Category Archives: guest blogger

Guest Blogger Jade A. Waters Gives Us The Reward!!!

I am so honored to be here today! First, it’s such a treat to get to visit the lovely F. Leonora, especially with her incredible cheers and notes of encouragement to, like, everyone in the writing community. She is a superstar and I have never been more grateful to know such a sweet person! But today, it gets even better—because Leonora has honored me beyond belief in celebration of the release of the last book in the Lessons in Control series, The Reward

See, our dear F. has long been enthusiastic over my poetry habit. Because of this, I’ve always been eager to not only talk about flow and verse with her, but to share poetry connected to book one, The Assignment, like I did back at the launch of the series. But today, fantastic Leonora has paid the biggest, most hugest of honors to me.

She wrote a poem for the Lessons In Control series!



you’re like a mist

the thin film of you invisible

tactile to the flesh

an ache from your aura

this desire i fell over every crevice

nothing untouched

that burns me up inside

there is always a fever

deep in my


you reach in so deep where you


i cannot quench myself

i need you all of you to slip

into me like i am the

bottle that contains you as a


you are magic

hidden as a mist but

everywhere upon



That’s right, guys. Right here, you get to see Leonora’s verse. Yes! What I particularly love about this poem—besides the fact that she wrote it inspired by my series and sent a picture of it to me in its early form written in her beautiful cursive—is that it really captures the feeling between Maya and Dean throughout the series. Theirs is a passionate, deep, intense love that is fueled by their sultry sexual dynamic, and I can’t get over how beautifully Leonora sprung off that to write her poem. When Maya and Dean meet in book one, The Assignment, Maya is compelled to find out more about Dean…and by the time we get to The Reward, out now, they are both deep in their sexy relationship with no signs of giving up their D/s exploration. I had such a blast writing this series, and now having Leonora write a poem inspired by it? Hot damn. That’s better than any fan fiction I can think of!

So, let’s give a round of applause to Leonora for writing this sexy poem and for sharing it here today. I have no doubt you’d find it as delicious as I did! Thanks for the tribute, Leonora!!

Speaking of sultry, Jade is a frequent guest–read her previous guest posts here. Can’t get enough of Jade? Go visit her blog!

The Reward is out now!!! Reward yourself, and get your copy here! You can also get the first two Lessons in Control books on sale now!!!



Guest Blogger Mischa Eliot Serves Us Finger Licking Good!!!

Mischa Eliot is a new friend, she does Masturbation Monday like me. She is naughty and supportive, and such a gem in the community. Today you are in luck! She is my guest blogger, and wrote this sexy story andddddd??? She participated in my Friday Flash meme, special for my birthday!!!

So yeah, double your pleasure with Mischa Eliot today!!!
Naughty Spy in the Cabana 

Sitting up, I looked around, mind groggy from sleep. Sleep. I fell asleep! The little cabana curtains were still closed as I had left them earlier in the afternoon. My heartbeat returned to normal speed, once my surroundings made sense. It confused me that the staff from the hotel hadn’t woken me, but perhaps they hadn’t bothered to check for anyone in the cabana.

As I opened the curtains, soft voices and laughter greeted me. I hadn’t heard them speaking earlier when my pulse rushed through my ears.

“There’s no one around, babe. Let’s have a little fun.” The man’s voice was gruff, and loaded with desire. Something in me shifted, and I wanted to be the woman he was here with. Her laughter tinkled through the night, tickling my ears.

“Noah, someone could see us.” She didn’t sound all that worried to me and from my vantage point, I could see her actions didn’t match her words either. They were seated on a double chaise lounge, perfect for cuddling.

“C’mon Gracie, it’s late. Everyone else is drinking in the bar or fast asleep. It’s just you and me, babe.” His hand squeezed her neck lightly while the other cupped her breast, thumb ticking back and forth over her nipple.

It was evident that she enjoyed it, and I couldn’t help but want to be her. I mimicked his movement, reaching up to tease my own nipples. They were hard nubs, and I wanted a mouth on them. Sucking, licking, biting. A sigh slipped through my lips as desire rose throughout my flesh.

“Did you hear that?” Her voice lowered, but the breeze carried her words to me. I dropped the curtains I hid behind, and the breeze ruffled them. My breath arrested in my lungs as I waited, straining my ears. Was I about to be found out?

“You’re hearing the wind, nothing more.” Giggling reached my ears and I peeked out again, watching her as she threw her head back and Noah nuzzled, then kissed along her exposed skin.

I couldn’t help it, my mouth fell open, my bikini bottom stuck to me, and I wanted him. I wanted her. An uncontrollable urge filled me. I wanted to be sandwiched between them. With four hands and two mouths playing my body like a fine instrument, I was confident I could make beautiful music with my moans and squeals of bliss.

“Oh, Noah.” Gracie’s moan caught me off guard. My fantasies of being teased and taken by them had taken over. Noah’s hand stroked down her back, and his fingertips slid beneath her bikini bottoms. From the way she writhed and his finger wiggled, he knew just where to touch.

“Please, babe? I promise, no one will catch us. We’ll be quiet and quick.” His words became muffled, as he nuzzled and nibbled her neck. Noah rained kisses along her collarbone. Another moan from Gracie’s lips caused a shiver down my spine. And then Noah kissed her.

I touched my lips, licked my fingers and gave in to my need. Fingers slipping beneath my bikini bottom and finding myself slick, I played myself like a well-made guitar. Another sigh escaped, this one much more constrained as I watched Noah and Gracie. Pinching my nipple, flicking my thumb back and forth, kept me on edge.

Gracie moaned again, and I saw Noah shift her to straddle his hips. He moved swiftly, but gentle as he slid inside her. I watched as her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her breasts bouncing with each thrust, as Noah moved captured my sight. I wished to wrap my lips around her tit,  and suck as much as I could into my mouth. Swallowing hard, thoughts of marking her with my teeth drove me mad.

They moved together like professional dancers, each move specific and perfect and with purpose. I plunged my fingers into myself every time Noah drove into her. Trembling took over my body, I wanted to climax, but the need to come with them was greater.

