Category Archives: guest blogger

Meet Guest Blogger Anna Sky!

I am sooooooo happy to have the effortlessly sexy Anna Sky on my blog, and even more happy to be book buddies with her in the recently released, Spy Games. In addition to being terribly sexy, she is incredibly smart and savvy about the craft–read for yourself!

 

 Thank you to the wonderful F. Leonora for inviting me on to her blog today. We’re book buddies in ‘Spy Games’ and I’m constantly bowled away by her infectious enthusiasm and eye for art, photography and writing. Sometimes it’s hard to tear myself away from her Twitter feed!

Talking of Twitter, I describe myself on my Twitter bio as “Corset lover. Tea drinker. Kinky Brit. Published Erotica Writer. Sex Positive Equalist” and I think it sums me up pretty well.

I started writing erotica about the same time as I started exploring my kink side and I see the two things as very closely linked. There is a difference between writing real-life erotica and fictional erotica and it’s taken me a little bit of time to tease out some of the details.

With fiction, I think there’s always an element of autobiography; sometimes it makes a fleeting appearance, other times it’s more obvious. It could be the way something made you feel, a snippet of conversation you overheard or simply using someone you know as inspiration for a character. However, unless someone knows you personally, it’s usually a hidden facet within your writing.

Writing about your sex-life however, there’s nowhere to hide. Every detail that you include is you, and it’s an incredibly vulnerable feeling. It’s also in a lot of ways more honest.

In erotica, you can go where you like, do what (or who!) you like and can exaggerate to the nth degree. As long as whatever you write about is authentic, then you have free rein. I don’t think there’s anything worse than reading a book about BDSM for example, and it’s obvious that no research has been done. As an author I don’t have to have experienced something personally to write about it, but I know that if I don’t have a clue, it’ll shine through in my work. That’s definitely something I want to avoid.

With non-fiction, it is what it is. And I do find that I’m a lot more practical in writing it. In my erotica there’s a lot more sounds and smells whereas in ‘Being Anna’, it was much more of an account of what we did or what we discussed. It’s definitely more about how I felt than lurid descriptions of spanking but I found it a lot harder to write in some ways. However, the experience of writing in a totally different style was a positive one. I’ve started making some notes to create a follow-up after feedback suggested that I had more to say!

That’s the writing side of me but I thought I’d best mention the corsets too. I’d always liked the look of them and my husband bought me my first. I think my hands were trembling with excitement when I pulled it out of the packaging. It’s the one that I’m wearing in my profile picture. Red, sparkly and laced up with ribbons. The amazing thing about corsets for me is how they make me feel. They redefine my shape – pulling and pinching and accentuating.

When we put one of my corsets on (it’s a two-person job), I normally stand in front of the mirror as it gets tightened to watch my shape change – it’s like a metamorphosis, and was the inspiration for my story ‘Butterfly’ published in ‘Naughty Shorts’.

I now own three. The red one that you’ve seen, a purple one with a luxuriant baroque-style swirl pattern and my favourite, a black leather one. This last one is a proper training corset and whilst I don’t wear it that way, it’s certainly a lot more secure than the others, which are more for fashion. Being laced into this one is a lot more physical, and I’d describe it as a form of bondage, both mental and physical. I absolutely love it!

Sexy, smart and savvy, right? Here is where you can stalk Anna, and find the links for all of her books!

Web:

http://www.iamannasky.com

Twitter: @iamannasky

 

Guest Blogger Jane Gilbert Sets the Scene!

I am such a fan of Jane Gilbert of Behind the Chintz Curtain fame, I do not even know how to fangirl her properly! Her collection of short stories, Scene floored me. With nods to Pauline Réage, Anaïs Nin and Jackson Pollock, each story in this collection is like a rare delicacy. The stories are so good, you wish you had written them! I am honored to have Jane on my blog to give some background, and an excerpt from “Soap”–my favorite story!
And without further ado, I will let Jane set the Scene…

With regard to the painting and literary references in Scene … One of my Bachelor majors is History of Art. However, I focused on the Italian Baroque and New Zealand nationalism rather than European contemporaries. I tend to have more scattered knowledge of artists and works outside of my major areas, such as Pollock, but I am quite a “pictorial” writer so if I can recollect an image – visual or textual – that I think is relevant to the picture in my head I will try and work it in. As an aside, I’m very tempted to write something around this Bernini sculpture, The Ecstasy of St. Teresa. It’s a perfect representation of spiritual and physical ecstasy, and there are a lot of delicious erotic themes that could be explored thanks to Bernini’s execution of it.

