Dungeon Crawl: New flash fiction!

Welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl, brought to you by Romancing the Kink. This week, I thought I'd bring you something completely new. I haven't had much time for writing of late, but I wanted to flex those authorly muscles so I came up with a bit of flash fiction for your delectation. Don't forget to check out all the other authors taking part and find out what they've been up to as well. 

Waiting for Her

I can hear her filling the kettle. “I’ll just make a cuppa to bring up,” Martha said when I announced I was heading for bed. “Want one?”

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll be waiting...” We were still sitting on the couch at this point and I nuzzled into her a little closer to reinforce my hint. I think she understood.

So I go upstairs and strip naked. I do the necessary bedtime ablutions quickly so I can go and be ready for her. I kneel on the bedroom floor, feeling the pattern of the woven rug start to imprint on my knees. I shift a little, opening my thighs wider so my cock and balls are fully exposed for her. I can hear the kettle working itself up to a boil downstairs and I can’t help but think of coming, my balls bubbling over. Or even better, being kept at a slow simmer while she teases me relentlessly, not allowing me any release.

I should confess these thoughts. I place my hands behind my back while I consider how I might seek to explain myself. I imagine her closing cold steel around my wrists, locking them in place there so that instead of grasping them at my back, I would feel the hard metal holding them still. “Mistress, I’ve had bad thoughts,” I’d say. “Naughty thoughts.” Such a silly word, naughty, like something from a Carry On film. I don’t like it. But that’s why she’d make me use it. Make me feel silly, make the blood rush to my face, make me keep my head firmly bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Look at me,” she’d say. I’d only be allowed to look at her with permission, of course, and she’d only give it when she knows I don’t want to. “Tell me about these naughty thoughts.”

“I imagined myself coming. In you. Without permission. I’m sorry, mistress.”

“Thank you for telling me, little one. But you know that saying ‘sorry’ isn’t enough, don’t you? You know that I will have to punish you, don’t you?”

“Yes, mistress.” My voice would be all contrition, but of course I long for punishment. I wonder what the back of her wooden hairbrush would feel like across the back of my thighs, or how she might drag her fingernails up the underside of my stiff cock.

But she wouldn’t spank me, or scrape those nails up my sensitive flesh. No, she would come up with something I hadn’t expected, something to throw me off balance, upset this cosy little scene. Perhaps she’d lock my balls into a humbler and have me kneel beside the bed while she places her teacup on my back. Perhaps she’d slide one of those plastic cock cages over my dick, lock it tight around my balls and refuse to tell me how long I’d have to wear it. Oh, there are so many things she could surprise me with.

Downstairs, I can hear the fridge door open, close, open, close. The tinkle of a teaspoon as she stirs in the milk. I close my eyes for a moment, the better to hear her movements as she walks towards the stairs. I think about her drawing a blindfold across my eyes so that I don’t know whether her next touch will be a kiss, or a slap. My mouth falls open a little, seeking the kiss that may never come. Or is it a gag that it seeks?

She’s coming up. I open my eyes and suddenly I’m on my feet, grabbing my boxer shorts and a fresh T. I pull them on quickly, slide into bed and try to arrange myself in a relaxed manner.

“You okay Tom?” she asks as she sets her cup down on the bedside table. “You look tense.”

“Fine, Martha. I’m fine.” What a word. Fine. “Just waiting for you.”

But it’s a lie. One I should confess. It’s not my wife I’m waiting for. It’s myself. Waiting for the right moment to tell her what I want, what I crave, what runs through my mind after we’ve put the lights out.

An InLinkz Link-up

Dungeon Crawl: The Women Who Love to Love Gay Romance

Welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl and to an excerpt from a story that was a whole lot of fun to write. I don't know what Ryan Field was imagining when he made this call: 

I decided to see what would happen if the women who love to love gay romance were allowed to forget about everything, with abandon, and just write what they want with absolute freedom. 

Cos, what with my romance gene being faulty and all, my first thought was what it would be like to walk onto the set of Bound Gods... (did I say that out loud?)