Battling my urge bore fruit. Gracie’s body stiffened, and she clung to Noah like a lifeline, as though she was afraid she’d be lost on the tidal waves rushing through her. A sharp moan erupted, but Noah muffled her with a kiss that put the earlier one to shame. One of his hands squeezed her breast, while the other held her ass. My own climax hit me, when I realized that the hand on her ass had a finger embedded between her taut cheeks.

I fought the urge to cry out and my eyes slammed shut as the tremors rocked through me. Panting, I lowered myself back to the lounge chair, sticky and sated. The smell of sex filled the little cabana, and I licked my fingers clean. Falling asleep was the best thing to happen to me on this vacation so far, and I couldn’t wait to see what kind of naughty trouble I could spy upon tomorrow.

As promised, there is more Mischa! She wrote a sexy birthday flash for my Friday Flash meme! You can also visit her sexy, sexy website!

Why Don’t We Talk More About Masturbation With Kayla Lords?!

Thanks to my soul sister, Leonora (who I refer to as f-dot in my head), for giving me space to ramble about something that’s been on my mind for a while.

Why don’t we talk about masturbation more often? Most of us do it – and frequently. We’ve got toys for it. There’s an entire month to celebrate it (May is Masturbation Month, if you hadn’t heard). I know erotic authors who can write the most hard core, dirtiest, kinkiest, questionable consent story but get a little weirded out when writing about masturbation. Some people don’t even want to say the word! (Okay, I kind of can’t blame anyone for that – it’s kind of a weird word and doesn’t exactly make you think of moaning or screaming orgasms and sexual pleasure.)

Should we introduce ourselves to new people by saying, “Hi, I’m Kayla, and I masturbated before work today”? Probably not. Especially if you’re shaking hands. Awwwwk-waaaard.

But in the online world where many of us have fake accounts and pseudonyms, and we talk about how we want to fuck and be fucked – we don’t talk about masturbation. I say no more!

We need to celebrate masturbation! Flaunt it! Revel in our ability to find pleasure with our hand and maybe a toy.

It’s not cheating when you’re in a relationship. It’s also not gross, yuck, or a “betrayal” as I once heard it referred to. Masturbation is natural and healthy.


Think of all the lies we were told about masturbation back in the day – hairy palms, blindness, no one does it. Fuck that! Everyone does it. And until we admit we masturbate and celebrate it a little more, we’re all going to hide our vibrators or Fleshlights (for the penis-havers out there) like they’re a dirty secret.


I say, “No more! I’m not afraid!”


My name is Kayla Lords, and I love to masturbate. I make myself come so fucking good the neighbors need a smoke when I’m done. I have too many sex toys and not enough cords or batteries, and I like it that way! Except I wish I had more batteries!


Not ready to make that declaration? That’s okay. Stick around with Leonora and I long enough, and you will.


If you want to celebrate masturbation with me a little more, join me and my smutty writer friends over at Masturbation Monday each week. The stories are either all about masturbation or so hot you’ll want to touch yourself, so either way, you win! Visit in May, and you can enter weekly giveaways for sex toys to make your next wank even more exciting.

Guest Blogger Tom Starling Serves Us Back to Front

I have been admiring Tom Starling on Twitter forever! His pictures are soooo sexy, but their edge is that they always tell a story…so I asked him to tell me a story…


Back to Front

They almost came at the same time. But not quite.

When he let go he sighed and released three short bursts of come onto her face.

The first shot landed on her right cheek, and slid down her face. The second fell across her bright red lips, and ran down her chin and started to collect in a large droplet. The third went lower, and landed on her pretty collarbone and a silver chain that her parents had given her on her 18th birthday.

She was on her knees, and had three fingers inside her cunt. She had thought she might not come, but his ejaculation had made her feel defiled and foolish. The orgasm came like a giant wave in slow motion.

She pushed her fingers to the back of her cunt, to the place that she knew best. She arched her back, and felt the heat rise in her. The come hanging from her chin fell onto her right tit, and she knew what she was. The orgasm started in her sore, wet pussy but flew to every corner of her body. She felt it on the tips of her teeth. She felt it at the end of her fingernails. She shuddered and muttered the word “fuck” three times, before collapsing on the floor and trembling like a hurt animal.

She felt more of his come fall onto her bare legs.

“Get out. Leave,” he said.

She wasn’t at all sure if she could remember his name. She managed to prop herself up onto one elbow, and went to wipe some of his mess from her face.

“Leave it there,” he said. “Don’t clean your face until you get home.”

She wasn’t at all sure if she even liked him. That made it better.

Her shoes were still on; black high-heeled shoe boots. She found her shorts. They were damp, and smelt of her wetness. They were too small, and made her butt look big. She found her t-shirt. She didn’t need a bra. She didn’t need too. She had small tits that stayed up on their own. They drove men wild.

She could see he was getting hard again. She left without speaking.
Come never stayed warm for long. It was cold by the time she got outside on the street. It rarely looked white and gloopy like in the porn films either. His spunk was largely clear, and starting to dry. Nonetheless, if you were to take a look directly at her face, you would see it. Spunk on her cheek. Spunk on her lips and chin. Spunk on her neck and collarbone.

She knew what she was.

She wanted people to notice, she wanted people to know.

She saw a black girl with a big arse in tight ripped jeans. She hoped the girl would see the come on her face, and know that she was slut. She wanted the girl to take her home, and sit on her face. She wanted the girl’s cunt juice to mix with the man’s come, and smear her make up. She wanted to taste the girl’s arse.

She saw a fat old man. He was old enough to be her granddad. She imagined walking him down a side street, and making his dick big and swollen. She imagined what it would feel like to swallow him down, and then ask him to bring four more of his friends to her because she hadn’t tasted enough.

She saw three boys coming out of a chicken shop. She imagined going up to them and telling them that she had the come of a total stranger on her face, and she wondered if they could do the same to her. She wanted them to fuck her face while they ate their chicken.

She got back home to her house. She made herself come with her fingers while she looked at her face in the mirror.