Story of O? Pauline is bloody brilliant. She has definitely inspired a lot of my writing, but I think Anaïs Nin has had just as much (if not more) of an influence on my style. Delta of Venus was the very first “pure” erotica book I ever picked up, and the elegance of it continues to amaze me. The way she puts her words together, the images she evokes …

As I mention in Molly Moore’s KissCast , Scene actually came about because I wrote “Dark Comfort” (the third story in the collection) off the cuff, and didn’t have a home for it. I didn’t want to let it die a death on my hard drive, so I decided to write three more pieces that focused on similar themes – erotic humiliation and voyeurism/exhibitionism. Interestingly, in penning “Diana” and “An Unexpected Fare,” I found that I really enjoyed writing from the dominant point-of-view (something of a surprise, given that I identify as a bottom/sub), but I think perhaps it’s because I have been able to express what I wish – and hope! – is going on in a Dom’s head during a scene.

Excerpt from “Soap”
I awaken to my pussy being stuffed full of cock.
The unexpected invasion is a shock to my sleep-heavy body and I shout as he sinks relentlessly in, hooking his arms behind my knees to deepen the penetration. Normally, he’d warm me up by rubbing my clit before fucking me like this but this morning his fingers are punishingly absent. The message is clear: this is for his pleasure and his alone. I lie quietly, lifting my hips slightly whenever he slides forward to give him better access.
More than anything, I want to be his good girl. To redeem myself. To show him just how much I love him. His distance is crueler than any cane, a hundred thousand times more painful than any lash.
Just as my body begins to respond, he comes, his semen coating my increasingly greedy pussy in warm, wet spurts. The look on his face as he ejaculates—the pleasure, the satisfaction he’s taking in me—makes my heart sing. But all too soon it’s over and he’s easing from my body, leaving me increasingly aware of the insidious seeping of fluid from between my legs. I want to get up, the urge to clean myself off a needling, nagging itch.
But I don’t dare.
To my horror, he stands and dips two fingers into the sticky mess before smearing them over my bare pubis, massaging the fluid into my skin. “Put these on and go and get dressed for work,” he says eventually, crossing to the dresser and tossing a pair of white cotton knickers on the bed before heading in the direction of the bathroom. The unspoken instruction not to wash is louder and clearer than a cannon boom.
It’s like he’s just asked me to conquer Everest.

Superstar Guest Blogger Tamsin Flowers Talks About Her Sexy Serial Alchemy!

I consider Tamsin Flowers a supplier of sorts. Our friendship started because she was always recommending decadent books, and she even joked about being my supplier. She had no problem with it! Then I started reading her work, which is so well-written and so sexy. When she started talking about her Alchemy series, I was very intrigued. When I read the prequel, I was hooked. Alchemy is written as a serial, so there are monthly installments and it is so good! I am turning over my blog to Tamsin, so she can give you the inside scoop. She is including a delicious excerpt as well and I am pretty sure after reading it, you will think of her too…as a supplier of premium erotica.

A little background on Harry and Olivia, the central characters in the Alchemy xii series:

Alchemy xii has been a long time in the making. It must have been more than two years ago that I first decided I wanted to write the story of a submissive in the form of a diary. At the time I was working on other stories and books, so the idea kicked around at the back of my mind for a long while—it was always the project I was going to get to next, until something else caught my imagination and Alchemy was postponed once more.
One of the reasons for its long gestation was a matter of finding my characters. Various Doms and subs came into being, and were experimented with in short stories and pieces of flash fiction. However, none of them quite grabbed me and demanded to be written. I had to think very carefully about what I wanted my central characters to be—and I quickly came to the conclusion that I wasn’t looking for an alpha Dom and a compliant ingénue to become his sub. I had to escape from the D/s stereotypes.
And then one day, Harry Lomax sprung into my mind, virtually fully-formed and chomping at the bit to get into the story. He’s English, with the cut glass drawl of a public school boy. Hard drinking, hard smoking, hard fucking. Skinny and never happier than when he’s able to show off his pierced nipples or the outline of his big cock through the tightest trousers. And all the things a Dom shouldn’t be—irreverent, inconsistent, funny, flawed and, when he feels like it, perfectly cruel. While being extraordinarily kind. I fell in love with him immediately and I’m sure, as I get to know him better, it’s an affair that’s going to run and run.
Olivia was different. She hid from me for such a long time, even while Harry was pacing his dungeon in expectation. But eventually she started to take shape. It was important for me to develop a character who could give Harry Lomax a run for his money. There would be no point in making life too easy for him—the only way to really appreciate Harry is to push him to his limits as a Dom. So Olivia was never going to fit the sub stereotype. She’s taller than Harry and stunningly beautiful to boot. She’s smarter than Harry. And she hasn’t been naïve since the day she was born. When Harry discovers her, she’s already showing an interest in the scene and it’s up to Harry to uncover where that interest lies. And he finds out very quickly, it has nothing to do with calling him “Sir!”
They’re an explosive couple so every interaction they have is a battle—and as I’m still writing the later episodes in the series, even I couldn’t tell you yet who’s going to win!