Anyway, open a window because you're going to need some fresh air in about five-hundred words' time. Vicky has just returned early from a lukewarm date to find that her flatmate and his boyfriend have been inspired by a site she accidentally left open on her computer...

I hear the TV straight away as I unlock the door. At least, I think it’s the TV when I first hear voices through speakers. “Hi guys, I’m home.” They’re still on the sofa, but all my fantasies have not adequately prepared me for what I see. Not when it’s right there, right in front of me on my antique burgundy leather couch. They’re both butt naked. But that’s a minor consideration. Will is lying across Jake’s lap face down, his ass raised on the top of Jake’s thighs.

They freeze as I come into the room, but they don’t jump up and start making excuses. Which is probably because Will is in no fit state to jump anywhere. Not with his wrists and ankles bound with two of my silk scarves. My laptop is open on the coffee table, the film I watched earlier playing quietly in the background. Not the TV. That’s blank, reflecting Jake and Will’s positions back to me even as I try to do the decent thing and look away. Will’s got a knotted tea towel tied in his mouth and a little voice at the back of my mind says, “He’d better not be drooling on my antique burgundy leather couch.”

“Fuck. Vicky. We weren’t expecting you home so early. What happened to Mike?”

“I was tired,” I stutter, telling them the same lie I told Mr Nice. “I’m sorry. I should have let you know I was coming back so soon.”

“Well, no. It’s your apartment.”

He’s not as embarrassed as he should be. I know we’re open about my vibrator and his wanking, but why is he not redder in the face, why is he not flustered and stammering like I am? Because he knows what I’ve been watching on my laptop. It’s right there playing back to me now, those two delightfully submissive guys.

“Oh sorry about that. I borrowed your laptop to look something up. But you hadn’t closed your browser. That’s kind of what set us off. We were planning a quiet night watching the football.”

I’m still standing in the doorway and I’m just thinking, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” over and over again. In fact, I realize I’m saying it out loud. “Oh my God. It’s. I don’t know. I just. Oh my God.”

“It’s okay Vickster. What’s not to like? Two hot men, tied up and at your disposal. I can totally see why you’d be looking at that when you should be working.” He winks.

I glance at Will’s face. And I laugh, albeit a little hysterically, at the thought that he has by far the easiest role in this little scenario. He’s looking quite calm, tied hands resting against the small of his back, ankles on the armrest so his feet dangle over the edge. His face looks barely flushed. Unlike his ass, which is bright red from where Jake has been hitting it with the wooden spoon he is still holding in his left hand.

“Do you want a go?” He holds the spoon towards me.

Buy the book at Amazon or Amazon UK.

And check out all these other delicious excerpts:

An InLinkz Link-up

Dungeon Crawl - Penelope's Suitors

Publishers like to categorise. Perhaps readers like it too. I mean, 'BDSM' has to be your first requirement. After that, you know where you are if you opt for a bit of femdom or male dom, if you're going for f/m, f/f or m/m. Or maybe you don't because you're like me and you're searching for some indefinable something, some essence of kink that defies categories. I'm awkward like that. Anyway, welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl, brought to you by Romancing the Kink, and to an excerpt from the third and final story in my little collection, Miranda's Tempest. 

It imagines what life is like for Penelope in the long years of her husband Odysseus' absence, while 108 suitors lord it up in her household, each trying to persuade her that her husband is dead and she should marry him instead. Yes, we're talking Homer. Ancient Greece. And the statue of a goddess that comes to life, and some lesbian menage, and some voyeurism, and some feminisation, and some prostate milking, and some loom bondage. All those things. Don't forget to check out the other authors in this week's crawl, but without further ado, here's a little something to tease:

‘Though I love my maids, I have also missed my husband and welcome his safe return home. He is the only man I will ever share my bed with. For you, I can offer something you may think little better than slavery, but it will allow you to serve me in a far more personal manner than a kitchen boy.’ I am almost ashamed of the way I toyed with this earnest youth as he knelt at my feet. But I think he enjoyed it. His mouth was open and his breath audible. ‘Should you pass the test, I would have you become one of my personal servants. Join my maids in keeping me from loneliness when my husband is absent, which he no doubt will be again. You will have to hide your masculinity: shave your body, wear women’s garments and control your cock. In return, you will get to serve me as my maids do and bring me pleasure. Do you accept?’