She knew what she was.

She was powerful. She was fearless. She was always in control.



You can find more of Tom Starling here

picture obviously by Tom Starling!!!



A Little Candy (Snatch)🍭🍭🍭

So I have a new girl crush, and she is AMAZING! Candy Snatch first came to my attention with her searingly hot flash fiction, for my meme Friday Flash! Then I met her at Eroticon, and was overwhelmed by her style and beauty. So I asked her, when are you going to guest blog for me?! She whipped up this hot like lava confection for me instantly–and I am sharing with you…

You’re welcome!

I awoke with a cat-like stretch, lazily blinking against the watery morning sunshine. Glancing over to where he slept. He’s such a good boy. Stroking my hand down his back I smile as he murmurs in his sleep and rolls over. Exposing his throbbing morning glory to my greedy eyes.  

I feel the stirrings of my early morning lust begin to rise. Reaching over I slowly drag my nails across his soft balls, fascinated by his twitching cock. Standing proudly upright begging for my attention whilst he sleeps unaware.  

Gently stroking my finger up the underside of his shaft I can’t help but marvel at how hard he is. Always a fan of a hard cock, I never cease to be amazed by how beautiful I find his. Curling my fingers around him I gently squeeze. His eyelids flutter open and as his focus centres on my form a smile plays across his lips.  

Crawling up the bed I pause as my cunt hovers over his hardness. Kissing him gently at first, my hips dip lower to stroke my wetness up his shaft. His low moan speaks volumes of his need.  

“Does my baby need milking?”  

His frantic nodding amuses me. He’s so handsome, bathed in the morning glow of our room. Sliding back down the bed till I’m face to face with his raging erection. Teasing my tongue around the tip I meet his eyes.  

“How badly do you want it baby…” 

Sliding the glistening tip into my warm mouth his eyes roll and he moans louder.  

“So bad… Please…”  

My lips travel down his length, as my stomach lurches at the violation in my throat. I’ve no intentions of finishing him but I love the way he tastes. As the first drops of precum tickle my tongue I stop.  

Pulling him over onto his front I smack his arse hard. He knows the drill. Up onto all fours like a good boy. I stalk around the bed, fastening his wrists into the cuffs hanging there. He watches and I revel in that lick of power inside.  

Pushing his thighs apart I stroke a finger down his back, lower, lower till its pressed against his hole. He tenses and I chuckle. Not yet my darling.  

Pulling his cheeks apart I gently blow on him. He shivers and I reward this response with the heat of my tongue. Long flat strokes massaging his aching hole. Swirling and pressing against him, hearing his moans grow more desperate.  

Reaching round to feel his straining cock I finally take pity on him. Stroking a finger across his wet hole I gently press. He gasps as my finger slides deep inside him, inching further as he arches his back against the invasive sensation.  

Feeling his warmth envelope my finger I begin to stroke his sweet spot. Gentle circling motions, watching his hips mimicking my movements as the intensity builds inside. Stroking him with the other hand, marveling at the pre-cum dripping from his cock. This is what I do to him. This is my power. 

Carefully teasing him, you can’t rush perfection. He edges closer. Leaning into him I use my tongue to soothe his opened hole. Gentle licks allowing me to fuck him slowly. Curling my fingers up to coax him to finish. Watching for the tell-tale signs. 

His legs begin to shake, his muscles tense, oh we are almost there… 

“Who owns this cock?” 

“You do! Oh, God Please!!!…” 

“Cum for me baby” 

I’m filled with an immense feeling of love as he jerks in my hand and explodes all over me.  

Want more Candy? Click here!

lollipops via wikipedia

Guest Blogger Jade A. Waters Gives Me the Best Assignment Ever!!!

I am practically lachrymose posting this piece, because I am sooooooooo very proud of my friend Jade A. Waters! Unless you have been living under a rock, you know that her amazing first book, The Assignment in her new series has been released. To see Jade’s star shine like this makes my hear glow! She was one of the first friends I made in this community, and I love her to bits and pieces. I love having her as a guest, and to be privileged to be part of her book tour is beyond humbling.

Jade is the real deal, a writer and poet extraordinaire and, and…well here is Jade!!!

Hi everyone! I am so excited to be here today—and I’m sending a giant thank you full of juicy kisses to the generous F. Leonora for having me over! As many of you are probably aware, F. is one of the sweetest supporters of our genre—and on the entire planet—so I was tickled she invited me to stop by to talk about my new release, The Assignment. Thanks, F!

Now, our lovely host left the door open for what I should discuss today, and since the two of us often talk about poetry on the social media circuit, I thought I’d spend some time focusing on flow. I mean this in two ways. One, in a writerly sense—as in, the style we each use in choosing our words and pouring sentences on the paper in the formation of a cohesive whole. For me, the second manner sweeps fairly naturally in and out of the first, in that I have a bit of a watery world obsession that keeps sneaking its way out into my stories.

Let me back up a bit—I’m still not sure if it’s because I took too many emotional walks under a downpour of rain as a teen, or that we should blame it on a last name of Waters, but I’ve long had an obsession with watery environments. I’ve lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for almost twenty-five years, which means I’ve had my fair share of exposure to coastlines, piers, beaches, and pretty much anything to do with life this near the ocean’s edge. Having spoken before on how important building the setting of The Assignment within the Bay Area was to me, the essence of our near water life of course had to make its way into the story. How could it not? We have views of majestic bridges over churning spans of the Bay, coastlines on which one can take a contemplative walk, calming beaches so easy to get to, marina life at our many docks and ports, the perfect (and moderate) sprinkling of rain in the winter months and in general, all this water, water everywhere.

And we mustn’t forget the tides. They affect so much—flooding parts of our freeways and cities at lower elevations after all—but they are beautiful nonetheless. I guess I’ve always considered the rise and fall of tides much like love; it’s a crashing wave sweeping in and overpowering everything beneath it at times, and yet, a wondrously slow, retreating roll at others, leaving remnants and bits (good and bad) in its wake. I wanted that tidal churn to serve as a backdrop to the romance between Maya Clery, the heroine of The Assignment, and her romantic lead, Dean Sova. Sure, they live in this watery area—but as I worked, I envisioned the rise and fall of tides as a sort of quiet echo of their budding romance and D/s dynamic. In some moments, it’s heavy and intense, a dance of sexual play between them. But at others, it can just as easily be a gentle caress or sweet, soft words they share.