Excerpt from Alchemy xii – January
I studied the bulge in the front of Harry’s jeans. I grew wet looking at it. He peeled off his black shirt. The sight of his dark nipples, pierced by silver bars which held them erect from his chest, was enough to make me dizzy. Diary, I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anybody—he’s so damn hot, I could weep.
A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and I could tell by the rasp of his breath, he was just as turned on as me.
“Lie down,” he said, pointing toward the bed. His voice cracked as he said ‘down’. He turned away from me.
I stood up and walked over to the bed on shaky legs. I didn’t know if he wanted me to lie on my front or my back, so I lay on my back, placing my hands up behind my head. As I did this, Harry crossed to a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. He opened the top one and started rifling through it. I raised my head to watch. He pulled out an assortment of leather cuffs and harnesses, dropping them on the top of the chest. After a minute, he selected several from his pile and swept the rest back into the drawer. He came over to sit on the edge of the bed.
Without saying a word and keeping me on my back, he bent one of my legs up so my heel pressed against my buttock. He took a double leather cuff and strapped one section around my thigh. The second part of the cuff went around my ankle, holding my leg in a bent position. I could hardly lie still as I felt his fingers on my flesh. I had a sudden urge to reach out for him, just to pull him on top of me.
“Harry…”
“Safeword.”
“Palindrome.”
“You won’t need it. I’m only going to fuck you.” Only? Jesus, what that did to me! “But some people panic when they’re restrained for the first time.”
“Not the first time,” I said.
“Good,” he said, walking round to the other side of the bed.
I could see his erection pushing at the front of his pants. I couldn’t wait to see his cock revealed. He caught hold of my other ankle and strapped it to my thigh in a similar fashion. I tested the restraints by trying to move my legs but I couldn’t.
Harry laughed.
“Like it?”
He stood at the end of the bed. I realized he was staring right down between my open legs. My face suffused with color but inside me a dull ache of longing made itself felt.
“Like it?” I threw his words back at him.
“You know, Olivia, I can gag that pretty mouth of yours.”
“But then you couldn’t kiss it.”
“Plenty of time for both, darling.”
He came up one side of the bed and sat down close enough to me so he could lean forward to capture my mouth. He owned me with his kiss, which seemed to last forever. My legs strained against the leather cuffs as my hips rose and fell with need. My wrists pushed against his hands as he held me flat against the mattress, but my mouth yielded to his and my breasts burned with the need to be touched. All I could think about was the moment on my first evening with Harry when he’d strapped me to the silver bed post before marking my back so thoroughly. I’d thought he was showing me what it had felt like for the little sub in Master Blasters. But it dawned on me now, he’d been showing me what it would be like if I surrendered myself to him.
I broke off our kiss.
“Harry, I need…”
He put a hand over my mouth.
“You don’t get to ask. I know exactly what you need, Olivia. I’ll decide when you get it. But just as last time was all about you, tonight is mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
His eyes, dark stormy blue, drilled into me.
“Yes, Sir.”
He reached for another leather cuff from the nightstand and strapped it around one of my wrists. He pulled my arm down to my side and, on hearing a sharp metallic snap, I realized he’d attached it to a ring on the side of the thigh restraint. Once more, he walked around the bed to do the same thing to my other hand. I lay immobilized, at his mercy, and I couldn’t imagine a place I would rather have been at that moment.
I watched from where I lay as Harry bent down to unlace his boots. If I hadn’t been so desperate to have him inside me, I could have spent all day watching the man undress. His bare torso rippled as he moved, hard and sinewy. Skinny rather than pumped up, every muscle acutely defined—just the way I like. The silver at his nipples glinted in the light. I longed to let my tongue explore the contrast between hard metal and soft flesh. I wanted to bite him as fiercely as I could, to leave my teeth marks on his shoulder. I wanted to bury my face in his armpit and breathe in the scent of his sweat.
Harry kicked his boots away and peeled off black socks. The rasp of his fly zipper sounded like music to my ears. I sighed, making him look up at me with a delighted smile.
“Close your eyes,” he said.

You can find Tamsin and Alchemy here:
Tamsin’s Superotica
Alchemy xii

Guest Blogger Dario Dalla Lasta Talks Squeeze Pants, and a Delicious Excerpt!

