Bits of chocolate chip have got stuck to my pubes so she sucks them off and then she cleans up my balls, which have got a slick coating of melted ice cream all over them and I’m practically delirious and it’s my turn to thrash about and beat the bed, and I’m just about ready to beg for mercy when she splodges a load more choco-chip on and renews the treatment and she’s sucking and gobbling and shoving me right down her throat in her enthusiasm to get every last bit of gelato off me, when I feel that old familiar rush inside me and, what d’you know, before she realises what’s hit her she’s got hot vanilla sauce to go with her ice-cream and she has to swallow that down too, which she does, and then she wipes her lips with her paw like the satisfied little pussy she is and flops down beside me and says - once she’s got her throat clear, that is - ‘That was the best session yet.’
From: Finger Lickin' Good: The Stiletto Heel & Other Stories
Saturday, 14 January 2012
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
How I got into writing Erotica
HOW I BECAME A WRITER OF EROTICA
(First published on Sue Howe's Blog)
Some years ago a woman I knew through a writing group I used to attend submitted a story to Black Lace and had it accepted. It was published in one of the Wicked Words collections. I read the story and others in the same anthology and I realised I could probably write it. That's not to say it's particularly easy to write but I felt sure I had the right mind-set to produce saleable work.
So I gave it a go.
I wrote The Celibate and sent it off to Kerri Sharp at Black Lace Books and within a very short time I had an acceptance. Wow, I thought, my very first erotic story got snapped up!
So I wrote another one.
The Black Lace Wicked Words series was only published three or four times a year so while I was waiting for the next submission period, I sent my latest story off to For Women. I was astonished and immensely gratified to find it was accepted as well.
So I wrote another one. And another one. And... well, you get the idea.
I looked around for other markets for erotica and sent pieces off here and there. Everything I sent off got accepted, except a short story I entered for a Cosmopolitan competition. Cosmo rejected it because it 'contained illegal activity'. Not illegal sexual activity, I hasten to add, but an account of a break in. In this story, Collar and Cuffs, a young burglar is accosted by the the raunchy lady of the house with predictable consequences. It was later published by Scarlet Magazine, who obviously weren't as fussy about the depiction of crime.
I started writing an erotic novel a while ago but didn't finished it (yet!) as I found there was a ready market for short stories and they were much easier to dash off. I've been thinking recently I should get to work on it again. Got to keep my public happy!
Some of the magazines I wrote for are no longer in existence sadly, so the print market has narrowed. Another market has arisen with the rise of online publishing, but the financial rewards are not as high and the quality is not always as good.
This is why I decided to publish some of my previous work as an ebook, The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories. It is available from Amazon for Kindle and Kindle Apps.
So, erotica provides me with my best writing sales and seems to be likely to keep on doing so for the foreseeable future.
Sex, it seems, sells.
For tips on writing erotica, see my other blog.
The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories USA
The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories Germany
Also available at amazon.fr, amazon.es and amazon.it.
The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories Germany
Also available at amazon.fr, amazon.es and amazon.it.
Saturday, 17 December 2011
Sexy Excerpt from Thriller
Sammy leans across and kisses the blue veins in her wrists. A pulse throbs where the leather thongs cut in. She moans. He kisses her lips, bites them lightly, tasting the blood from her mouth.
Moving down her throat, across her shoulders to the pungency of her armpits, he kisses, licks, nips. Her breasts harden beneath his hands, the nipples stiffening into peaks. He could spend hours like this, days, years, eternity.
‘Pussycat,’ he whispers into her navel.
Her belly rounds softly, sloping to the damp mound of her sex. He tastes her. She moans again. Breathing in her musk, tasting her salty-sweetness, he lingers, exploring the tender folds and hollows. Her legs are spread wide, her ankles tied to the bedposts. Her right foot twists and turns in its bindings, rotating like a creature trying to break free. He watches it squirm, sees the toes clench, then presses his face back into her groin, nuzzling – right thigh, left thigh, middle...
A mewling sound gurgles in her throat and he moves the gag back into place. No one must hear.
From:
DON'T LOOK DOWN for USASaturday, 5 November 2011
Festival Frolicks - Another Excerpt
Work in Progress - an excerpt to be going on with!
'Everybody seems to be pairing up.' Tonks tapped her foot rapidly to release some pent-up energy. When she was as wound up as this, sex was her tranquilliser of choice. Looked like everyone else was of the same mind.
Jason slid an arm around her shoulder. 'You're getting your nervous twitch again, Tonks. Does that mean what I think it does?'
Tonks shivered at Jason's touch. Right now she would shiver at any man's touch. 'Your observation skills are pretty hot tonight,' she said.
'You're pretty hot tonight, yourself.'Jason brought his lips close to her ear. 'Why don't we leave them all to it and go backstage for a while?'