‘Yes my lady. Willingly.’

‘Then it is time to administer the test. The other suitors were told that if they passed once they would undergo this treatment each night until my weaving was finished. As you can see, my cloth is barely begun, but I tire of it already. And there is no longer a need for this trickery. I will not make it a condition for you. But I will repeat the test when it amuses me to. Now remove your robe and stand facing my loom.’

Leontes rose and did as he was bidden, turning his lean back to me and my companions. The loom’s large, upright frame was fixed to the wall with batons to allow room for the bar of the heddle to move, separating the warp threads for me to weave between them. The thicker yarn I had spun to secure each suitor now hung permanently from the frame. I told Leontes to raise his arms and fastened his wrists wide apart above his head. I had him open his legs and stooped to tie his ankles to the lower corners. His torso tautened and his cock rose, parting the warp threads. The horizontal heddle pressed into his upper thighs, raising his rear. He was so much calmer than the others, though his breathing had quickened. His response seemed one of arousal rather than the consternation the others had shown.

‘Are you ready?’ I asked.

‘Yes, my lady,’ he whispered, turning glossy eyes towards me over his shoulder.

I dipped my hand into a bowl of oil and rubbed it between my fingers and over my knuckles. I pressed my fingertips to the top of Leontes’ crack and allowed him a moment to become accustomed to my touch.

An InLinkz Link-up

Dungeon Crawl: The Gingerbread House

Hi and welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl, brought to you by Romancing the Kink.

The Gingerbread House is the second story in my little collection, Miranda’sTempest. As you might guess, it's a retelling of the Hansel and Gretel fairytale, although in my version they are not siblings but young lovers who meet in the forest. It's the least subtle tale in the book, full of kinky accoutrements from start to finish! Oh, and it's unambiguously femdom too. Here's a snippet (and don't worry; it all works out just fine in the end...):

Hansel shifts his wrists to ease the pressure of the shackles. The iron digs into his flesh and already the skin is reddening. His legs are cramped and he longs to stretch them out straight. But his cage is no more than three feet long and he can barely move. His hands hang beside his head, the cuffs chained to bars above him. His helplessness amplifies every twinge in his joints into a thousand tiny points of discomfort. He shifts his weight as far as the metal around him will allow.

‘Be still,’ the witch says.

Hansel’s body freezes. Her voice holds an absolute power over him. The only movement he can manage now is the rising of his chest as his breath deepens in fear. He gazes up at the creature. And at his darling Gretel, standing meekly behind her, caught in the same enchantment.

‘Don’t pretend you’re hating this,’ the witch says in a deep, alluring tone. ‘My spell works only on the naturally submissive. It has always been your deepest desire to be controlled and dominated by a strong, beautiful woman.’

Hansel’s cheeks flush. He is deeply afraid of what this woman could do to him. She is no hag, but her beauty is dark and menacing. A shiver of arousal rushes through his pelvis as she speaks, and his cock twitches.

‘Let Gretel go,’ he whispers. ‘Do what you want with me, but let her go.’ It is a struggle even to get these few words out without being commanded to speak. But he has to try to help his beautiful Gretel to escape.

‘You are in no position to make a bargain,’ says the witch. ‘And don’t speak again unless I expressly tell you to.’

Hansel’s jaw clamps shut. Her power is terrifying. A bead of cool sweat runs down his temple.

An InLinkz Link-up

Dungeon Crawl - Karada!

Hello and welcome back to my corner of the Romancing the Kink Dungeon Crawl blog hop. This week, I'm turning my attention to Best Bondage Erotica 2014, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press. Whatever your taste in bondage, there's something here for everyone. My story, Tight Rope Walker, involves a Sunday stroll in the English countryside. Spiffing. Oh, and a quantity of rope.