Pulling it back to the craft level—while the two of them are actively engaged in their play together, I, too, am playing with my words. I love stories that ebb and flow, prose that draws you in and cocoons you in details rich enough to let you feel sensations as the characters do. It can be the smell of the salty air, the sound of the waves, the view of the crests rolling up on to a sandy shore—I want it to envelope you as deeply as the swell of their romance, or the anticipation and tension in their sexual encounters. This desire might be thanks to many years of writing poetry, which started as a way to address a gush of feelings I didn’t know how to say aloud. But with rhythm and pacing so important in verse, I found that when I’d immerse myself in writing a scene between Maya and Dean, the words had to dance for me like the couple did. Each action had a purpose, each snippet of dialogue had to further the connection, and every movement needed to flow into one cohesive whole. No scene can be a mass of prose, or all dialogue, just as it can’t be a repetition of short staccato sentences or excessively long ones. They must work together, dance together, as if swirling around to create a symphony of expression.

I am continually learning and growing as I write more and more. Hell, just through the course of the entire Lessons in Control series, I’ve found myself challenging and morphing how I write, playing with patterns, words, and styles. But no matter how I change it up, I like to hold on to a lyrical feel in the moments I can. Erotica is, after all, focused on a sexy, smooth act—and I like the words to follow a similar course.

All right. That’s enough technique mumbo jumbo for one day, don’t you think? I might have gotten a little swept away. 😉 But, since I’ve mentioned all the poetry, I’d like to wrap up with “Earth,” something I’ve posted in the past on my poetry site. This particular poem was inspired when I took a jog along a coastline near my house (much like the heroine of The Assignment, Maya Clery, often does). I kept envisioning a scene near the end of the book that she shares with Dean beneath the rain and on the coastline. It’s a highly emotional scene—one of my favorites, actually—and somehow this poem popped out in their honor. If I could build a poetry-track rather than a soundtrack for The Assignment, “Earth” would definitely kick off the album:


We lie here, together
One with this earth
Bodies writhing,
Chests pressed
Arms stretching in soil,
We seek to grab anything,
Clawing into ground.
Muddied and sore,
Our fingers lace, tight—
Mine are yours
Yours are mine
And your kisses
Take my cheeks, my lips,
Shocking like raindrops
That tumble down from
The murky sky.

As we fuck, the dirt
Spreads, surrounds,
Hugs the grind of our hips
The arch of my back,
The dig of my heels
On this sandy shore.
Ours are desperate groans
That sway and hum;
They are the sweep of waves
Filling the universe
With an infinite, noisy lust.
For this, we press on,
Our hunger that of the dirtied—
Wanting, bearing down;
Together in this soil
We are one.

There is a tremor
A cry that fills our ears,
Rattles our souls
And we shudder in this caress.
This is closeness,
But our need is harder,
Sweaty and raw
We are lost
In this feral clutch,
Longing to be closer
To be deeper, and part
Of the very earth
On which we grind.

I hope you have enjoyed both “Earth” and my musings on flow today. You’ll find much of the watery life in The Assignment, as well as later books in the Lessons in Control series, and while that certainly isn’t the focus of the story, I do hope it’ll sweep you in and that you’ll catch yourself floating alongside their relationship as you follow their tale.

Until then, happy reading to all, and a tremendous thank you to F. Leonora for hosting me today!



Jade A. Waters is an erotica author and poetess in sunny California. A lover of candy, coffee, dancing, and endless karaoke, she is happiest when surrounded by words—be they on the page or shared in good conversation. Her short fiction and poetry is featured in over a dozen anthologies from Cleis Press and Stupid Fish Productions, and currently, Jade is hard at work on the next book in the Lessons in Control series from Carina Press. Visit her at, or follow her at

Guest Blogger KD Grace Tells Us What It Feels Like…

I am literally gushing! I love hosting my friends, and I am gushing all over K D Grace right now! I met her when I attended my first Eroticon, and she was so lovely and gracious. I developed a friendship with her, and it is something I really treasure because I admire her so much. Between two continents, we have managed to stay in constant contact. So when she comes out with a book she wants to promote? I am onboard because she is my friend, and because she has the chops! She is so prolific, and The Tutor demonstrates that–let KD tell you all about it!!!

What Does it Feel Like?
That must have felt amazing! I can’t imagine how that felt! I wonder what that felt like? Oooh! That couldn’t have felt very good! Did you feel that? What does it feel like? How many times have we asked someone, that big F question? We don’t usually mean what does something physically feel like, when we use one of the F phrases. Most of the time any of the “feel like” phrases means we want that experience, we want to understand, to empathize, to share it, to let someone know we get their experience and if we don’t, at least we’d like to try.
The feeling phrases are connecting phrases, they’re a mode in which we commiserate with the rest of the human race, they’re a chance to be more intimate with each other. In a lot of ways they’re like the secret password that gets us into “Club Human.” We seldom think of them in terms of true physicality, though when something is physical, we tend to think of it as far more real than when it’s just a nebulous idea or emotion that “touches us.”
And when the feeling, the touching words are meant in a physical way, the somehow seem more intimate. Physical touch isn’t just for anyone, it’s for people we trust, people we know a little better, people we might want to know a whole lot better. But what happens when two people who are attracted to each other can’t actually touch? Can they still find a way to be intimate? What exactly is intimacy anyway, and is it really dependent on being able to touch each other physically? I wanted to explore the elements of intimacy in my novel, The Tutor. How much of what binds us to someone and what makes us close depends on being able to physically touch?

