Tag Archives: sex

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

Blog, Guest Blogger, , , , , ,

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

 

Birthday Party, Filthy Mouths and Hands-On Fun

Blog, News, , , , , , , , ,

Can you believe we’re almost through May? My, how this year has flown by. And at last sunshine! So you shouldn’t be too surprised that I’m going to give you a quick update and a juicy one-handed read excerpt for the last weekend in National Masturbation Month then I’m off to work on my farmer’s tan in the allotment.

Coffee Time Romance Fun

For those of you who haven’t been over to Coffee Time Romance yet, you still have time. I’ve been over there this whole month talking about Body Temperature and Rising, and all things paranormal and sexy. Stop by, read the sexy excerpts, join in the fun and if you leave a comment, you could win an eBook version of The Initiation of Ms Holly or The Pet Shop. Winner’s choice.

Happy Birthday Erotic Meet!

If you’re around London the 1st of June, THE party that will kick of June with a bang, and the place to be on the first is the Erotic Meet’s first birthday bash over at the Green Carnation in Soho.  Wow! Happy Birthday, Erotic Meet! A whole year of gathering of erotic creatives and sexy like-minded fun folk. Not to be missed if you can get there. Doors open at 6:00 with happy houre till midnight. Show starts at 8:00 with stellar entertainment and yummy giveaways, including a copy of The Pet Shop signed by the author herself , who is very excited to be included in the fun! Here’s the link! Creativity WILL be celebrated! Get thee a ticket and join the fun!

Filthy Mouths and Evil Tongues

 

Back for more of the naughtiest sexiest readings in London, I’ll be reading with the fabulous Filthy Mouths and Evil Tongues Ladies at Sh! Hoxton on Friday the 15th of June. The fun starts at 6:30 with drinkie-winks, then it’s rude reads all the way, with breaks to browse the fabulous Sh! stock of yumminess. On the naughtiness agenda: The Dragon King’s Daughter, Elizabeth N. Spire, Meg Philip, Mel Jones and yours truly.  A filthy time will be had by all!

Hands-On Fun

And finally, it’s the last weekend of National Masturbation Month, and if you’ve not been doing your part to celebrate self-love, then you’ve got a lot of missed celebrating to make up for. Best get with the programme. I’m all about encouragement of self-love on my site, so I’ll leave you with this very nasy self-love excerpt from my naughty novella, Migrations, which I’m very proud to say is in the Traded Innocence anthology of Xcite’s Secret Library. Enjoy! And happy hands-on!

Migrations Excerpt:

‘It’s the road trip from hell! I knew it would be. I just knew it!’ Val didn’t bother to

speak quietly. After what she’d been through, no one could possibly blame her for losing it and talking to herself. And this was just the beginning! How the hell was she going to survive this little misadventure all the way to Oregon? She glanced quickly over her shoulder as she stepped behind the bathrooms at the rest area, trying desperately to block out the memory of Aunt Rose accusing the elderly gentleman at the vending machine of stealing her change.

She needed to vent or she’d explode. Once behind the building she turned her face to

the wall and banged her head against it. ‘Why me? I’m not a bad person. I never murdered anyone, I always recycle, I volunteer for the autumn fucking bird count. Why, ‘she banged her head for emphasis.’ the hell’ bang bang bang. ‘Me?’ Bang, bang.

‘Sounds like you could use a good wank.’

She couldn’t have stopped the yelp that escaped her throat if she’d tried, but as she spun around to make a run for the car, what she saw stopped her in her tracks.

‘Sh!’ A man in a faded blue t-shirt and jeans that were even more faded raised a finger to his lips’ It was impossible not to notice that the other hand was occupied, wrapped around the big stiffy that looked as though it had parted his fly like Moses parting the Red Sea, and my, what a staff!

When he was sure he had her full attention, as if there was any doubt of that, he spoke. ‘Quiet.’ He glanced around quickly. ‘If word gets out,’ he nodded to his stretching cock, ‘everyone’ll be back here getting a little relief from the road. Though In your case,’ he leaned closer and she could see startling blue eyes peeking over the mirrored shades that slid down his sun-freckled nose, ‘ I reckon you need it more than most.’

She pressed her back against the wall and moaned, not taking her eyes off the fascinating handwork on his cock. ‘You saw then.’