Tonks closed her eyes, desire rising in her like sap in the springtime. Jason Stanley wasn't the prettiest ribbon in the box but he had something. She knew what it was, too. It lived inside his jeans.
'Backstage?' she said, acting coy. 'Whatever for?'
Jason raised an eyebrow. 'Come with me and I'll show you.'
'Well, I suppose I'd better follow the Director's instructions,' said Tonks demurely, 'like a good actress should.' It wouldn't be the first time she'd made out with Jason. It wasn't anything serious. Just a pleasant occasional fuck. Something to relieve the tension. 'Sure your mother can handle George if you're not here to protect her?'
'It's the possibility of her handling George that bothers me.' Jason scowled down into the auditorium again. 'But I don't suppose they can get up to much down there in the stalls.'
He took Tonks' hand and they sauntered innocently through the hardboard French doors, feigning an interest in the construction of the box set. Then, slipping through the blacks, they hurried down the narrow passageway at the back of the stage.
Fumbling in the dark, Tonks pushed at a swing door, held it open for Jason then let it swish quietly closed again. Her heart beat rapidly at the thought of the illicit pleasures to come. Even if what they were about to do wasn't all that illicit, sneaking off like this made it seem as though it was. The darkness and the distant sounds of the party added a frisson of danger. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl heading furtively off to the bike sheds for a session of cigarettes and lovebites.
At the end of the corridor the men's dressing room was squeezed between a store cupboard and the lavatories. Stepping in front of her, Jason opened the door and led Tonks inside. The stale smell of maleness hit her as she entered the cramped room. Sweat, smoke, greasepaint - semen? What did those guys get up to in here? Jason flicked on the harsh white light and took her in his arms.
'Jason! kill the light. I look like I'm auditioning for the Bride of Dracula.' Tonks covered her face to hide her reflection from herself.
Jason flipped the switch again and drew back the heavy curtains, allowing the sodium orange light of a streetlamp to spill into the room. He pushed her down onto the old divan that stood against the wall.
As her head touched the rough moquette, another smell assaulted Tonks' nostrils - sweet, sickly but not unpleasant. She reached behind her and felt the smooth silk of Mickie's pyjama bottoms, redolent with aftershave and deodorant. She smiled in the darkness. Good to know that he, too, had been afraid of having the true odours of his body detected when they were in bed together.
She had drenched her crotch and armpits in perfume every night, fearful lest any hint of pheromone leaked out. But tonight she had showered and washed the perfume off, so Mickie's aftershave hit her full on instead of mingling imperceptibly with the olfactory camouflage she used herself. Tucking the pyjamas under her head, she settled back. They were softer than the rough divan and made an excellent pillow.
Jason lowered his wiry frame onto her. 'Oh Tonks,' he murmured, 'will we ever see each other again?'
'Sure,' said Tonks, 'all we have to do is put the light back on.'
'Oh you know what I mean.' His denim-encased erection was rubbing against her thigh. 'The theatre world is so fickle. A month or two in rehearsal, a couple of weeks performance, and then it's goodbye. We will keep in touch, won't we?' He nuzzled her ear and lightly kissed her neck.
'Jason,' she hissed through her teeth, 'just fuck me, will you? I'm out of my mind for it.' And she was, too. Inside her tight jeans her crotch was damp with anticipatory juices. She undid her zip and wriggled underneath Jason until she got the jeans over her lean hips and off one leg.
Jason slid his long fingers into the flies of his black-black 501s and slowly undid the buttons. 'You'll just have to wait for it,' he said. 'Timing is all. As an actress you should know that.'
He pulled off his black t-shirt, his pale body jewelled by the orange light, his profile - large nose, full lips, bobbing Adam's apple - silhouetted against the window pane. Slowly, he drew his legs out of his jeans and knelt over her.
Pulling her own t-shirt over her head, Tonks lay back so he could take her small breasts in his hands. Her inner thighs were sticky with the wet warmth of vaginal secretions. Her face was hot. Encircling Jason's prick with one fist, she pulled him towards her.
'Timing!' he scolded, and slid down her body until his thick dry lips met her lower wet ones. Then he lapped and lapped and lapped, until she came in a rippling wave of ecstasy, the flush of orgasm spreading from her breasts to her brow. Only then did Jason lift his head and prepare to slide inside her.
Festival Frolicks - Coming Soon!
Meanwhile read The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories
'Everybody seems to be pairing up.' Tonks tapped her foot rapidly to release some pent-up energy. When she was as wound up as this, sex was her tranquilliser of choice. Looked like everyone else was of the same mind.
Jason slid an arm around her shoulder. 'You're getting your nervous twitch again, Tonks. Does that mean what I think it does?'