In my novel The Tutor, I wanted to explore what it feels like when someone can’t feel, in the literal sense of the word. Renowned, but reclusive, sculptor Alexander “Lex” Valentine, is extremely haphephobic. Since the car accident that took his mother’s life when he was a child and nearly took his as well, he had been unable to tolerate the touch of another human being, nor is he able to touch anyone himself. To do so causes a severe physical reaction. Lex lives in a world of forced isolation for his own protection.
Enter Kelly Blake – struggling novelist moonlighting as a sex tutor, who has a completely hands-off policy with her clients. Kelly is just what Lex needs, and when the two meet, the sparks fly. But is it possible intimacy to develop and love to grow when two people can’t touch each other?
When physical touch is impossible, intimacy may become a powerful work of art or a devastating nightmare—but, above all, it’s an act of trust.
Here is a little excerpt.



What Does it Feel Like?
“Look I don’t expect you to deal with what a fucked up mess I am. I realized that what I really want to know is what it feels like, what you feel like, what any woman feels like when she’s with a man, or even when she touches herself, and I have no one I would feel comfortable asking without wondering the whole time if they thought that by my asking I had given them permission to try and fix me. Does that make any sense?”
She had little time to do more than nod before he continued. “Oh I’ve watched enough porn that I get that it feels really good. I’ve read enough erotica to get some picture of how it’s supposed to be, but my take on it’s always one-sided,” he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers as though to demonstrate. “I can’t know anything but my own touch, certainly I can’t feel anything else, so I want you to tell me. I want you to answer my questions. I want you to tell me what I would feel if I touched you, what you would feel if I touched you. As for what I would feel if you touched me, well,” he shrugged and offered her a smile that seemed slightly forced, “for that I’ll just have to use my imagination.”
She took a deep breath, as though she were about to dive under water. “Okay, well, I’ll start with my lips because lovers often start there. I would have made sure they were moist for you before you kissed them, but not so wet as to be off-putting, and you would have done the same. And your first kisses would be tentative, if you’re really good, almost like a feather lighting against my mouth softly and repeatedly until I’m breathless for the want of more; and then I would part my lips to give you more surface area so that we could feel each other better.” She chuckled softly as she realized they’d both raised their fingers to their mouths. “And then we would both press harder and rub harder. The more surface area we touched the more we’d want and, I think lips swell, not just from the pressure, but in an effort to create that surface area, and when they can swell no more, when I feel like I want to completely take my lover into my mouth, then I would open to him and there would be a whole new surface area, wet and slick and warm, there would be a whole new motion when our tongues discover each other. I think a kiss reflects what happens in penetrative sex. It’s sort of an intimation, if you will,” her gaze locked on him, and for the first time she noticed just how blue his eyes were, “a promise of things to come.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’ve thought of that in my art. I’ve thought of the interchange we make with mouths and cocks and vaginas.” He struggles with the last word
“It’s okay to call it a pussy or a cunt or whatever works for you.” She said.
He laughed softly. “How the hell would I know?”
“Well,” she stretched out on the countertop and rolled onto her side, resting her head on her hand. “you just have to try them out and see how they fit your mouth.”
This time they both laughed. “If they fit my mouth, I wouldn’t have to worry about what words I used, would I?”
“Good point,” she said.
“Not quite, but getting there fast, thank you.” Again, they both laughed, a strangely relaxed laugh under the bizarre circumstances.
“The thing is,” she said, rolling onto her back and staring up at the long rack of copper bottom pans above her head, “words are often as important in sex, and as erotic, as touch. I write in my other life, and I find that while some of my characters get turned on by waxing poetic between the sheets, others get hot by talking dirty.”
“How does your cunt feel when some fucker talks dirty to you,” he said, though not without a hearty blush.
“That would depend on the fucker and the circumstances and how badly I wanted to ride his cock.”
“And if it was a fucker whose cock you really wanted to ride, a fucker who was hard and heavy for you? What words would he use, and what response would he elicit?
“It wouldn’t hurt for him to observe out loud what he sees about my body’s state of arousal, and how he admires it.”
“You mean like how lovely your breasts are when your nipples are so taut that even your areola are visible through that shirt, which I imagine feels like a caress every time you inhale. You mean like the way your lips are parted and moist. You’ve not completely shut your mouth for the past five minutes, the way you rock your hips, almost but not quite secretly, and grind you bottom against the countertop. Is that what you mean?”
“Jesus! We shouldn’t be doing this.” She sat bolt upright on the surface and then froze as though someone had hit the pause button. “Alex?”
The man perched on the edge of the counter, just far enough away that she couldn’t easily touch him. He had kicked his shoes off and his own nipples peaked to bullet points through his white polo shirt. That would have been enough to hold her attention indefinitely had it not been for the heel of his hand stroking the very obvious, very anxious erection through his jeans.
It was all right. It was fine, she told herself. She’d had more than a few occasions where her job involved watching and coaching someone while they masturbated. This was just her job. That’s all.
“It’s more obvious with me what I feel,” he said, raking her body with a hooded gaze. “And your nipples, well you could just be cold. Please tell me what you feel when you see me like this, when we talk like this.”
She moved to the edge of the counter giving him space, then motioned him onto it and she opened her leg. “If I weren’t wearing trousers, if you could see my panties, you’d know that I’m wet.” She nodded to his erection. “You’d know that the thought of what you’re doing, the sight of how your body is responding to mine, is making me wetter.” She cupped her breasts in turn, through the white blouse. “Every part of me feels heavy, Alex. My breasts feel like my bra can no longer contain them. My nipples ache. And my lips,” she touched her mouth, and then, holding his gaze, moved her hand down to rest on the crotch of her trousers. “My lips are swollen, so swollen and slippery and ready to be penetrated.” She nodded first to his mouth and then to his erection. “Do I want the fucker to give it to me hard and deep in my cunt? What do you think?”
“Oh God,” he managed. Then he stopped talking altogether. His breath came in tight little grunts and gasps as he moved against his hand, holding her in his gaze as surely as if he held her in his embrace; and it was in that instant, the instant she slid her hand down the front of her trousers and into her panties an action he mirrored, that she knew neither of them would make it out of here intact. She wanted to run, but she didn’t. She wanted to take off her clothes and feel his gaze all over her body, but she didn’t. She wanted to demand that he strip for her, that he come just for her eyes, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She could only cup and grope her breasts until they hurt. She could only stroke herself while she watched him do the same.
The space around them crackled with their energy, and their desperate efforts to breathe were the only sounds beyond the stroke of skin against fabric. In a hungry attempt at relief, they both rocked and bucked, mirror images of each other with one hand down the front of their trousers while the other groped and cupped and tweaked and pinched whatever part of their anatomy it came in contact with. Then breathing stopped, time stopped. Everything around them disappeared until they saw nothing but each other, locked in each other’s gaze, more physical than any embrace Kelly had ever felt, and it was enough. Heaven help them, it was enough. He came first by a split second, roaring like a wounded lion, arching back until she feared he’d either break his neck or fall off the counter. But the sight of him so vulnerable in his passion, the fact that even in his release, he kept his eyes on her was all she could handle, and she convulsed against her own hand, convulsed as though she would break apart, never taking her eyes off him, never breaking that connection.