He nodded and gave a little grunt and a flutter of sunbleached lashes as he lifted his balls free from the peek-a-boo squish of his fly. ‘And heard. Hard not to really.’

‘Fuck!’ She cursed.

He chuckled. ‘I never fuck on a first date, but I’m happy to choke the chicken in solidarity.’

She nodded to his efforts. ‘It really helps?’

‘Absolutely,’ he grunted at a particularly rough tugging of his cock. ‘Best kept secret in the world,’ he said following her gaze, giving his balls a smile and a grope as though he’d just realized they were there. ‘The world would be a much better place if everyone would just chill and treat themselves to a little self-love every now and again. Can you imagine the bliss? Go on, indulge yourself.’ He nodded to her trousers. ‘I’d say you could use the relief.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t have time, Aunt Rose will be on me like a screaming banshee if she catches me.’

‘Of course you’ve got time. If I’m not mistaken, she took her copy of The National Enquirer into the bathroom with her, didn’t she? And your cousin, she is your cousin, isn’t she? Well, she’s on her cell phone with her kids, something about not pouring tomato soup in the toaster.’

‘Jesus, you heard?’

‘Sweet cheeks, everybody heard,’ he said with a tug on his schlong for emphasis. Trust me, the misdeeds of your cousin’s little angels and the condition of your auntie’s bowels are now common knowledge at this rest stop.’

‘Fuck,’ she said again, running a hand through her hair, now beginning to curl around her temples from the unseasonably warm spring heat.

‘Really, darlin’,’ he nodded again to her trousers. ‘It’ll make you feel better. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.’

Maybe it was just a testament to how desperate she was, or how loopy she had already become, but she opened her fly and stuck her hand down inside her panties. When she made contact, her breath caught and her body gave a little involuntary jerk.

Without missing a beat, he gave her an appreciative nod. ‘There now. That’s better, isn’t it? You wet?’

She nodded. ‘How’d you know?’

‘No surprise really. Anger and frustration can often be a turn-on. Well not a turn-on per-se, but the body compensates for the stress in the best way it knows to make itself feel better.’ He shrugged. ‘Plus watching someone else handle their junk usually will do it the trick too.’

‘Sh!’ she hissed. ‘Don’t talk, just touch it, and let me watch, and relieve my stress.’

He did as she asked, easing his jeans down enough that she could see the lovely straight lines of his hips perfectly balanced by the muscular swell of his ass-cheeks, which clenched and relaxed with each thrust. ‘What else,’ he grunted.

‘Huh?’

‘What else do you want to see? Not that I’m an exhibitionist or anything,’ his breath accelerated noticeably, ‘but I’m sympathetic to your circumstances, and right now this is so working for me.’

It wasn’t doing too badly for her either, as she slipped two fingers in between her swell and began to scissor them while her thumb went to work on her clit. ‘Turn around a little,’ she breathed. ‘I want to see your ass.’

He did as she asked, half bending over to give her an exquisite view, and she felt herself gush, as he spread his ass-cheeks. ‘Oh my!’ she gasped.

‘You like that, do you? You wanna see my back hole?’

‘Oh god yes.’

‘And you’d like me to finger it while I wank, wouldn’t you?’ He didn’t wait for her answer. And he really didn’t need to. Almost as though he knew what was going on in her panties, he stuck a thick middle finger into his mouth and sucked it until it was wet and shiny with his saliva. For a moment, she found what he was doing to his finger with his yummy mouth almost as hot as what he was doing to his cock. Through all of his efforts, his eyes, peeking over the mirrored sun shades, never left hers.

Watching her over his shoulder, making sure he was at just the right angle for her to see what was going on in front and behind, he bent over still further and spread his legs so that the twitch of his asshole was centre stage. With a tight breath released between his teeth, almost like he’d touched something hot, he eased his finger in to his back grip. ‘Ah, that’s nice,’ he breathed. ‘Such a tight fit, and my asshole’s so sensitive.’ Then he shoved it all the way in. His eyelids fluttered, his ass cheeks clenched and he positively growled and bucked against himself, tugging at his penis as though it were in serious need of subjugation.

Her panties were beyond wet, and she now gave herself the whole hand hump, four fingers shoving and wriggling inside her wet snatch while her palm exerted exquisite, almost painful pressure against her mons, which put the squeeze on her burgeoning clit. She shoved the other hand inside her blouse and maneuvered her left breast free from her bra, at least free enough that she could knead it while pinching and stroking the nipple until it was tight and engorged and raw.