“Why don’t you tie me into a harness I can hide under my clothes while we go out for a walk?” I’d said to him earlier that week, fed up of waiting for grey January skies to clear and the warmth of the sun to return. “You could even put on my collar and cuffs. If I wear a scarf and gloves no-one will see a thing. But it will make me horny as hell all the time we’re walking. And then it will be there, ready, when we get home again.”

Me and my big ideas. “Hmm, sounds like a plan,” he’d said. “Forecast’s dry for the weekend. We should do it on Sunday. We’re going to my mother’s for dinner Saturday, remember?”

I remembered. It felt like a very long evening of nodding in the right places and laughing and saying, “oh yes, I know what you mean,” rather than “oh just shut up so I can fantasize about rope.”

We’d got up late and had a big cooked breakfast, as befits a lazy Sunday morning. Then, around noon, Jake said to me, “Pajamas off. Time for our walk.” God, I’d thought that moment would never come and was out of my PJs in seconds and standing, waiting, in the middle of the living room rug.

He put the collar around my neck first, as always. My collar. One-inch thick leather that buckled into place. No lock, because I would never dream of attempting to remove it myself. But it did have four D-rings placed around it to cater for all eventualities. He put similar leather cuffs on my wrists, then my ankles. These ones had simple karabiner-type clips to attach them to each other. If I was feeling brattish, I could escape them. Not easily but it wasn’t impossible. That’s why Jake always used rope if he wanted me properly helpless.

Anyway, he moved on to the karada next. It had its usual effect on me, making my pussy pulse and my knees weak from the moment I felt the rope draped down the front of my body. As Jake pulled each wrap through the vertical strands, the vibrations went straight to my clit. I rocked my hips, smiling at the utterly delicious pressure there. He was careful not to tie it too tight. Once he’d done I put on my walking outfit, all sensible shower-proof fabrics, sturdy shoes with big grips and my winter woolens – hat, scarf, gloves. No panties though. And I pulled on a sporty crop top instead of trying to do up a bra strap over the ropes around my ribcage. As I moved around the house, up and down stairs and from room to room, I felt the harness hug my pussy snugly and imagined it doing so on our walk.

An InLinkz Link-up

Dungeon Crawl!

Hello and welcome to my little corner of the Dungeon Crawl blog hop!

I'm bringing you an excerpt from my story 'The Guerilla's Plaything' in the anthology Snatched, out now from Storm Moon Press, Amazon and Amazon UK.

Our main character Thomas has been kidnapped while on holiday in the Amazon rainforest, but finds that his harsh treatment at the hands of the slightly bonkers Alvaro reminds him a little too vividly of his BDSM relationship with his partner John:

Alvaro told me to lie down on the groundsheet while he brandished a bundle of the jute rope. “Turn over,” he said. I didn’t question or argue. I rolled onto my front and let him pull my wrists to the small of my back where he bound them, securely but carefully so that nothing pressed on the vulnerable insides of my wrists to cut off my circulation. My throat tightened. I could feel every particle of the gritty sand that lay on the groundsheet against my cheek.

Alvaro bound my ankles in the same way, wrapping the rope carefully so it wasn’t overlapping. I realized I had semi-consciously pressed my toes into the ground to raise my lower legs and make it easier for him. Then he tied my wrists and ankles together, pulling my feet up. Not as tight as John would have done it when he wanted me in the strictest of hogties. Just enough to stop me straightening my legs or being able to struggle to my feet.

“You are so predictable,” Alvaro said, kneeling at my side and leaning toward my face. “A bit of rope, and you are panting. I wouldn’t be surprised if your cock starts to dribble a little bit.” He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head off the ground, stretching my throat out and making my mouth fall open wider. With the other hand, he took hold of my jaw firmly and turned my face toward him. I struggled to swallow. My rigid cock was trapped beneath me, throbbing against the open zipper. Alvaro leaned down, opened his mouth and pressed his lips to mine, flicking his tongue inside. His stubble rasped against the one-day growth on my chin. As he pulled away, I strained to reach his mouth again, but he kept his grasp tight around my jaw.

He whispered close to my face, “I let you into a secret. I am planning on escaping this camp myself tonight. Once a person has joined the Movement, they are never allowed to leave. But I have to get out. I will take you with me.”