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About K D Grace/Grace Marshall

Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked coast to coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also working out at the gym – she has a thing for kettle bells —  reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.

K D has erotica published with Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Sweetmeats Press and others.

K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, To Rome with Lust, and The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.

K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition, Interviewing Wade are all available.

Find K D Here:

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Guest Blogger Adrea Kore Flashes Us Today!!!

Social media is often criticized, but it is through it that I met my guest and friend, Adrea Kore. Adrea is luminous, and the first person I have known to do a right on American accent! She is a brilliant, brilliant writer of all forms–and today she is going to flash us! I mean prep us all to enjoy the art of flash fiction. Get comfortable, and savor every word of hers…

I’m delighted to be here with F. Leonora, as her guest blogger. As a regular contributor to her Friday Flash monthly meme, I want to share some thoughts on the short-short story or “flash.” Sometimes also referred to as micro-fiction, flash fiction is the quickie of erotica.

I started writing seriously, and getting published, in the erotica genre in late 2012 – so I still feel like a relative newcomer. My very first story accepted for paid publication was actually flash fiction – on a femme-porn and erotica site called For the Girls. Then Go Deeper Press accepted Dangerous Curves for their flash fiction anthology, Dirty Little Numbers. dirtylittlenos_cover2Of the twenty or so paid story publications in anthologies and online since then, about a quarter of them have been for my flash fiction. A fan of both short stories and poetry from way back when I was in pigtails, it’s no surprise that I succumbed to the allure of “flashing” as soon as I discovered that such a thing existed.

Although length definitions differ for flash fiction, most publications seem to opt for 500 words as the maximum word-count. Some insist on even leaner stories, cinching in the word limit at 200 or even 100 words.

The practice of writing flash fiction, with the restraints of that svelte word-limit, can hone your powers of description and storytelling in wonderful ways. Each word has to work harder to convey meaning and emotion – which inevitably makes us better writers when we return to longer fiction. Whether on the page or in the boudoir, it seems I’m definitely into restraint.

The more flash fiction I read, the more incredible variations I see in style, expression and tone. A lot can happen in five hundred words. The form seems to deftly distill a writer’s style and voice, so that the reader may experience it more vividly.

Flash fiction is a tablet and mobile-friendly fiction, a way to showcase your style to your readers, which is also why I’d recommend giving flashing a go and getting some on your blog or website. It’s fiction for the nomadic, distracted population with truncated attention spans that we have supposedly become. That said, as a reader, I approach them more like poems, preferring focused time to contemplate them. Writer Vanessa Gebbie describes them as “a flash of narrative lit up, then extinguished,” but also stresses that a good flash is “never incomplete.”

I’ve observed that a compelling flash embodies elements of both poetry and film.

Like a film, it may show the reader crucial narrative “beats,” as quick cuts from one image to the next in order to tell its story. These could be close-ups or wide shots, but not lingering or panning shots – you simply don’t have the luxury of wordiness and leisurely pacing for too much of the latter. The reader sees these images via a few crafted words and sentences before moving onto the next element, but the information lingers in the retina, the memory, gathering detail, momentum and meaning. Like a film, it may also utilize dialogue as a narrative device to progress the plot with fewer words than descriptive narrative.

Like a poem, flash fiction may harness imagery, word play and metaphor to convey narrative, subtext, and atmosphere in compressed form. Additionally, the use of poetic language allows for multiple layers of meaning, using the same cluster of words. This approach allows you to say and suggest far more than you may initially think is possible within that leaner number of words. Like a poem, pared-back language is desirable; part of revising drafts may be to eliminate excess words such as “the,” “and” and “now.”

I’m comfortable writing flash in the zone of 400 – 500 words. It’s amazing how much scope five-hundred words allows to create a story arc and some steamy erotic detail. A 200-word limit for me is like trying to make a luscious cake with only flour and water. Given a 100-word limit, I may as well (and more happily) be writing poetry. I’ll leave those shorter versions for more hardcore flashers. Give different word limits a try, and see what works for you.

I once read somewhere that the Chinese term for flash fiction translates as “the cigarette-long” story – something you can mull over on a cigarette break, taking about as long to read as it does to finish your smoke. As a non-smoker, and a lover of coffee, perhaps I’d rename it the espresso-long story.

Here are my tips for crafting compelling flash fiction. Like any “tips” list, they are not prescriptive, but rather intended to provoke thought; whether they work for you may depend on your style.

Work your verbs hard

Lazy, vague verbs such as “went” tend to immediately require adverbs to prop them up. Why write “He went quickly towards her,” when you can write “He careened into her?” Why write that your character “said” anything, when instead they can leer, whisper, insinuate, proposition? A specific verb can convey so much about a character – how they walk, talk and kiss. Sweat the verbs, and you’ll need less adverbs, and less words generally.

Choose adjectives like they’re gourmet chocolates


They’re expensive, so you want to choose the perfect ones with just the right flavors for your story. To choose too many will weigh your story down and make it too fat to fit the flash format.

