Category Archives: guest blogger

Super Duper Guest Blogger Oleander Plume Brings Superstar Horatio Slice to Us in a Flash!!!

Horatio Slice is hot af! *Fans* When Oleander Plume asked me to be part of his blog tour, I was a groupie just like anybody else! And she wrote a sexy flash for me which I am going to post here, and at my Friday Flash blog. Oleander and Horatio are just badass like that, gotta spread the love!!!

 

It’s only rock and roll but I like it…

When I see his name on my calendar, I cringe. Horatio Slice. Just the name sets my teeth on edge. According to my editor, Patty Shane, this interview is top priority.

“Like him or not, the kid sells,” Patty says, “Have you seen the proofs of the cover photos? Sweet Jesus on the cross, Caleb, if I had a uterus, I would fill it with his baby.”

“Why the fuck do I have to meet with him in person? No one does that any more. I interviewed Bono over the phone just last week.”

Horatio Slice, Patty informs me, hates talking on the phone, something about a fear of being misquoted, which I think is bullshit. But, Patty signs my checks and I like to eat, so I reluctantly agree to meet with this new era rock god in his hotel room.

I think I’m prepared, until he answers the door. The dude is huge. Linebacker huge. He smiles and sticks out a hand.

“Wow, Caleb Wallace from Rolling Stone magazine, I feel like I’m dreaming, man.”

I don’t like the firm way he shakes my hand while staring into my eyes. It’s unnerving. The fucker. No one should be that good looking.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mumble, feeling like a dick when I notice the hurt expression on his face. “I mean, you’re probably sick of talking to reporters, right?”

The smile returns. “Yeah, maybe a little, but I can’t wait to talk to you. You’re Caleb Wallace.”

By now I’m thinking the kid is a little stoned. I follow him inside, and we both take a seat in the living room of his fancy suite. I set my mini tape recorder on the coffee table and press record.

“So, Horatio Slice, how goes the tour?”

“Amazing. Happy to be in New York, my home base.” He flips that long hair out of his eyes. “Hey, would you like a beer or something?” A glance at my recorder. “Sorry. You can edit that out, right?”

Yup. Stoned. “No worries,” I say with a force smile. “I understand you’re quite the sex symbol. What’s that like?” Glancing around the suite, I don’t see what I expect, namely women’s panties draped over every available surface.

His expression tightens. “I don’t consider myself a sex symbol. Just a musician.”

“Come on, dish me some dirt, Horatio. Strictly off the record.” He just stares at me. “I’m an old man, kid, let me live vicariously through you.”

After a long sigh, he says, “I thought you’d be different. I thought you’d want to talk about the music.”

The music. That’s the reason I became a rock journalist in the first place. When did I turn into such a jaded prick? “Let’s start over,” I say, rewinding the tape. “Let’s talk about the music.”

And we do. Minutes turn to hours. One beer turns into four. The conversation drifts from sixties acid rock to nineties grunge and all points in between. Somehow, we end up sitting next to each other on the couch. His knee touches mine and my balls tighten.

This is why I balked at the interview, I realize. I knew I’d want him, knew I’d want to touch those firm muscles and stroke that olive skin. Slide that zipper down and suck and suck and suck. Even at 40, I’m in shape, attractive even, but this guy is way out of my league.

And I hate accepting that.

But a few whiskey shots later, my dick tells my brain to fuck off. Something about the way he’s looking at me – lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded – makes me think he won’t mind if I slowly slide my fingers over his bulge.

“I want to suck it,” I say, enjoying the way his dick hardens beneath my touch.

“This is, like, the best interview ever,” he says.

The rumors are true. Horatio Slice has a behemoth between his legs. Erect and majestic. I lick the crown and the taste of him goes right to my head. Now starving for cock, I swallow that beast and suck with all I’m worth.

He likes to talk dirty. “Suck me with that hot mouth,” he says, fingers gently playing with my hair. “Then, I’ll blow you until you come. Or maybe I’ll let you fuck me. Would you like to fuck me?”

Like he even needs to ask.

Yes, you now have an all access pass to Oleander Plume's AMAZING new novel, with my friends at Go Deeper Press! I know I want a slice of Horatio Slice…sigh…

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To Have…Guest Blogger Malin James Talk About Roadhouse Blues!!!

Malin James is a special friend, and as far as I am concerned (and as I tweeted yesterday), she is the gold standard as a writer, and more importantly as a human. I am honored to have her as my guest today, with a decadent post after my own heart to promote her new collection, Roadhouse Blues, with Go Deeper Press!!!


Thank you so much for having me, Ms. F! It’s a privilege and honor to be here! 