This threw me. Was it another cruel trick? “Why would you do that?” I asked.

“Because I like you,” he said. “Your reaction to being kidnapped and bound has amused me greatly. It brings me great joy to see an attractive man who loves to be tied and teased. Your partner is a very lucky man. I want to make sure you get back to him in one piece.”

An InLinkz Link-up

Blog hop Q&A: Writing goals 2014

I got tagged by the lovely Tabitha Rayne, who got tagged by the fabulous Oleander Plume, who got tagged by the delectable SL Gonzalez for a little blog hop Q&A about this year's writing goals. So thanks guys and here goes:

If you could achieve anything with your writing in 2014, what would it be?

If we’re in daydream, pie-in-the-sky territory, then actually being able to be a writer full-time would be just lovely, but I have too many financial responsibilities to go chasing a dream like that when there are so few writers actually making a living from it with any kind of long-term security. I know there are those who say if you have such a dream, you should go for it and let nothing hold you back – and I do believe that we are all architects of our own lives and futures. I’m in this for the long haul; right now I have competing priorities, but I need to keep practising my craft and building up a body of work.

What are the top three demons you must slay to achieve your goals in 2014?

1. Needing to eat and sleep.
2. Believing that ‘being a writer’ necessarily involves living in a little stone cottage by the sea.
3. Being at the mercy of the muse/my mood/the weather/my surroundings etc, which combine to mean that I don’t always feel most creative when I actually have time to write.

Name three things that inspire you to write.

1. Walking
2. Sex  (Obviously I mean the wondrous richness of human relationships, the search for The One ­- or Two, or Three etc - the union of kindred spirits, the quest for a yang to your yin and vice versa, yada yada yada. I lie. I actually meant kinky sex.)
3. Publication (or, more precisely, the recognition from publishers and editors that my work is good enough for publication.)

What advice do you have for a new writer who is considering writing fiction?

First, just do it. Because there are thousands, possibly millions of people, who say they want to be writers but never sit down and write. Get on with it. Practise your craft. Try things out. Find your voice. Dare to call yourself a writer, right now rather than in some misty dream of the future.

Second, maintain your integrity. A very small handful of people manage to make a fortune from their writing. And when you’re sitting in your mansion in Beverly Hills surrounded by 10ft electrified fences in grounds patrolled by trained killer zombies you may not care how proud you feel of your work’s quality, your hard graft, originality, creative spark, your book’s sexual politics, its contribution to the sum of human understanding. 

Most of us will be somewhere on a line between earning a couple of hundred quid pocket money a year to just about scraping a viable living. So, to me, it’s important that you at least feel you’re doing something worthwhile, something you believe in, something you can honestly say you’ve done your very best at. (For the record: one, I am naively idealistic, and, two, I believe that exploring and perhaps encouraging sexual pleasure is highly worthwhile.)

And I'm gonna tag two of my fellow Best Bondage Erotica 2014 authors Kay Jaybee and Jacqui Brocker! Tag, you're it (*runs away*).

Review: Dark Secret Love by Alison Tyler

It's my turn to join in the big Dark Secret Love blog tour, with a review of Alison Tyler's novel. For all the blog tour stops and the chance to win a fabulous prize, check out her blog post all about it. Here goes:

So you’ve got kink at first sight (repeatedly), you’ve got a girl swept off her feet by a rich guy with a swanky home, you’ve got the obligatory BDSM club scene. You’ve got plenty of naughty bits simmering away continually throughout the story. A variety of hot men (and another woman), and the heroine’s escape from a life of ‘lights-out, minty-fresh’ sex, before she finds ‘the one’. Not to mention an exploration of the difference between being dominant and being an asshole, and of the nature of the BDSM ‘punishment’ game and what it means to ‘win’ or ‘lose’.