Tonks shivered at Jason's touch. Right now she would shiver at any man's touch. 'Your observation skills are pretty hot tonight,' she said.
'You're pretty hot tonight, yourself.'Jason brought his lips close to her ear. 'Why don't we leave them all to it and go backstage for a while?'
Tonks closed her eyes, desire rising in her like sap in the springtime. Jason Stanley wasn't the prettiest ribbon in the box but he had something. She knew what it was, too. It lived inside his jeans.
'Backstage?' she said, acting coy. 'Whatever for?'
Jason raised an eyebrow. 'Come with me and I'll show you.'
'Well, I suppose I'd better follow the Director's instructions,' said Tonks demurely, 'like a good actress should.' It wouldn't be the first time she'd made out with Jason. It wasn't anything serious. Just a pleasant occasional fuck. Something to relieve the tension. 'Sure your mother can handle George if you're not here to protect her?'
'It's the possibility of her handling George that bothers me.' Jason scowled down into the auditorium again. 'But I don't suppose they can get up to much down there in the stalls.'
He took Tonks' hand and they sauntered innocently through the hardboard French doors, feigning an interest in the construction of the box set. Then, slipping through the blacks, they hurried down the narrow passageway at the back of the stage.
Fumbling in the dark, Tonks pushed at a swing door, held it open for Jason then let it swish quietly closed again. Her heart beat rapidly at the thought of the illicit pleasures to come. Even if what they were about to do wasn't all that illicit, sneaking off like this made it seem as though it was. The darkness and the distant sounds of the party added a frisson of danger. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl heading furtively off to the bike sheds for a session of cigarettes and lovebites.
At the end of the corridor the men's dressing room was squeezed between a store cupboard and the lavatories. Stepping in front of her, Jason opened the door and led Tonks inside. The stale smell of maleness hit her as she entered the cramped room. Sweat, smoke, greasepaint - semen? What did those guys get up to in here? Jason flicked on the harsh white light and took her in his arms.
'Jason! kill the light. I look like I'm auditioning for the Bride of Dracula.' Tonks covered her face to hide her reflection from herself.
Jason flipped the switch again and drew back the heavy curtains, allowing the sodium orange light of a streetlamp to spill into the room. He pushed her down onto the old divan that stood against the wall.
As her head touched the rough moquette, another smell assaulted Tonks' nostrils - sweet, sickly but not unpleasant. She reached behind her and felt the smooth silk of Mickie's pyjama bottoms, redolent with aftershave and deodorant. She smiled in the darkness. Good to know that he, too, had been afraid of having the true odours of his body detected when they were in bed together.
She had drenched her crotch and armpits in perfume every night, fearful lest any hint of pheromone leaked out. But tonight she had showered and washed the perfume off, so Mickie's aftershave hit her full on instead of mingling imperceptibly with the olfactory camouflage she used herself. Tucking the pyjamas under her head, she settled back. They were softer than the rough divan and made an excellent pillow.
Jason lowered his wiry frame onto her. 'Oh Tonks,' he murmured, 'will we ever see each other again?'
'Sure,' said Tonks, 'all we have to do is put the light back on.'
'Oh you know what I mean.' His denim-encased erection was rubbing against her thigh. 'The theatre world is so fickle. A month or two in rehearsal, a couple of weeks performance, and then it's goodbye. We will keep in touch, won't we?' He nuzzled her ear and lightly kissed her neck.
'Jason,' she hissed through her teeth, 'just fuck me, will you? I'm out of my mind for it.' And she was, too. Inside her tight jeans her crotch was damp with anticipatory juices. She undid her zip and wriggled underneath Jason until she got the jeans over her lean hips and off one leg.
Jason slid his long fingers into the flies of his black-black 501s and slowly undid the buttons. 'You'll just have to wait for it,' he said. 'Timing is all. As an actress you should know that.'
He pulled off his black t-shirt, his pale body jewelled by the orange light, his profile - large nose, full lips, bobbing Adam's apple - silhouetted against the window pane. Slowly, he drew his legs out of his jeans and knelt over her.
Pulling her own t-shirt over her head, Tonks lay back so he could take her small breasts in his hands. Her inner thighs were sticky with the wet warmth of vaginal secretions. Her face was hot. Encircling Jason's prick with one fist, she pulled him towards her.
'Timing!' he scolded, and slid down her body until his thick dry lips met her lower wet ones. Then he lapped and lapped and lapped, until she came in a rippling wave of ecstasy, the flush of orgasm spreading from her breasts to her brow. Only then did Jason lift his head and prepare to slide inside her.
Festival Frolicks - Coming Soon!
Meanwhile read The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories
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.
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.
PROLOGUE
ACT III
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.'
PROLOGUE
ACT III
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.'
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