My collection of linked short stories, Roadhouse Blues, came out this week with Go Deeper Press, but I didn’t want to do a standard Please Buy My Book!!! promo post, (though if you’re at all inclined to by my book, please do – you won’t hear me complain). Don’t get me wrong, I’m damn proud of the collection, but I wanted to talk about it in a different way—one that taps into some of the aesthetics Ms. F and I share. So. Let’s talk about noir.

I love noir and classic films. I always wanted to include a noir story in Roadhouse Blues, but I wasn’t quite sure how or where a story like that would fit. Roadhouse Blues is set in Styx, a blue-collar, truck stop town in the middle of nowhere. It’s dusty and oppressive and the most glamorous thing around is the tabloid rack at the local Pak ‘n Buy. It’s about as far from a gritty urban jungle full of hard-nosed men and glossy, sinister dames as you can get.

I was about ten stories into drafting the collection and had pretty much decided to save the smoky, Sam Spade feeling for a different collection, when I started writing what would become the title story, “Roadhouse Blues.”

Roadhouse Blues” is one of a handful of stories set in Rowdy’s Roadhouse, the only strip club for miles. Mick, the protagonist, tends bar and keeps a general eye on things. At the start of the story, he’s getting over a messy divorce and has pretty much vowed never to get involved with anyone ever again, but that doesn’t mean he can’t text (and maybe sext) with a woman named Jett, whom he met on a classic film forum online. But when Jett comes to the roadhouse late one night, she upends Mick’s lonely intentions.

Jett is sultry and sassy and damn, can she crack wise. The woman walks around like she was filmed in black and white, but under the Lauren Bacall glamour, she needs to get away from a life that isn’t working, so she runs to the middle of nowhere, straight into Mick.

As soon as Mick saw her standing in the doorway, I knew I had my film noir story. A beautiful woman with a mysterious past, a good man worn down by life…. So, I stayed with it until it became clear that the whole point of the story was to get Mick from “of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine” to “here’s looking at you kid”. It just took a little rough sex to get him there.

While there are no crimes or gangsters or dead bodies in an alley, there’s a lot going on in “Roadhouse Blues” that directly references or pays homage to noir and classic film—the damaged characters with difficult pasts, the spikey chemistry, and yes, rough sex. More than anything, the rough sex. 

In a lot of noir and classic film, sex is a fade to black thing, but there are plenty of women getting slapped or dragged around in an implied sexual context. In the film and fiction from the ‘30’s, ‘40’s and 50’s, casual violence towards women is a window into the attitudes of the early 20th century. It’s an interesting historical snapshot, but not something I wanted to sexualize or glamorize in an erotic story in the 21st. Which is why I wrote the sex scene in “Roadhouse Blues” the way I did. As opposed to the standard trope of the femme fatale getting punished by a dominant man, Mick and Jett unequivocal equals—equals who just happen to want to slap each other around.

I like rough sex. I like it a lot, but only with the right partner. The chemistry has to be right for that kind of dynamic to work. Happily, the chemistry between Mick and Jett was right. I wanted to let consensual violence play out between two strong people, but if I was going to do that, it was important to establish the fact that they were meeting on equal ground. Mick spanks Jett, Jett decks Mick, but they do it in a way that is actively consensual, which let me dig into the dynamic to find the sweetness in the rough. I wanted to give the reader the sense that the night they spend together is full of joy for them.

Mick and Jett have a rare kind of chemistry. They naturally communicate through short hand, like the dialogue in To Have and Have Not or Double Indemnity. Because the connection they have is instinctual and highly tuned, they are able to do things that, with a different partner, would be off the table. Jett holds her own, and Mick trusts her to voice her boundaries. Jett, in turn, trusts Mick to respect them, which he instantly does. It’s an ideal version of how a dynamic like this could play out with two well-paired equals.

Unlike in noir films, when a man slaps a woman and sends her sprawling before a fade to black, Jett gives as good as she gets, and Mick falls for her because of it. I wanted to see how their dynamic would play out, especially with the ghost of black and white film underpinning the story. I wanted to see what would happen if Bogart and Bacall got a little rough with each other while they were falling in love. I didn’t think I’d have a chance to do that in this collection, but Mick and Jett surprised me, and I’m glad they did.

 

To read an excerpt from the story, “Roadhouse Blues” click here.

Are you swooning like me? Want more Malin? I am so happy to be part of her blog tour–here are the links to the rest of it!

The Go Deeper Press Launch Post

Interview with Xan West

Interview with Emmanuelle de Maupassant 

Review by Ella Dawson

Interview with Jade A. Waters

Review by Jo Henny Wolf

 

 

 

 

Guest Blogger Coffee and Kink Gives Us Smut-A-Thon!!!