But this is no formula erotic romance with a bit of trendy spanking thrown in. Dark Secret Love is semi-autobiographical, said to be based on Tyler’s private diaries. Which bits are real, which bits embellished, which pure fiction, and what has been left out, the reader cannot know. But the novel has a matter-of-fact realism at its core. Every description of the BDSM elements rings true. Samantha is no cardboard cut-out; she’s a normal, complicated, contradictory woman who knows she’s sexually submissive and knows what she wants from a man. And as her love story develops, so does her life as a writer penning stories of kinky fantasies and further blurring the boundaries between reality and fiction.

The book has a tone of no-nonsense honesty and a fast pace with a terse style. In my notes as I read it, I wrote ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’, for Samantha gets through quite a list of encounters. I also wrote ‘certainly not romanticised (thank fuck!)’ for it is a gritty and sometimes challenging read. But despite its spareness, the novel is bursting with the sort of detail that makes it compelling, keep-you-up-at-night reading. At one point, one of her lovers, Nate, is encouraging her to develop her writing career and he says, ‘Your writing has this sort of breathlessness to it. You can tell there’s a soul behind the words.’ And if Nate says that of Samantha, then I’d say it of Tyler.

Samantha charts her life from high school, concentrating on her search for fulfilment of her kinky sexuality and her development as a writer. She has some fun with a couple of dominant guys before settling down to three messed-up years with Byron. Byron is dominant in all the wrong ways, making Samantha feel she is always a failure, while also making her ashamed of her sexual desires. He is the ‘normal’, socially acceptable guy she thinks she is meant to fall for and settle down with. Fortunately, she breaks free of his cycle of soul-crushing manipulation and gets what she needs from other men, eventually committing to Jack.

Now, here’s a little conundrum I suffered as a reader: I didn’t always like Jack, the hero of the tale. And if this was formula romance, I would not be surprised or particularly perturbed by that. But now I’m worried that it’s a real person I’m not always liking and this throws me into some strange metaphysical paradox because if he's Samantha's happily ever after, then I want to like him. One example of him bothering me is when Jack and Samantha get together for a second time, she is already seeing housemate Nate, who is portrayed as a really decent guy. And Jack gets annoyed because Samantha wants to do the decent thing and explain to Nate what’s happening. To me, it felt like Jack was annoyed at Samantha for having integrity.

But at its heart, that conflict is what you would expect from a realistic story, a possibly real-life story, rather than the erotic romance formula of 'chuck in a conflict for your characters to overcome'. This is a tale of the development of a deeply BDSM relationship between two realistic, complicated people. A relationship that gives the participants nowhere to hide, a relationship in which nothing can be secret and feelings cannot be buried – shame, desire, joy, hurt, jealousy – and in which each partner is laid bare to their core. And that’s a very brave thing to share with the world at all, wherever the text lies on the line from fiction to reality.

I was given a free copy of Dark Secret Love: A Story of Submission to review by publisher Cleis Press. You can buy it in paperback or ebook at Cleis Press, Amazon, and Amazon UK.

Oh my, I'm late...

...For a very important date. The announcement of my Sunday Snog winner, in fact. I went off on a weekend away in deepest, darkest northern England and forgot that this would stop me picking my winner. Even my mobile signal was patchy, although the view of the Milky Way at night was pretty damn clear. 

I know you're all dying to know what highly scientific method I used to pick a winner. Well, I wrote all the names in biro on the flesh of a willing sex slave before beating him to see which one looked the reddest. Oh, no, I just made that up. I wrote all the names on little bits of paper, fed them into a willing sex slave's mouth, then waited to see which one was still legible when he spat them out. Oh, no, that was just a dream. I got someone to wank over the bits of paper and decided which got the directest hit... Ah, no again. I put the bits of paper in my teapot, shook them up a bit and pulled one out whilst looking in the opposite direction and humming a little fanfare sort of noise. Yes, that would be it. I'm  not sure where the fanfare came from. But I can never think of teapots again without thinking about Slave Nano's reading at this year's Smut by the Sea event. He read this excerpt out to us, shared here on Giselle Renarde's blog, the unabridged, uncensored and highly amusing version. 

Anyway, fanfare please... The winner is Anonymous. Ha, that's disappointed you all, hasn't it? But thank you to Anonymous, who said 'I've been wanting to read this anthology!' for your comment. Your wish is about to come true via the modern wonder of email. Hope you enjoy it. 