So you might know that I am featured in this little anthology called Chemical [se]X, which has gotten a great deal of accolade. In the process, I got to communicate with a lot of fabulous authors and developed quite the author crush on Dario Dalla Lasta. Dario has so much going on, I am breathless just thinking about it! He has a brand new anthology out called Squeeze Pants published by the fabulous Go Deeper Press! His erotica is sexy, fun and filled with a lot of emotion. Dario is my guest today, offering a little commentary on the pieces that I love by him–both of which include toilet stalls–and talking just a bit about the nature of desire.

Without further ado–here’s Dario first on his process, followed by a delicious excerpt!

As for my fascination with toilet stalls, what’s not to love? There is always something (or someone) of interest in a restroom. Every since I was a child, I’ve been both obsessed and repelled by public/school restrooms; they’re scary and stinky, private and public, revolting and sexy. And bathroom graffiti alone is worth the trip. I still remember a childish scribble on a YMCA bathroom stall when I was taking swimming lessons as a young boy: “Here I sit, brokenhearted, paid a dime and only farted.” I have never forgotten that, even after 40 years! Obviously, I’ve had several incidents in bathrooms that were major turn-ons. Living in New York amongst several million people, you find yourself crowded into bathrooms on a regular basis. Especially at bars. Plus, stalls are an easy refuge to escape to for some deliciously deviant behavior with another buddy. Both of my stories (“[du]X” from the “Chemical [se]X” anthology and “Marble Sentinels” from “Squeeze Pants”) are partly autobiographical. I had a delicious run-in with a hot stud I had known for years, back when the Roxy nightclub had roller skating nights. He was definitely my muse for that erotic story! “Marble Sentinels” came about because of my crush on the superintendent of the building where I used to work. The mens’ bathroom there had two large, old-fashioned marble urinals that were just ripe for fantasizing about. I guess I like having a back story about men desiring one other over a period of time. The timing needs to be right, and “timing is everything” or so it’s been said. I myself have had years-long obsessions with boys that never came to fruition, so writing about it happening to characters from my imagination was cathartic.