I met Amy (Coffee and Kink), at Eroticon and I can tell you she does loves coffee and she is cute as a button in kitty ears! She is also ridiculously smart, and community conscious so when she came up with Smut-a-thon, I knew I wanted to support her. She is much better versed to discuss the nuts and bolts of this than me, so here she is!!!

We’re in the last few days before Smutathon 2017, and it’s Donation Drive time! Leonora has very kindly agreed to let me take over her blog briefly to tell you all about our sexy fundraiser. 

Sometimes, I have ideas in the middle of the night. They’re often fleeting and gone just as quickly as I realize they haven’t got the legs to work, or I haven’t got the time/energy/inclination to get them off the ground. Sometimes, though, an idea or a thought or a potential project grabs me by the heart, and won’t quite let me go until I put it into action. Starting a sex blog was one such idea. So was Smutathon.

 

Charities have always been important to me in both my personal and professional life, and I’ve been wanting to do something to give back to amazing pro-sex, anti-sexual-violence causes for ages. My first few ideas didn’t really take hold, but after I met my tribe (link: http://coffeeandkink.me/uncategorized/ten-things-i-took-home-from-eroticon/) at Eroticon, it suddenly came to me: a sponsored sex-writing marathon!


 

So what is Smutathon?

 

Smutathon is a 12-hour, intensive sex writing challenge. We will get together (some of us in person, some participating virtually from far-flung locations) on Saturday 1 July, and WRITE LIKE MAD THINGS from noon to midnight. Everyone has their own individual target and we’re asking our friends, readers and supporters to sponsor us as we try to hit them. Some of us are going to share our works-in-progress on our blogs, and we will all be tweeting along at #Smutathon2017.

 

What’s the charity? 

We’re splitting the money we raise equally between two amazing organizations:

1) Backlash UK: Backlash campaigns for sexual freedom for consenting adults and provides legal support for sexual minorities who are unfairly targeted by outdated and nonsensical “obscenity” laws. Among other things, they have been responsible for getting the ridiculous “tiger porn case” (look it up) struck down, and for campaigning to get amendments added to the Digital Economy Bill to make it less harmful to consenting adults engaging in safe and victimless fringe sexual practices. Pandora Blake and Myles Jackman are advocates, and key figures in Backlash’s work. 

2) Rape Crisis England & Wales: Stats suggest – conservatively – that 1 in 4 women and around 1 in 10 men will experience rape, assault or other form of sexual violence in their life. Rape Crisis is a feminist organization, that exists to promote the needs and rights of women and girls who have experienced sexual violence, to improve services to them and to work towards the elimination of sexual violence. Rape Crisis Centers are women-led, and offer a range of support, advocacy, counseling and information, and also have separate services for male survivors.

 

Why? 

The short answer: because freedom of sexual expression and freedom from sexual violence are human rights which are constantly under threat.

 

The long answer: Here. (Trigger warning for rape and intimate partner abuse.)

I want to get involved! What can I do?

If you’re a writer or budding writer, join us on the day! All you need to do is set yourself a target, put aside the time between noon and midnight on Saturday 1 July, and write, write, write! Don’t forget to share, and ask your friends and followers to sponsor you! If you let me know you’re taking part (DM @CoffeeAndKink on Twitter or email coffeeandkink69 (at) gmail (dot) com, I’ll add you into the group participants’ chat. 

Otherwise, please sponsor us! We’ve had gifts ranging from £5 to £100, and every single penny really does make a difference, so please do chip in whatever you can afford. Our JustGiving page is here

 You can also support us while buying quality sex toys by purchasing from My Delicate Touch, who have kindly sponsored Smutathon, and are giving 50% of profits from selected products to the fund. They also designed our beautiful graphics, some of which are included in this post.

Thank you for your support!


 

 

 

 

 

Biog:

Coffee & Kink (also known as Amy) is the alter-ego of a twenty-something queer British girl usually spotted bouncing around in kitty ears and drinking something caffeinated. She is a fiction writer, toy reviewer, sex geek, and an advocate for consent culture and pleasure-focused sex and relationships education. She blogs at http://coffeeandkink.me, tweets at @CoffeeAndKink, and can be supported at http://patreon.com/coffeeandkink.

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!

 

bottle

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

core

you reach in so deep where you

touch

i cannot quench myself

i need you all of you to slip

into me like i am the

bottle that contains you as a

genie

you are magic

hidden as a mist but

everywhere upon

me

 

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.

 

Fans.

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:

EARTH

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
Earth-shattering
A cry that fills our ears,
Rattles our souls
And we shudder in this caress.
This is closeness,
Us
But our need is harder,
Heavier,
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!

XX,

Jade

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 http://jadeawaters.com, or follow her at http://twitter.com/jadeawaters.

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.

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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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Buy The Tutor Now!!!

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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:

Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/

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