Saturday, 22 October 2011

Erotica du Jour

Erotica du Jour

Take a look at these images. Lovely!

Don't forget to come back and read some of my stories though.

Sunday, 2 October 2011

Excerpt from Novel - Work in Progress

This is the start of a new erotic novel set in the world of theatre. Actors Mickie and Tonks are playing Gerrard and Clara.



An old brass bed gleams in a pool of light, the bed linen is blindingly white, the eiderdown a rumpled pink satin. GERARD and CLARA sit up in bed gazing into each other's eyes.

GERARD: Darling, I can't believe the moment has finally come.

CLARA: Oh Gerard...

He bends towards her, takes her in his arms and kisses her tenderly. Her long hair cascades over the snowy pillows like a tumbling golden waterfall.

CLARA: Be gentle with me.

GERARD: Darling I've waited so long for this moment, I won't let anything spoil it.

He caresses her soft breasts and, protected only by the wispy lace of her nightdress, her nipples rise
involuntarily to meet his touch. Unseen beneath the covers he pinches one roseate bud hard.

CLARA disguises her wince as a look of virginal expectancy.

'You Bastard,' she whispers, 'I'll have a bruise the size of a plum either side of my tit now.'

'Shut it, bitch,' he says, through clenched teeth, 'they'll hear you.'

CLARA reaches across his penis - encouragingly firm inside the red silk pyjamas - and cups his balls, which are hugged, soft and warm, by his tight scrotum.  Balls have barely dropped yet, she thinks, digging her nails in hard. Case of arrested puberty here, I reckon. That would account for a lot.

GERARD hisses and gasps.

CLARA: I'll learn from you, darling. I'll make you happy, I promise.

GERARD: (Through gritted teeth) Sweetheart, we have the rest of our lives to love, and learn. I'll be your teacher.

CLARA: And I'll be your willing pupil.

The red velvet curtains swish slowly together; there is a smattering of applause. When the curtains open again GERARD hops out of bed, surreptitiously rubbing his crotch, to take his curtain call.

CLARA, adjusting her nightdress, joins him. Hand in hand with THE MAID, in her frilly white apron, JESSUP, in butler's tails, JIMMY, in tennis flannels, and LYDIA, the Bright Young Thing, they bow and smile. The curtains swish closed again and the house lights go up.

'Thank God that's over.' Tonks pulled off the long blonde Clara wig and chucked it in the props box. Ruffling her short brown hair into its usual spiky disarray, she reached for the cold cream. Off came the pancake, the cupid's bow lips, the dewy-eyed make-up.

Slipping out of the flimsy nightgown, she examined her right breast. Sure enough, there were red blotches the size of Mickie's thumb and forefinger, on either side of her nipple.

'That bastard, Mickie,' she said to Carol, who was at the mirror wiping the Lydia-look off her face. 'Thank God it's the last night and I never have to get into bed with him again.'