Two minutes. In only two minutes, the studly superintendent’s cock will be mine. I adjust the junk in my boxer shorts, pop a breath mint, and walk as casually as possible back to the bathroom, praying no one else blocks my way. I’m in luck. The sign is still up and there’s no one around. This time, when I push on the door, it swings open into a darkened room, the white linoleum and marbled equipment barely a gleam in the gloom. “Hello?” I whisper. No answer. I dare not flick the light switch on, hoping to keep the pretense up of the toilet being closed for repairs. Instead, I carefully feel my way over to the last stall on the left, where I let myself in and wait. After a few tense moments, the swinging door opens, the click of a lock falls into place, and a pair of footsteps shuffles my way. “Pssst! Where you at?” “In here.” He knows exactly where I am. The stall door pushes open, and immediately a pair of arms wrap around my waist, his soft lips crushing against mine with feverish intent. He must be even hornier than me. I kiss back with just as much fervor while entwining my arms around his sinewy back until my hands rest on his ass shelf. Damn, boy has got a booty on him. My erection makes its presence known, especially after Joey’s packed crotch grinds against mine. His dick feels like a coiled snake, ready to strike. I throw my head back for a succession of kisses he plants along my neck. Our excitement echoes within the tiled walls, escalating as our fumblings turn more intense. By this point, my hands crawl up his shirt, playing with his nipples and smoothing down his fuzzy six pack. His tongue twirls in my ear, and his hot breath pours down the side of my face, ratcheting up my hotness to the boiling point. My cock drips with pre-come, the wetness spreading by the minute. Frantically, I begin undoing his belt by touch alone, my eyes blind in the dark, my tongue now swirling inside his mouth, trying to taste him, to get deeper inside this hunky man who I’ve been pining away for, this sexy stud who kisses me like a long-lost lover. No doubt he hasn’t kissed another man in quite some time from the way he paws at me. The belt buckle undone, I unzip his pants to discover an insistent pecker knocking on my knuckles trying to get out of its tight cage. No problem there. I pull the briefs down his thighs and disengage our mouths to concentrate on what has sprung out of his pants. A lively and long beast, from the feel of it. My palm runs up and down the silky length of it, and I grasp the burning shaft in my fist, squeezing all the way to the tip until a drop of semen seeps out. My finger swipes at it, and I lick it off. Joey squirms under my touch and swoops down to bite my nipple. When his teeth start to hurt me, I push him back so that I can fall to my knees and begin worshipping that gorgeous cock with my hungry mouth and loving hands. After a few sucks, his knees tremble and he almost pulls out. I refuse to let that happen and keep his cock right where it is. He relents, exhales loudly, and grabs the back of my neck. Forcing himself further down my throat, he pushes all the way in until I gag. My eyes begin watering; no doubt from happiness, at this point. He feels so good in there that I know his perfect-sized dick belongs in my mouth. He must agree with me, for then he begins face-fucking me faster and harder until his erection is ramming down my esophagus like a piston. Like I give a shit. I suck as if his dick is oxygen giving me life. I live for his fingers mauling my hair, for his groans of pleasure, for the nasty slurping sounds I make, and for the jizz that builds up in his bouncy balls that slap my chin. I want to drain him dry. “I’m—I’m gonna come,” he pants in ragged breaths. I egg him on by jerking his shaft while the dripping head is still plunged down my gullet, my tongue slathering up his pillar so much that strings of spit hang from the sides of my mouth. When he hits his orgasm, he yelps like a wounded creature, and I almost choke from the spurts that coat my throat, losing count of the repetitions. Swallowing as fast as I can, I hold him in place until his heaving subsides, loving his spent tool resting on my tongue. I don’t want to let him go. After a few moments, I reluctantly release him when he growls, “Now it’s your turn, captain. Get over to the urinals. Now!” Standing up on shaky legs, I swallow again, the salty sweetness of his come lingering in my mouth. Like the come slut I am, I want more. Curbing my appetites is a constant struggle, especially since I seem to have forgotten that glorious taste. It’s been a while, okay? Joey drags me out of the stall and pushes me toward the two stately sentries that hug the wall as they have for decades. What have they seen? How many cocks have expelled yellow piss down their drains? A staggering number fills my brain. “See these two urinals?” he asks me. “We’ve spent lots of time standing in front of them. I know how much you love them and how often you stare at my dick when we’re going next to other.” Not answering, I merely nod, even though he can barely see me in the dark. “So, because of that, I want you to fuck me right here, right now, so that you always think of me when you take a piss here. I wanna breathe the urinals in as I bend over them and you plow me from behind. ’Cause you’re gonna shoot up my ass, got it? Here,” he continues, placing something into my hand. A condom. The man comes prepared. I place it in my pocket until it is needed. But first things first. “Pull your pants down and bend over,” I order. What I am about to do is incomprehensible to me, although I am not about to let this opportunity pass by. Joey complies as instructed and immediately his pants are down about his boots, his butt poised like a dancer in Magic Mike. What I cannot discern clearly in the shadows has already been memorized in my mind. I kneel down behind him and pry his butt cheeks apart, exhaling with desire at the deed. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine eating out Joey’s ass. My tongue reaches his pucker hole instantly, and when I lick it hungrily, he instinctually moves back to me, asking for more. Rising to the challenge, I adjust my knees and get comfortable, planning to be down there for as long as possible. Once there’s an ass in my face to devour, I’m content. The super doesn’t let me down. He allows me all the time I want, and in between working over his hole, I run my tongue over the entire length of his crack, stopping here and there to lick his taint and fondle his ball sack, which drives him wild. He tastes both sweet and tart down there, an unusual combination I find as compelling as an aphrodisiac. As a result, I gobble his ass like a ravenous pig and drill my tongue so far up his tasty hole that the fucking has already commenced. His whimpers fill me with encouragement, and before long, my cock is in one hand with his in the other. I stroke our dicks in time to my tongue thrusts until I almost shoot on the cold floor. I pinch my dick to stop the convulsions, deciding to bring this madness to the next level. Besides, he is more than ready for me to enter; I mean, after all, the dude’s salad has been dutifully tossed. Now the condom can come out.

Coming Undone With Kristina Lloyd!

I am really trying my best not to go all fan girl here, but I am a HUGE fan of Kristina Lloyd! I enjoyed Asking For Trouble followed by Darker Than Love so much, I trolled bookstores looking for her latest offerings. She is a superior writer, and writes the type of dark erotica I adore. Ironically enough, she is going to explore that dark decadence as part of her blog tour here. I am delighted to be a leg on her tour, in support of Undone…so without further ado, let’s come undone with Kristina!

Undone and dark erotica

The word “dark” is often applied to my erotica, both by others and myself. I like it, but sometimes I wonder what it means. Does it refer to boundary-pushing sex? Politically or morally problematic desires? Characters who are damaged? Troubled? In danger?

I’ve never written a character whose predilection for BDSM is a consequence of past abuses, and if I ever do, please revoke my writing privileges. Nor do I write about genuine trauma of the sort where Social Services should intervene. My characters however are frequently troubled by the relationship they’re developing, or the kind of sex they’re having. They’re anxious, conflicted, and they’re going to continue along the same dangerous path because they’re in the grip of an erotic compulsion.