Build atmosphere with quick shots of imagery and word-play

This is one of my favorite ways to write flash fiction – take your central themes and refract your imagery through the story, like different facets on a cut diamond. They’ll all sparkle in a slightly different way, but make the whole more dazzling. My latest flash, Hurdy-Gurdy Love, takes the carnival theme as a metaphor for a relationship and riffs on that in several layers. 

Start near the middle of your story, not the beginning.

I borrowed this one from flash fiction maestro David Gaffney. You don’t have space for preamble. Crash land the reader closer to the middle of the story in terms of action. You can make nimble references to backstory when necessary. See here for how that can be achieved.

Use dialogue to convey character and give narrative momentum

Some writers excel at using dialogue in this way. You could try writing a flash that is ninety-percent dialogue, if you’ve ever fancied yourself the screenwriting type. Or you can see how I use fragments of dialogue here, in Celluloid Dreams  to convey character, backstory and theme.

Maximise the function of your Title

Your title is a bonus few extra words for free, so make them count. Like a well-made poem, a flash title (the title of any work of art, really) can be employed to reveal another element of your story, or create the lure of a double meaning. I love a flash that, once read, has me returning to the title to ponder, and find something new.

The sentence fragment is your friend

One, two, three-word sentences seem right at home in micro-fiction. Micro-sentences. They can work well scattered through “proper sentences.” To convey fragmented perspective. Suspense. Movement, fast or slow. Futility. Finality. See, I’m doing it here, and it’s so much fun.

Pay special attention to the last line

David Gaffney beat me to it, but this tip probably shows up on all flash fiction craft articles. After readers devour your flash fiction, give them a final line that will linger in their senses; an aftertaste, an aroma that doesn’t make this a read they can easily forget.

Gaffney is firmly against flash fiction that deploys a punch line or last-minute gag ending, saying that a “story that gives itself up in the last line is no story at all, and after reading a piece of good micro-fiction we should be struggling to understand it, and, in this way, will grow to love it as a beautiful enigma.”

I agree, although I may have been guilty of writing at least one punch-line flash along the way. Sometimes, they are just fun, especially when the topic is playfully sexual.

Create some Negative Space

Just as if it were an abstract sculpture or a charcoal sketch, give your flash some negative space as part of its overall effect. One way you do this is to eliminate and pare back excess words, as I’ve mentioned. Another way is to play with ambiguity, or place some spaces in the narrative for the reader to enter. This is particularly effective, I believe, in erotic flash fiction. Let the reader catch a glimpse of themselves in a hotel room mirror. Let them recall that exquisite orgasm through your erotic detail of a mouth, a hand, a sensation. Vanessa Gebbie aptly surmises:

“A great piece of flash fiction creates a complete world in very few words, draws you in, and makes you complicit. You become the creator too, in partnership, filling in the gaps the writer leaves behind … And because it is, to some extent, ‘yours’, it has a lasting effect.”

There’s lots of great flash fiction available online to read, and I’ve provided a few links below. I love Leonora’s meme here , because as a writer I often respond well to an intriguing image as a prompt. If you’ve not done this before, give it a try. Writing a flash story can also be a good warm-up exercise after a writing dry spell, or to begin exploring an idea for a (longer) story.

So, take that spark of an idea, set that pen on fire and light up a little narrative with your own writerly brilliance.


Adrea Kore is a writer, poet, and developmental editor, focusing her lens on female sexuality and creative expression. Her erotic flash fiction, short stories and poetry have been published online and in numerous anthologies. Most recently, her poem “Made in Darkness” landed in Lustily Ever After, erotic re-tellings of myth and fairytale. 


Adrea enjoys being distracted from her long-term writing projects by short term pleasures such as this article. She collects corsets and antique tea-cups. Find her wearing one and sipping from the other here, and browse her flash fiction gallery from the menu.

Look out for her sexy story “Dance for Me,” featured in the newly-released erotic anthology For the Men: And the Women who Love Them (edited by Rose Caraway). Available on Amazon, Smashwords, iBooks and coming soon in audio-book format. 

Read Adrea’s latest post about her story in the anthology here.


Craft Articles

David Gaffney

Vanessa Gebbie 

Online Sites / Journals for Flash Fiction

Erotica Readers & Writers Association 

Malin James 

Flash Fiction 

Matter Press 

Guest Blogger Mrs. Darling on Exhibitionism and More!!!

I met Mrs. Darling at BDSM Writers Con last year, where I was dazzled by her retro style and am BEYOND thrilled to have her as my guest today with her new book! Read on to discover how it all came together for her!

Three years ago, I awoke in the middle of the night and felt like crawling out of my skin. It was the evening after a BDSM lifestyle event, not much different than any I have attended over the years. But something I was asked that evening, was like a splinter stuck in my brain keeping me from peace. At some point during the easygoing conversations amongst friends and strangers, a question came to my Dominant and I. It was a question that kept coming up over and over again. 

People wanted to know about our transition from a vanilla egalitarian marriage, to the one we lived in at the time. We lived 24/7 TPE D/s (which means full time, all day, in and out of the bedroom, Dominance and submission). Our new marriage was so inherently different than our “old” one.

“How did it all start?” I was asked over and over again.

We gave a simple explanation as always: we were unhappy in our non-kink relationship. One of us brought the idea of BDSM up, and together we began researching  and educating ourselves, practicing power exchange in the bedroom first, etc. Every time we told the story my husband (referenced in my non-fiction writing as Mister or MR), clasped my hand tight to slow my rising pulse and comforted me in the invisible way only those closely connected can communicate. 

This story, the real and rich deep down story, circled around the worst time in my life. Every time it came up I walked down a path filled with sorrow and tears, all while smiling and speaking with a forced politeness. I looked forward to the drive home so I could sit in silence and let the tears fall, feeling alone and ashamed and afraid of anybody learning the heartbreaking path that was actually “How did it all start?”

It started as catharsis. 