‘What else,’ he gasped.

‘I want to see you come.’ Her voice was a harsh whisper, and she felt the blush crawl up her face that she would even ask such a thing. And yet, her pussy clenched against her fingers at the thought, and her clit surged. ‘I know you’re close. You look like you’re about to burst, so go ahead. I want to see you unload on the ground like the nasty man that you are. I want to watch you spurt.’ Jesus, what was the matter with her, talking like some street whore, but even as she spoke, she felt wet slippery approval from her cunt.

‘Your wish is my command,’ he grunted. Three hard jerks balanced by the finger digging at his asshole, and he shot thick white streamers of semen across the well-manicured grass.

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

Blog, Guest Blogger, New Releases, , , ,

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.

 

 

Lucy Felthouse Tells the Story Behind Off The Shelf

Blog, Guest Blogger, New Releases, , , , , , , , ,

I’ve had the pleasure of watching this nasty author grow from someone who trembled at the thought of a story of 10K to someone who tackles a novella with gusto and … er … well nastiness. Lucy Felthouse is not only one of my favourite guest authors on this site, but she’s one of my favourite people, full-stop, and a woman of MANY talents. Her fab novella, Off the Shelf,  is in Xcite Book’s new Secret Library series. Please welcome the fabulous Lucy Felthouse to tell as about her super-heated novella, Off the Shelf, from The Secret Library anthology, Silk Stockings. Welcome back, Lucy!

Off the Shelf is my first novella, and as such holds a special place in my heart. It came about when one of the editors from Xcite Books asked if I’d be interested in writing something for a new range of books they were releasing, called The Secret Library. After reading the brief, I decided I was definitely interested, and was determined not to let the required word count put me off. I said yes, then immediately panicked. What was I going to write about? What if the story didn’t have enough backbone to meet the minimum word count? What if my story was boring? What if they hated it?

Thankfully, none of my fears were realised. After thinking about what my story was going to be about, my Muse finally came through for me. In fact, it was the hero of the piece that came into my head first, and when I thought about what his background was, where he worked, and so on, the rest of the story fell into place.

Damien isn’t your typical romance hero. He has long curly hair, glasses, is slim (though certainly not scrawny), and he works in a bookshop. That’s kind of where the idea started for me – I wanted a cute, intelligent guy who worked in a bookshop as a hero. Then, to make it a little different, I decided that he would work in an airport bookshop. From there, other snippets started coming to me. If he was working in an airport, he’d have the potential to meet lots of different people from varying walks of life. So who would wow him?

Enter Annalise. She’s a travel writer and the airport Damien works in is the one she uses when she’s flying somewhere on assignment. She’s been single for a while, and although she hates it, she struggles to meet men because her job is so demanding, and the ones she does meet may be suitable for naughty encounters, but certainly not for anything long term. Annalise wants someone that shares her interests and passions, and who is intelligent. So when she meets Damien, it looks as though her love life is on the up.

The trouble is, Damien is shy, and Annalise is terrified of rejection. And then there’s the fact that Annalise is busy jetting off all over the world. There are plenty of obstacles in their way, but can the pair overcome them and take a chance on what could be a meaningful relationship? There’s only one way to find out… 😉

Once I had the outline to this story drafted out, I loved writing it. I adore both main characters (and I admit, I fancy the pants off Damien) and it was great to get words down and explore their story. There were a couple of occasions where the pair of them deviated from the plan, but I figured it was their story and I should just let them get on with it. And, I’m pleased to say, I’m delighted with the end result. It was a huge learning curve for me in terms of length, as I’m so used to writing short stories, but by the time I got to the end I was relieved to finish, but also delighted with my achievement. This probably sounds crazy to accomplished novelists (such as the lovely lady hosting this very guest blog post) but the whole experience has boosted my confidence in writing longer stories, and I’ll definitely be doing more of it in the not-too-distant future.

And now, since I’ve waffled on enough, I’ll share some of the opening scene of Off the Shelf and hope you’re intrigued enough to add the book to your to be read list, or even place an order for the paperback or eBook edition!

Happy reading!