“Dark” in the context of erotica suggests, I think, a book which allows readers to luxuriate in a story they might not want to fully experience in real life. To me, dark has a velvety quality. Interpretations are always going to be subjective and my second book, Asking for Trouble, is the one most likely to be rejected as “too dark” by some people. My third book, Split, is set in a puppet museum on the Yorkshire moors. I describe it as “Wuthering Heights with bondage”, and an eerie Gothicism informs the darkness in that book. The setting isn’t the most obvious choice for an erotic novel but I loved creating that disquieting, off-kilter atmosphere.

My fifth book, Undone, hits the shelves tomorrow, 11th September, and opens with the discovery of a body in a swimming pool. The dead man is Misha Morozov, one of two men my protagonist, Lana Greenwood, has just spent the night with. Lana owns a cocktail bar, The Blue Bar, and I had a great time building this bar in my imagination. Last week, I wrote about the inspiration behind Lana’s bar, and how I took the history of a small building in my town, Brighton, and gave it to my fictional bar. The building which inspired me was, I discovered, a funeral parlour in the nineteenth century. I couldn’t leave such a detail out, especially in a narrative where my central character is haunted by a man’s death.

Here’s a short excerpt:

My vision for The Blue Bar came together when I learned the building had been a funeral parlour in the nineteenth century. Inspired by that fact, I chose a Victorian Gothic aesthetic with a muted, background colour scheme of black, silver and cream. I wanted the room to look like a fucked-up fairy tale, an antechamber in a palace of seductive dangers forever under threat of forest vines encroaching from outside. I think I achieved my goal.

The walls are cream satin with a faint shimmer of fleur-de-lys, and a sleek, stuffed crow in a tall, glass dome watches over events with black, unseeing eyes. A row of booths opposite the bar in dark oak and upholstered black leather are customised church pews, now reminiscent of open compartments on a macabre pleasure train. I like to imagine they once carried satanic day trippers to and fro along the blasted wastelands of an apocalyptic beach.

I don’t make a big deal of the fact the bar is housed in a former chapel of rest. Sometimes, however, people enquire about the architectural features. Paradoxically, perhaps, given its potential for historic morbidity, the chapel’s stained-glass windows provide a sense of respite and tranquility. They were my starting point when I conceived of the bar’s design. The main windows, at the head of an alcove with a wooden, barrel-vault ceiling, are actually casement doors opening onto a small ironwork balcony. Directly above the two wings of the glass door is a matching stained-glass semi-circle, and the combined effect is of a saintly arch. The glass is formed of small leaded panes, a tiling of coloured squares. Daylight shines through the delicate blues, lilacs and the pale sea-greens, creating a hazy island of beatific calm that would have once fallen onto a gleaming casket or pasty-faced corpse.

That pool of soft, subaquatic light inspired the actual bar, a cubed LED counter inset with blue luminosity. The combination of enchanted gothic and industrial minimalism could have clashed horribly. Instead, the counter seems to hover like an uncertain mirage, echoing the stained-glass balcony doors and complementing the weird magic of the place.

I’d hoped to create a sense of the bar being a hub leading to other worlds. My table tops are clear glass while the chairs are reproduction Rococo in black velour and silver. I have an oval vintage mirror framed in cream and fixed at a wonky angle. It’s a looking glass Snow White might have peered into after one gin gimlet too many. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the drunkest of them all?

*

If you’d like to know more about Undone, please hop over to my blog for an excerpt, and check out the other stops on my Sexy September blog tour.

Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. Her novels are published by Black Lace and her short stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collection, in both the UK and US. She lives in Brighton, England.

About Undone

When Lana Greenwood attends a glamorous house party she finds herself tempted into a ménage à trois. But the morning after brings more than just regrets over fulfilling a fantasy one night stand. One of the men she’s spent the night with is discovered dead in the swimming pool. Accident, suicide or murder, no one is sure and Lana doesn’t know where to turn. Can she trust Sol, the other man, an ex-New Yorker with a dirty smile and a deep desire to continue their kinky game?

Amazon UK paperback :: Amazon UK Kindle :: Amazon US Kindle :: Amazon CA paperback :: Amazon CA Kindle

Motel Stories

The first time is always the hardest. Although my first time…with a guest blogger, I joined forces with my friend Oleander Plume. We wrote stories based on a phrase I overheard, that she tweeted would make a good story. You can read that here.

This time thanks to my semi-addiction to my Tumblr which feeds to my Twitter, Kenny C. tweeted that this image would make a good story. Inspired, I said let’s do it! I am thankful to him, for getting me focused on this project. We have swapped blogs for today, below is his steamy “motel story.”

A Fantasy Fulfilled

The clouds finally parted, and a streak of sun shined on his life for the first time in two years. The light was named Anaé, and Nick knew the moment he saw her that she’d change him.

