when I. G. Frederick invites us to a huge round table where Jean Roberta, Jolie Du Pre, Zetta Brown, friends, partners and a totally cool waitress are all squeezed together talking promo, inspiration and lunch. It is then I realize I have fifteen minutes to finish my general’s chicken and get back to the Flamingo for my reading. Of course I’m in the middle of the big round booth, so everyone slides and I make a dash for it.

I feel a little nervous reading opposite M J Williamz, Cecilia Tan and Kate Dominic with Remittance Girl in the audience, but sex on a Harley from The Initiation of Ms Holly, I’m comfortable with, and everyone else seems to enjoy. We all end up laughing and talking after.

When the last session of the day is over, we are all invited up to Cecilia Tan’s suite for a wine, cheese, and chocolate party. Even without the wine, cheese and chocolate, who could resist a chance to chat with the fabulous Cecilia Tan! I don’t remember the wine and cheese, but I do remember being in a sun drenched pink and white sixties-style suite with the buzz of erotic writer-talk all around Cecilia Tan, who is seated on the sofa and Lori Perkins, who is standing by the door. Wow! Who needs wine?

The big event of the day is ‘One Very Steamy Las Vegas Evening’ at The Erotic Heritage Museum. Susana Mayer has brought ‘The Erotic Literary Salon’ on tour. There is an open mic and more readers than there is time for. There are at least twenty people, each with only five minutes to read. Rachel Kramer Bussel Kicks off the reading, Hazel Cushion make a rare reading appearance, Emerald, Jolie Du Pre, I. G. Frederick, Cecilia Tan, Laura Antoniou,  just to name a few, are all reading stories from the many facets of erotica.

Sadly, I didn’t know about the event in time to get signed up. Happily, in spite of a full house, enough people don’t show up that there is room for me and several others to read. Sadly,(and stupidly) I don’t have Holly with me. Happily (and smartly) Hazel is sitting next to me with a huge bag full of Xcite anthologies, one of which just happens to be Dark Desires: Love that’s Out of This World, which contains my story, ‘Flaws.’ Sadly, I’ve never practiced reading any of this story for an audience. Happily that doesn’t stop me.

In the end, I read about a sexy love spell gone awry. I do this while standing between two giant velvet draped beds and a plethora of white marble penises taller than I am. Oh yes, a good time was had by all!

Back at the Flamingo, Hazel, Sharazade, and a friend of hers, and I buy beer and peanuts at the hotel shop and find a quiet table outside the casino in the gardens next to the habitat where the flamingos stand sleeping with their heads tucked under their wings. Writerly people love to talk, and casino bars are not good places to talk. Sleeping flamingos, however, are the perfect ambiance for conversations about publishing and editing and story, and I realize that though Las Vegas wouldn’t normally be my cup of tea, a quiet table in the desert heat with other writers is certainly my bottle of beer.

The next day begins with a full house for the editor’s panel, with Miranda Forbes, D. L. King, Kelli Collins and Rachel Kramer Bussel. I attend two reading sessions, finally getting to hear the ever so hot and talented Sharazade read steamy tales of travel sex from her book, Transported: Erotic Travel Tales. I love the fabulous Blake C. Aarens’s John Malkovich fantasy and Emerald’s amazing tale of first-time rope bondage to the music of Pink Floyd is not only erotic, but moving. I find myself wishing I could attend all the readings. Listening to what other writers write, allowing myself to be pulled into their stories, is one of the best ways to learn to be a better writer. I know I can read all those stories, and that’s good too, but experiencing the tale aurally adds more depth, more sensuality to the experience.

Graydancer’s hands-on kink session is one of the highlights of the day. His basic introduction to BDSM and kink for erotica writers who want to make sure they get the kink right is invaluable. In fact, the rope bondage demo spills over into the cocktail party afterwards with the leotard-clad Sharazade volunteering to be bound, and volunteering yours truly to take photos.

As Sharazade sheds her bonds and leotard for the beads and sparkles of her evening gown, Aisling Weaver announces the party will continue over at her suite in the Cosmopolitan. She and her lovely partner even go so far as to shoo us all into a yummy stretch limo for the short, but luxurious drive to the Cosmo, where we all enjoy the views of the Bologgio Fountains and the Eifel Tower from their balcony. There are more readings from iPads and Blackberries as people come and go.

Eventually Hazel, Sharazade, Jolie, and I opt for one last photo session along the Strip, and I am once again back amid the holiday making crowds and the women in wedding gowns taking photo ops in front of the Bologgio fountains and the Saturday night revelers. We make it as far as The Venetian before the rain starts, then we hurry back to the Flamingo drenched and giggling, pushing and shoving our way through the press of people in the deluge.

Back in my room, I fall into bed and slept like the dead.

I end my adventure in Vegas over breakfast with Hazel and Sharazade back in the dark Victorian. After good-byes all around, I catch the shuttle to the airport. The Sunday morning shuttle riders are more subdued than those I arrived with three days ago, and it’s nice to stare  out the window at the city, now quiet and pale in the desert sun, and reflect on the adventure I had in Vegas, the things I learned, the new friends I made, and the intimations already being whispered about next year’s Erotic Author’s Association Conference.

Justine Elyot tells us what Robin Hood and Erotic Amusements have in Common

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I’m very pleased to have one of my very favourite writers, the incredible Justine Elyot, as my guest today for The Story Behind the Story. Welcome Justine!