Incidentally, the 100th Sunday Snog event has raised £234.72 for Medecins San Frontieres, smashing the £100 target to smithereens. (Now there's a word.) A big thank you to Victoria Blisse for organising it all.

100th Sunday Snog!

Well, this may be my first Sunday snog, but it’s Victoria Blisse’s 100^th. Lucky her. And to celebrate, she’s raising some money for charity and organising a bumper giveaway. She’s already raised more than a hundred quid for Medecins Sans Frontieres and she’s rounded up dozens of authors to give away some freebies on their blogs.

I’m going to give away an ebook copy of Smut by the Sea Volume 2. Comment on this post for your chance to win. I’ll use some highly scientific method to pick a winner if I actually get more than one commenter! You’ve got until midnight on September 27^th to enter. And if you’d like to go off and have a chance of winning dozens more prizes, then all the authors taking part are listed on Victoria’s Blisse Kiss page.

This snog is taken from my story in Smut by the Sea Vol 2, Stuck on the Edge. Gareth and Claire's last paddle in the sea before they’re meant to be going home from their little island hideaway is getting a little out of hand:

Gareth swam up beside me, the arms of his t-shirt wrapping round his biceps. I put my feet down, feeling soft sand between my toes instead of shingle out this deep, and let him get his arms around me. You’d think I might have been getting used to the temperature by now, but in fact I felt like my lips might be turning blue. He kissed them. And somehow his lips were still warm. As mine melted against his, it felt like the rest of my body was a marble statue. Only my lips were real, flesh and blood, pulsing with heat. His tongue was hot too. He darted it out and I opened my mouth to let him in. My throat felt tight and deep within my frozen belly a little spark went pop.

I may have moaned a little. He drew back and said, “You did once tell me you fancied sex in the sea. And somehow we’ve never got round to it.”

“Are you kidding me? Sex? Here? Now?” My voice rose in pitch until I was sure it was audible only to bats. I was shaking and my mind was already wondering how long it would take for Gareth to run to the warden’s cabin, for the warden to radio for help, for a helicopter to arrive, winch me up and transport me to the nearest hospital to be treated for hypothermia. And frostbite. And crazy, irrational lust. My nipples were already rock hard because of the cold, but now they were tingling too. Because of the lust.

August Alfresco!

Today it’s my turn for some outdoor sexiness – in a literary sense, of course. Yes, it’s August Alfresco and I’m here with an excerpt from my tale Penelope’s Suitors, which is the third and final story in my collection Miranda’s Tempest. Details of how you can win a Kindle and £50 of ebooks from Total-e-Bound, or £50 of ebooks from Xcite, are below...

To set the scene, my story is based on Homer’s The Odyssey and tells of Penelope’s 108 greedy, rowdy suitors and her 12 beloved handmaidens. In the original, her husband Odysseus returns from his long wanderings after the Battle of Troy and kills both the suitors and the maids. But in my version, Penelope is advised by the goddess Athena on how to get rid of the suitors by administering a physical test, and consequently save her handmaidens. However, one of the suitors is a little more humble than the rest and in this scene, before he undergoes the test, he confesses how he has spied on Penelope and her women on the banks of a river:

‘And what did you see by the river?’ I asked.

‘Your maids started washing clothes while you sat on the bank and plied your spindle and distaff. I headed into undergrowth, thinking to come back to the path further downriver. But I stopped behind shrubs of juniper and myrtle to watch a moment. Then...’ He paused and I waited. I knew what Leontes had seen. It thrilled me to recall and it even thrilled me to think that we had been secretly watched. To the outside world I was a paragon of virtue and modesty, the long-suffering wife waiting obediently for her husband’s return. And I had indeed waited. No man had shared my bed since my husband’s departure to fight at Troy. But I was far from lonely. The pleasures I shared with my womenfolk kept my spirits alive.

‘Continue, Leontes, I wish to hear you describe what you saw.’