She was lithe, with dark hair and big eyes. He approached her at a wine bar in the suburbs. Nick hated the fucking suburbs. To him they represented the lies of marriage. The lies of the middle class American family. He left the suburbs, and all its lies, two years ago and found a small room at a downtown motel. The place was old, but clean and fairly safe. He took a second floor room and moved in a few personal things to make it home.

“I like malbec…from Mendoza.” Anaé sat across the table from him, her lips perfectly glossed and pouted.

“I do too.” Nick had caught her eye as she ordered her first glass and waited until her glass was empty before making the bold move to ask her if she was expecting someone. She wasn’t, and after the usual pleasantries, they settled at a quiet table.

“Have you been to Argentina?” Nick asked. He was dressed in his work attire. A suit. Nick was a suit now and although he’d once hated the idea of tying a tie each morning, it had grown on him.

“I have. Have you been?” Anaé kept her glass close to her face as she talked. Her eyes were painted dark. Nick liked that. Like wearing a tie, he’d let go of previous prejudices about women and what he found attractive. She wore a black cocktail dress that fit her perfectly.

“I haven’t. It’s on the list.” He smiled, then tasted the wine.

“Oh, there’s a list? I must hear more about this.” Anaé smiled as she talked, her eyes teasing Nick.

“Actually, I don’t have a list. Just a few things I’d like to experience.” Nick held her gaze. His heart flipped in his chest, then flipped again. He hadn’t had the attention of a woman like this since well before he was married.

“Tell me some of the things on this list, I’m interested.” Anaé touched the glass to her lips and continued to stare at him.

“Will you tell me some of yours?” Nick asked. Anaé nodded, smiling.

Over the next hour they shared, wine and stories. Aspirations. At one point Anaé excused herself to the ladies’ room and Nick noticed how the men looked at her.

When she returned the eyes of the men were again on her body, her beauty. They couldn’t help themselves. The conversation continued. More wine. More smiles and sharing. They grew increasingly comfortable with one another. The bar emptied out, suburbanites returning to their heavily mortgaged homes with manicured lawns and friendly neighbors. Nick had no mortgage, no lawn, and his neighbors included a drunken writer and a young couple who’d eloped.

“Tell me, Nick,” Anaé smiled devilishly at him. “Is there anything sexual on your list of things you’d like to experience?”

Again, their eyes locked as Nick considered the question. The malbec dampened his nerves, and heightened his sexual senses. “Just one.” he said.

“Tell me.” she said.

Nick began.

He woke with a wine induced headache that subsided when he remembered his night with Anaé. His morning was spent sipping black coffee, ignoring the work on his desk, and replaying the conversation from the night before. He floated when he thought of her words, her smiles, and the way she felt in his arms when they hugged before leaving in separate taxis. His confidence refreshed him with possibility.

At three in the afternoon, while in the break room pouring what must have been his tenth cup of coffee, his phone beeped the familiar sound of an incoming text. His heart filled, then filled even more when he saw it was from her.

‘There’s something I’d love to show you tonight. ;-)’ Nick read the message again. He contemplated the possibilities. He read the message again as he walked back to his desk, spilling coffee on his shirt. At his desk, he read it again.

Nick ignored his work for twenty minutes, the same as he’d ignored it all day, then answered Anaé’s text, ‘I’d love to see. 8 o’clock.’ He added his address and room number.

Once home from work, he poured himself a drink and took a shower. He put on a fresh shirt and pants. His thoughts were scattered, yet focused only on her. At 8:15 he checked his phone to see if he was mistaken on the time he’d given her. He poured another drink. At 8:25 he heard a car door slam in the parking lot below. He glanced through the thin curtain and saw her, Anaé. It was only then that he was certain it wasn’t all a dream.

She had on a long black coat and her hair was pulled back. He lost sight of her while she climbed the motel steps but his heart jumped nonetheless when she tapped on his door. He opened it, smiled, and without a word, welcomed her into his room.

He handed her a drink, whiskey, per their conversation the night before. She touched the glass to her lips without taking her eyes off his. She was even more stunning than he’d remembered. The room was illuminated only by the red neon light of the motel sign near the road.

Nick sat in the chair near the window. He downed his drink, an attempt to quell the nerves. She bent over and set her drink on the small table next to Nick. He could smell her perfume.

Anaé stood before him and opened the coat. Under it, she wore only a short, black camisole. She took the coat off her shoulders and set it on the bed next to him. She stood still for a moment, and then began moving her hips back and forth, slowly. There was no music, but Anaé moved her body with a slow rhythm. Nick settled in his chair.

Anaé’s hands caressed her body through the silk camisole. Her fingertips traced her hips and across her chest. Nick watched, fighting the urge to reach out and grab her small body and hold it against his. After a few moments, Anaé took the thin straps off her shoulders and let the lingerie fall off her breasts. They were small, with dark nipples that were puckered and standing up.