Erotic Amusements was originally conceived as a kind of Alternate Universe fanfiction story about the recent BBC version of the Robin Hood story – specifically the relationship between the Sheriff of Nottingham and his increasingly reluctant henchman, the gloriously brooding and leatherclad Guy of Gisborne.

So far, so whimsical. I contemplated writing it, then realised that, nah, I don’t have time for fanfic any more, much as I love it, so I abandoned the idea.

Some time later, I happened to be preparing some novel proposals for Xcite books, and this problematic relationship came back to mind. Only somehow, the Sheriff and Guy had whizzed themselves through time and space to a contemporary seaside town and had metamorphosed from their medieval counterparts into modern people with different traits and preoccupations. Their problematic relationship – the unscrupulous overlord and the trapped enforcer – remained intact, however (as did Guy – now Rocky’s – black leather outfit). I threw in a clutch of lovers and colleagues et voilà – I had something a bit moody and a bit noir to satisfy my increasing need to write a story with a plot.

In the event, Xcite took one of my other proposals (The Business of Pleasure), so my cast of characters were shoved into a drawer for a while. But I still thought about them, and added bits of their stories in my head until I had a fully formed story just waiting to be written as soon as the opportunity arose.

I couldn’t stay away from it for long, though, and the book almost wrote itself. I had not worked on something so plotty and character-driven since my fanfiction days, and the chance to do it again was a rare pleasure. The seaside setting was another big bonus for me – the town of Goldsands became an extra character, driving a lot of the action.

I sent it to Carina Press on a whim because they were new and fresh but had a wealth of expertise and reputation too. I never, even for a moment, expected them to take it. But they did, and here it is! One for my fellow Guy-fans everywhere.

Links:

Website: http://justineelyot.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/JustineElyot

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000057776729

Buy Links:

Carina: http://ebooks.carinapress.com/C8BFB051-40D5-45EF-A043-42E9907C7E61/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID={D3B28EE9-D3C3-49BE-8D35-1B39B9A50858}

Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Erotic-Amusements-ebook/dp/B005CRQ4IS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1314041611&sr=1-1

Amazon.co.uk: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Erotic-Amusements-ebook/dp/B005CRQ4IS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1314041797&sr=1-1

Blurb:

In Goldsands, there are many amusements to be had for those willing to give in to their deepest desires…

The seaside resort town of Goldsands is a place of dreamers and transients who wash in and out like the tide. But its picture-postcard prettiness conceals some sinister realities. Coldhearted mogul Charles Cordwainer owns most of the local businesses, both legitimate and illicit, and more than a few of its residents.

Michelle, Cordwainer’s submissive: despite her loyalty, he plans to turn her over to another man. Flipp, the new girl in town: she has a dark past and a penchant for bondage. Rocky, Cordwainer’s right-hand man: a sexy biker with eyes for Flipp. Laura, Goldsands’s carnival queen: an über-bitch with her sights fixed on Rocky.

Secrets, betrayals, lovers all become intertwined—and when someone starts digging up the dirt on Cordwainer’s empire, nothing will ever be the same…

Excerpt:

Flipp knew from the moment she stepped off the train and smelled the salt-and-chip fat that Goldsands was going to suit her.

It was a place where a new girl in town drew little in the way of notice or comment. A place of comers and goers, dreamers and transients, addicts and bohemians. They washed in and out like the tide on the broad curving beach that gave the place its name. Some of them sank, some of them trod water, and some of them found exactly what they were looking for here. Of course, Flipp didn’t know at the time which of those she would turn out to be, but she was hoping to find out, one way or another.

So, by the time she was established in her little change booth at Caesar’s Palace on the Pier, Flipp knew that she wanted to be in Goldsands. Her resolve was certainly bolstered, though, when Rocky rocked up, interrupting her nail-filing mission and hurling himself slap-bang into the middle of her dirtiest dreams.

“The boss in?” he asked curtly, raising an eyebrow towards the door marked Private: Staff Only.

Flipp didn’t look up at first, registering only a low, grumpy-sounding voice. She pinched her lips together and wondered if Maroon Moon was really the right shade for her.

“Who wants to know?” The mockney accent was getting difficult to sustain, so she only spoke when absolutely necessary.

“Rocky wants to know.”

She looked up at that, taking him in for the first time and liking what she saw. And who would not like a piece of Rocky? Six-feet-two of Herculean man in black bike leathers with accessorising hair and stubble, he was enough to stop most female traffic in its tracks.

“Oh,” she said, laying down her nail file and running fingers through her hair. “So you’re Rocky. The boss said I should watch out for you.”

“Watch out, eh?” Rocky leaned an elbow on the shelf of the booth, peering through the scratched Plexiglas screen, leading the new girl to hope she was casting a spell of intrigue on him. “Did he tell you I was dangerous, then?”

Flipp leaned forward, meeting his devilish gaze, the tips of their noses only prevented from touching by the barrier. “Something like that.” She grinned, wishing she had some gum to chew on. It was so much easier to look cool and indifferent to a guy when you were chewing, for some reason.

“He was right. I’m the big bad wolf. What’s your name? Don’t tell me it’s Little Red Riding Hood.”

She giggled and looked away briefly before turning back to him.

“It’s Flipp.”

“What kind of a name’s that?”

“No worse than Rocky.”

“Cheeky. I’ll see you later.” Emphasising the “you,” he backed away, pointing one gloved finger in her direction before disappearing through the staff door in a jink-clink of buckles and belts.

Thanks for stopping by and giving us a peek at Erotic Amusements, Justine! I’m a sucker for bad-assed biker boys in leather. Can’t wait to read this one!