Excerpt:

Pushing the ‘on’ button, Annalise moved the vibrator down between her parted legs and eased it inside her eager pussy. As the ears of the Rampant Rabbit slid into position on her clit, she groaned with pleasure and rolled her hips, desperate to get more delicious friction. Then she pressed another button on the toy’s control panel to ramp up the power another notch. As much as she’d prefer a slower build-up to her orgasm, she just didn’t have the time. She had to leave for the airport in a couple of hours, and she hadn’t even packed her case. A quick knee-trembler would have to suffice.

As the vibrator buzzed away between her thighs, Annalise closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind of anything but the pleasure she was experiencing. After a brief flirtation with the thought that she’d much prefer a hot man between her legs bringing her to orgasm, Annalise simply enjoyed the feeling of her impending climax. The busily-vibrating bunny ears pressed tightly against her sensitive flesh soon had her pussy fluttering. Then, without warning, Annalise was quickly yanked onto her pleasure plateau and immediately pushed off, leaving her writhing and shouting on the bed as a powerful orgasm overtook her body.

Annalise arched her back as waves of pleasure crashed over her, and her cunt clenched and grabbed at the toy buried deep inside. Her swollen clit throbbed, quickly becoming too sensitive for the unrelenting stimulation from the vibrator. Switching it off and pulling out, Annalise dropped the toy onto the mattress by her side and gave a satisfied moan as she rode out the remainder of her climax. Finally, when the twitches and spasms had abated and her heart rate and breathing were almost back to normal, Annalise grabbed the Rabbit and rolled across to the side of her bed where the toy box was kept. She made short but thorough work of cleaning it, then reluctantly put it in its case, popped it into the small bedside cupboard and shut the door.

Annalise hated leaving her favourite toy behind when she went away, but she just wasn’t brave enough to take it with her. She usually only took carry-on luggage, and the very thought of the distinctive shape of the Rampant Rabbit popping up on the screen of the airport scanners made her shudder. It would be bad enough for the staff to see it on their monitors, knowing what it was and giving her knowing looks; imagine what would happen if they decided to check inside her bags! She would want to curl up and die of embarrassment, she just knew it.

No, it was much better off staying here. She could make do with her right hand for a few days. Even better, she might even meet someone. Annalise smiled. She’d had some pretty steamy encounters on her travels. The desk clerk in Dubai, the gym manager in Turkey, the waiter in Corfu…

Annalise shook herself. This wasn’t the time to let her mind wander down that path and get herself all worked up. She had to go and get ready now. There’d be plenty of time for daydreaming later, when she was in long and boring queues, and on the flight.

Blurb:

At 35, travel writer Annalise is fed up with insensitive comments about being left on the shelf. It’s not as if she doesn’t want a man, but her busy career doesn’t leave her much time for relationships. Sexy liaisons with passing acquaintances give Annalise physical satisfaction, but she needs more than that. She wants a man who will satisfy her mind as well as her body. But where will she find someone like that? It seems Annalise may be in luck when a new member of staff starts working in the bookshop at the airport she regularly travels through. Damien appears to tick all the boxes; he’s gorgeous, funny and intelligent, and he shares Annalise’s love of books and travel. The trouble is, Damien’s shy and Annalise is terrified of rejection. Can they overcome their fears and admit their feelings, or are they doomed to remain on the shelf?

More info and buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/the-secret-library-silk-stockings/

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story – so she did. It went down a storm and she’s never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, House of Erotica, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

IS Kay Jaybee The Collector?

Blog, Guest Blogger, , , , , , , ,

 

It’s been almost five years since I wrote my linked anthology-style novel, The Collector, and almost four years since it was published. With the recent release of this, my very first solo full length piece, as an e-book, I’ve found myself looking back to its origins; to one early morning sat in a crowded coffee shop at Heathrow airport, talking to a very dear friend on the phone, while awaiting a flight.

It was due to that brief conversation that, not only was the idea for The Collector conceived, but that I privately made the decision to stay in the world of erotica writing, and not branch out to try my luck with other genres.

At the time of The Collector’s arrival as a paperback in August 2008, I’d already had a fair number of short stories published, and was bursting with plenty of ideas for new ones. However, I wanted to write something longer; something that was as long as a novel, but that had the variety of an anthology.

So, as I was saying, there I was sat sipping coffee at the airport when my friend called me. All he said down the phone was ‘go buy The Observer.’ Curious, I did just that, and there, between a front cover shot of Joan Collins, and a back cover advert for new encyclopaedia’s, was an article all about female erotica writers.