So in moonlight after another evening of mournful recollection, with a silent house asleep around me, I pulled out my laptop, turned on some tunes and started writing. I wrote it out; wrote it all. The bad. The worse. His mistakes. Mine as well. I wrote of struggling to see the silver lining. I wrote out my anger in knowing for so long that I wanted BDSM and submission to be a part of my life, but feeling like I was a damaged person for wanting it. I wrote of my husband’s struggle in his path as a Dominant. I wrote about fucking, I wrote about fucking up, I wrote about fucking around. I wrote about our developing SM play. 

I wrote for a year. In the middle of the night, in the early morning over coffee with my children’s cartoons playing in the background and during their nap time. Some of my hobbies went on the shelf, to make room for writing time. It consumed me.

I wanted to cut this story out of my system. I wanted control back of our beginning. I wanted to confront my emotions head on for the first time since living the experience.

See, the truest story about “How did it all start?” for us in Dominance and submission is the basic story of the phoenix. The Mister and I, the “old us,” had crashed and burned. We were entirely broken, had died emotionally, and had no other choice but to help first ourselves and then each other rise from the ashes. It was so… incredibly… painful.

Writing it out freed me from the pain. Submission though, submission is what allowed me to fly again. When I became a submissive I began journaling my path. I wrote my private journal and shared it online, in a public forum and quickly fell in love with the kindness, support and camaraderie I received from the BDSM community. I waded through submission and there were others who had walked similar paths, and encouraged me along the way. I always have simply written from my heart. 

I almost exclusively wrote non-fiction about our experience in kink, about our 1950s household, about our bedroom affairs. I’m not one to craft a character or storyline; any attempt comes up flat. People seem drawn to my authenticity. One of my friends once wrote in comment to a very personal journal, “You’ve got this wonderful ability to suck the reader in, put them in your shoes, and then drop them on the other side feeling awed to have gotten a glimpse.” All of a sudden it clicked for me. 

I am an emotional exhibitionist. 

It manifests itself by way of creative non-fiction. 

Darling Discovered: A True Story of Submission is an encapsulation of the two. 

This book that I wrote over the course of three years gave me exactly what I needed. It is a way for me to both expose my weakness to the world, ensuring that it can never jump up on me again, but also give me power over the story told. While writing Darling Discovered, I probably shed as many tears telling the story as I did living it. I laughed, I lost sleep over it, I re-lived the tale. Creative non-fiction, which presents real, accurate information in a fictional literary style, gave me both the structure I needed to once and for all answer, “How did this all start?” and the literary freedom to expose my soul to the reader. 

The happenings happened, sure. 

But when you can accurately articulate things like self consciousness. Ecstasy. Rage. Remorse. Anticipation. And not just articulate the guess of those raw emotions but write from actually living the situation described, well, it lends the story an authenticity that I personally find hard to duplicate. In the end it leaves the reader as the voyeur in this true story of starting submission. Even for those not interested in kink or BDSM, this is a tale of self-acceptance, self-awareness and of learning to love the imperfect version of ourselves. 

I am grateful for that night years ago when I was asked, “So, how did you go from there to here?” It gave me the courage to answer it openly and honestly, once and for all.

I am finally free. 
Darling Discovered: A True Story of Submission won in the non-fiction category at 2015 BDSM Writer’s Con and was published June 2016. It is available in print and all ebook formats at major retailers. for more information.

A special thank you to F. Leonora Solomon for hosting this guest post onto her lovely website,

Mrs. Darling is the lady of a Modern Day 1950’s M/s Household. She is a regular contributor for and her work can be seen elsewhere online.

Guest Blogger Exposing 40 Exposes All for the Camera!!!

It makes me sad that my elegant friend Exposing 40 lives so far away. I got to spend a few days with her while I was abroad, and even though we talk all the time virtually there is nothing like the real thing. She is amazing! She gave me this stunning guest post, that I now I get to share it with you…

Coming for the Camera

Lovers have photographed me. I have leant back on their cocks, as they pushed up my skirt to let the camera get a better view of my cunt. I have leaned forward as they grabbed my tits in their hands and clicked the shutter. I have looked into the lens, and met its eye as I sucked their cocks. But until you I had never fucked myself for the camera of a man who wasn’t my lover. 

I am an exhibitionist. For as long as I can remember the fantasies that make me come are the ones where I am being watched. And not ones where I am being watched by a secret voyeur, but ones where I am performing – on stage, in a shop window, to neighbors I know are watching…

I knew I would come for you. Even when I was still finding my confidence in the evening, relaxing with my first glass of wine, I knew I would masturbate for you. For your camera. I was surprised when I lay on my bed and slipped my fingers under the fabric of my knickers to find my cunt already wet. Very wet. I hadn’t even been conscious of getting turned on.

As I write this I can feel my cunt pulsing at the memory…

Is your cock twitching now?  

Can you feel it starting to strain against your jeans as you remember me circling my clit with my fingers beneath the lace of my knickers, my breath quickening? Did your cock press against your jeans that night as you pulled my knickers down to my ankles so your camera could get a better view of my cunt. So you could get a better view of my cunt. 

I felt you close at one point. My eyes were closed, but I felt your camera so close it was almost touched me. My hips bucked, my cunt reached up to your camera, as if it were reaching up to greet a cock. As turned on by a camera as I am by a cock.

You fucked me with my glass dildo. Hard. It hurt, but felt good, I wanted it to stop, I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted you to keep fucking me with the dildo. I wanted you to keep photographing me. I fucked myself with the dildo for your camera. I came quickly.  

Later on the sofa you moved around me, you dropped back to the doorway, you photographed from above, you stopped and watched. At one point I opened my eyes and you were lying on the floor, leant back on your elbows, a quiet smile playing on your lips. You looked content. That turned me on more. I wanted to see that look again. 

You moved behind me. You went quiet. I heard the gentle unmistakable sounds of you masturbating. I looked up and caught your eye. I kept masturbating but my mind is racing – I wanted to stop and watch you, I wanted to watch and come as I watched, I wanted you in my mouth. Then the taste of you was on my lips. I came again.


Please be sure to leave comments about how sexy and eloquent this post is–I am trying to get the lady to write a TON more!!! 

photo via Exposing 40