‘Yes, mistress. Your maids began to divest themselves of their garments, casting them aside on the bank. As yet, you only watched as they... as they caressed and kissed each other in the shallows. Then they beckoned to you and came to you to remove your dress. You stood, holding your arms out to the sides, while they undid the ties at your shoulders and the sash at your waist. Your dress fell to the ground at your feet and you were naked. My lady, I know I should not have continued to watch you, but I could not bring myself to move. As I crouched on the dusty ground, my manhood rose beneath my robe.’

‘Did you pleasure yourself while you spied on us, Leontes? You know I ought to punish you for your audacity, but you have not even begun the test yet.’

‘Yes, I stroked my cock until my seed spilled on the earth. I saw your maids lay you down on the riverbank and pleasure you with their hands and mouths. One licked at your sex, while others fondled and nuzzled your breasts, your thighs, even your feet. Another caressed your hair, combing out the tresses with her fingers. I had seen girls kissing before when they thought no-one was looking – serving girls in my uncle’s kitchens. But never had I seen such a glorious display of female pleasure. I marvelled at the bliss on the faces of your maids as they gave themselves over to your joy. I longed to show you such devotion myself. That is why I decided not to leave your household. I hated the thought of you allowing one of the other suitors to claim you, the thought of their vile, grasping hands kneading your smooth skin and their sweating, turgid cocks pummelling where I saw your maids’ fingers so deftly probe.’

My sex was moistening to hear his description. I wondered when this encounter had occurred, when he had first grovelled in the bushes to watch. My maids and I often visited the river on warm days, knowing that path was seldom used. I felt so differently towards this youth than my disdain of the other suitors. The thought of one of them seeing me naked and aroused sent a cold shiver through my belly. But I felt a strange affection for this humble young man and his furtive fascination with our pageant.

‘And so you let yourself hope that I might choose you?’ I said. ‘Why would I choose you when another 107 men vie for my affections, men of greater physical strength than you, greater experience of battle, greater skill with sword and bow?’

‘Because they would not win your affections. Those men hoped to claim you as if you were another spoil of war. They wanted your title and lands. I hold out the hope that I will be able to prove to you my devotion and my eagerness to serve your pleasure. I long to kneel at your mound like one of your handmaidens and mouth you to delicious climax.’

Want to know what happens to Leontes? Find out in Miranda's Tempest from Amazon UK, Amazon.com or All Romance. 

Comment on this post to be in to win one of these fabulous prizes:

• A Kindle and £50 worth of Total-E-Bound ebooks,
• or £50 worth of Xcite ebooks

And be sure to check out all the August Alfresco posts at http://smutalfresco.co.uk and comment on each one to have more chances to win.

All terms and conditions are available at smutalfresco.co.uk and the winners will be announced on 1^st September at the website.

The Great Outdoors

I'm going to be taking part in August Alfresco soon (in August, in fact. Doh). I do love the great outdoors. And so far, this year's British summer is coming up trumps. Although my allotment would appreciate a little rain right about now. 

So what is August Alfresco? It's a collection of 31 authors bringing you 31 excerpts of sexy outdoor shenanigans. Readers who join in by commenting on the blog posts will be in with the chance to win a Kindle, £50 of Total-E-Bound books or £50 of Xcite books. If you comment on every post for the month, you'll get extra chances to win.

There are still some spots left for authors to take part. It costs £5 to book a slot, which is going towards the prizes. If you're interested, all the details are at smutalfresco.co.uk and it's being organised by Victoria Blisse. 

I just have to decide which story to use. I haven't set out with any particular objective to write lots of alfresco liaisons, but when I think over the stories that have come out this year, there's a fair few that are full of wholesome fresh air fun. And when I say wholesome, I mostly mean kinky. So will it be a cold encounter in the sea at an island off North Wales, a map-related romp in a stone circle in the Orkneys, Caliban dominating Miranda on the mythical island of the Tempest - in the book that also includes Gretel discovering her dominant side in the woods and Penelope bathing with her 12 handmaidens in a Greek river - rope bondage in a Japanese-style garden in the middle of London or a tense clash between soldiers on a boggy battlefield in 1st century Britain? Decisions, decisions...