Now this was even more of a hidden world then, and as I read I knew I wanted to stay part of it, and even dreamed that one day I’d be in such an article- without really believing that would ever really happen!

Enthused with new zip and a determination to be every bit as successful as those brave women revealing their secret writing persona’s to the press, I extracted my ever ready notebook from my bag, and began to look at the people around me. I wanted to write- but where to start? As I watched the ever moving crowd, I began to wonder what each individual would want me to write for them. What would their fantasies be? What kinky secrets of their own would they share given half the chance?

It was from these musings that the idea for The Collector was born. A book of stories ‘collected’ by a woman in pursuit of as many sexual exploits as she could. And what better way to start, than to combine my own dream to one day be a successful writer of erotica, and the fantasy of one of my other friends, who (like so many others, be they male or female) visualises being picked up by a beautiful intelligent woman for sex in a no strings attached way. This story became, New Territory, the first of the 22 stories within The Collector; a tale which had been completely drafted by the time my plane reached its destination.

My search then began in earnest for interesting triggers, ideas, and sexy dreams, to turn into stories. Some very short to stimulate the readers imagination, such as Jay (a lesbian night club orgy) and Crushed (an interesting way to pass the time in a bar queue). Others much longer, such as Sweets (a must read if you like liquorice) and Treasure (a young man’s dream come true!).

I knew it would be a gamble including the very short tales- as they either really appeal, or really frustrate- but on the whole the feedback from my reader’s has been good. It would also be true to say, the shorter stories were much harder to write than the longer ones, but were a lot of fun to construct around the fantasy’s I gleaned from my sources of research.

So- how much of The Collector did I really collect? Well- that would be telling, but if I haven’t thanked my sources of inspiration already, then I do now!

Blurb:

Dispelling the myth that only dominant whip wielding women write and enjoy erotica, the Collector records a wide variety of sexual encounters whilst she travels the country.

Harvesting her stories against a backdrop of coffee shops, restaurants and bus rides, the Collector takes the reader through every arena of the erotic experience, from lust, submission and dominance, to voyeurism and beyond. When her sources run dry, the Collector isn’t afraid to carry out some in-depth, personal, research of her own…

Excerpt:

New Territory

It hadn’t seemed significant when he’d noticed which page she’d left the colour supplement open at. Perhaps it wasn’t; coincidences happened all the time. No. He saw now that it was no accident; she had been trying to tell him something.

She was sat at the corner table at the very back of the coffee shop. The armchairs were rather comfortable in that area; he always tried to sit there. As he worked his way along the queue, collecting an almond danish and ordering a frighteningly large black coffee he watched her. Sitting slightly upright, she was partially obscured by a copy of The Observer, her long booted legs curled under the armchair, her red hair framing her small face. She was sipping a cappuccino. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her develop a foam moustache, and quite uncaring, lick it off with her tongue. He looked away and concentrated on his tray as he pushed towards the till. It was disconcerting to find himself aroused by such a simple act. He paid, collected his sugar and turned to find a seat.

He could have sat anywhere, but she already felt like an itch needing a scratch. He had to talk to her. So what if she told him to piss off, he was only going to ask if he could share the table.

He asked and she inclined her head, not glancing up for more than a second; so he sat. This was new territory for him; he’d never felt such a need to say something, anything. He was the good looking one; the one who never had to say anything. They came to him.  Now the silence seemed to be an oppressive presence in itself, like a whole extra person in the room who wasn’t saying anything.

This was ridiculous. He picked up his own paper, folded it to the business pages and took a bite of his pastry, trying not to mind that icing sugar was dusting his new black jacket.She’d finished her drink. He flirted with the idea of offering to buy her a new one, but quickly dismissed it. He hadn’t even said hello to her. So why did he feel that time was running out? Why did he feel a strange sensation of panic that she was going to leave before he’d heard her voice?

As she unfolded her legs and tided her papers she picked up her large brown rucksack, pulled out some keys and stood in front of him. He looked up into her face. He was being assessed. It was a strange sensation; he usually did the assessing.

‘Are you coming then?’ She spoke very softly, her green eyes shining with a sort of inner power.He was about to ask if she was sure, but she’d already turned around and was heading for the door.

He was well aware of the fact that he was probably about to make a total fool of himself, but he followed anyway. She walked very quickly; striding along in impossibly high heels. It hadn’t occurred to him until that point that she might be a hooker. What if she was? He’d just walk away. Maybe?

He followed as she turned down a gap between two shops. There was a flight of black iron stairs that led up to a flat above one of them. She stopped. ‘Two things,’ she undid her leather jacket as she spoke, hitching her scarf open to reveal a delicate neck completely unadorned by jewellery, ‘one; I do not do this for money, and two; I am not inviting you in for coffee.’

He nodded, undid his own coat, and followed her up the stepsThe hall was very narrow; it led into a modest kitchen diner, where she placed her paper open the table. Sorting out the magazine, she opened it up as if she was going to settle down to read, but then didn’t.

 He hadn’t got as far as making small talk. In fact he hadn’t even got as far as attempting to make small talk, when she took him by the hand and led him into the small living room, sitting him down on the small cream sofa. She knelt and, placing a restraining hand on his leg, undid his shoes and placed them neatly to one side. Then she did the same with his socks. ‘I don’t like naked in socks.’That was when his body stopped making his hands clammy and his heart beat faster, and sent all excess blood directly to his dick. He’d known he’d been half way to a hard-on already, but now there was no disguising the fact.

‘You would be a Coldplay man, or maybe Keane? Dido?’ She stood by the tiny stereo.

‘Dido.’

She nodded, pressed buttons and waited as the haunting notes built up to the opening number.

He should do something. He tried to stand, but she just raised her hand, and he quickly sat down again. Maybe this wasn’t his show; new territory.

She was standing about two metres away from him. Her jacket had already hit the floor, and he caught his breath as he watched her long slim fingers begin to undo the buttons of her white blouse. She looked straight at him the whole time; each movement was in time to the music, and he found himself wishing that he’d chosen something with a faster pace.

His throat felt dry as she revealed a beautiful cream bra. He could see her nipples, hard and dark, pressing against the thin lace. He started to wonder how wet she would be, and then stopped himself; if he started to think like that he’d shoot his load before he even got his trousers off; if that was her intention. He’d never felt so unsure of himself as she stepped out of her suede skirt, letting it drop over her boots.

Now he desperately wanted to touch. The smooth shoulders that had just been revealed cried out to be caressed. Anyway, he was becoming uncomfortable; his cock was digging into his waistband, as it struggled to force itself from his jeans unaided. He should say something, but he didn’t want to break the spell.

She stopped. He stared at the floor by her feet and worked his eyes slowly upwards. He tried to imprint the vision before him onto his brain inch by inch. High heeled boots; beige. Soft pale flesh emerging from lace hold ups; cream. Slightly see-through French knickers; cream. ‘Keep going; try to drag your eyes away from the neat silhouetted triangle your eyes can just make out’, he thought to himself as he swallowed, continuing his inventory. A flat stomach with a neat belly button. A cream lace bra encasing neatly rounded breasts which poked tantalisingly over the top. He took a deep breath and looked at her face. Small features, bobbed red hair, deep green eyes which gave absolutely nothing away.

The room was charged with electricity; so enticing, so dangerous. She moved forward and gestured for him to stand. He hadn’t been able to suppress his groan as he stood. His stomach felt strange and his dick ached to be free from its confinement.

He waited, doing nothing. He didn’t know what to do, so he let her take control; keep control. She took his belt first; pulling it out very slowly, loop by loop. She smoothed the brown leather between her fingers. ‘I like belts’. That was all she said, but he suddenly realised that he wanted to hit her with it. He needed to yank down her knickers and punish her for being perfect.

The Collector was published by Austin & Macauley as a paperback in 2008, and as an e-book in March 2012.

It is available direct from the publisher, from Amazon, Sh Women’s Store’s, and all good paperback and e-book suppliers.

Amazon paperback– http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Collector-Kay-Jaybee/dp/1905609191/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1334781262&sr=1-1

Amazon kindle – http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Collector-ebook/dp/B007NZNGW4/ref=dp_kinw_strp_1?ie=UTF8&m=A3TVV12T0I6NSM

Austin & Maculey – http://www.austinmacauley.com/advanced_search_result.php?osCsid=1e3c63008937557651aa5ae883ba9905&search_in_description=1&keywords=kay+jaybee&x=12&y=10