She moved between Nick’s knees and bent over, her hands resting on his thighs. Without kissing, she grazed her lips over his. Nick again fought instinct to take her. She continued tracing her lips over his cheek and down his neck.

Anaé stood, and pushed the camisole down over her hips. It fell to the floor. She was naked now, and Nick could see the small black patch of pubic hair between her legs. It was sleek, and lay flat against her body. He watched as she began moving her hips again, though this time, he could see the entirety of her body. She turned around, like her breasts, her ass was small and round, not yet affected by the cruelty of gravity.

Again she put her hands on Nick’s thighs and touched her lips to his. They were sticky, and her breath smelled of the whiskey she stopped and sipped every few minutes. Not yet had a word been spoken, but so much had been shared and experienced since she entered his room.

Anaé held Nick’s head with both hands and massaged his face with her nipples. They were as hard as pebbles. Nick opened his mouth and let them in. His hands, which had hung at his side until now, were on her hips. Anaé ran her fingers through his hair while Nick tasted her breasts.

Anaé rubbed Nick’s penis through his pants, then lowered his zipper and took him out. Her long, delicate fingers wrapped around him, and Nick let out a sigh. Anae stood, and walked to the dresser across.

Nick stood, and moved behind her. He traced his finger tips up and down her back for a moment, their eyes locked in the reflection of the mirror. He kissed her thin neck and shoulders, kneeding her breasts and nipples with his hands. She bent over the dresser, her eyes inviting Nick to put himself inside her. He did, slowly. Anaé gasped, then looked at Nick over her shoulder.

She was tight around him, pulsing with each stroke. Nick knew he wouldn’t last long, the moment was too electric, too intense. This young, exotic girl, smart, well-travelled, and here she was, fulfilling one of his fantasies. It wasn’t lost on him that her every move had been about him. About making his moment perfect. She was still looking over her shoulder at him with that same devilish smile on her face as she had the night before when she asked if any of his unfulfilled experiences were sexual. Nick smiled at her. It was then, the moment perfect, Nick finished.

Anaé turned around and Nick kissed her deeply. He wrapped his arms around her small, naked body and held her tight. Then, still without a word, Anaé moved away from him, put on her coat and stuffed the camisole into her purse. She smiled at him as he held the door, then she left.

Nick watched out the window as she climbed in a waiting taxi.

A few hours later, his mind still filled with the images of Anaé dancing before him, Nick’s phone beeped the familiar sound of an incoming text. It was her.

The clouds that had shadowed his world for the past two years were now fully parted.

Steamy enough for you?! I love how even though we did not plan it, Kenny and I have similar moments in our stories…You can find mine on his blog, and follow him on Twitter.

photo courtesy of tumblr

The "Violation" Story Challenge

Since I can never drown out other people’s conversations (and probably don’t want to), I permanently overhear some fragment of someone’s conversation. I was in Starbucks when the young girl walked past me and said casually, “No one can violate him but me.”  I immediately tweeted what I heard because I was sure someone else could use it for inspiration. Immediately Oleander Plume tweeted that it should be used for a story. Almost like a dare that was too hard to resist, I suggested we use the line to write stories for each other’s blogs. Oleander of course, wrote hers right away. I lagged a bit, but FINALLY I finished mine so we could publish them simultaneously. So from the beautiful mind of Oleander Plume, a tale of violation:

The Kingdom Falls

 by Oleander Plume

“No one can violate him but me!”

The king’s protests fall on deaf ears. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I pick the slave up from the floor, he’s trembling and sobbing. The guards look to me for instruction.

“Take his highness to the dungeons and lock him in the coldest cell. I’ll take care of this one.”

He’s filthy and bruised, yet still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Skin like cream, eyes as dark as night. Yes, I’ll take very good care of this one.

“Master, you needn’t bother yourself with such vermin, I’ll take the slave to the gallows.”

“No, Cedric, he’s the king’s favorite plaything, and I have greater designs for him.” I stare into King Vlad’s steely gray eyes and sneer. “Think about all the wicked things I will be doing to his sweet body while you rot in prison.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“But I would, you can count on that.”

I pull the slave closer and run my tongue down the side of his face, while keeping one eye on the king. His eyes narrow, his cheeks turn purple, and he violently struggles against the hands that hold him back. The handsome bastard is so enraged, he could probably spit fire. Nothing else I have done today has caused such ire, not even when I lopped off the queen’s head with his majesty’s own sword.

“That creature is my property!” Spittle spews from his mouth as he bellows.

I yank my short blade from its sheath and press the tip against the king’s neck. “You are no longer in charge, of anyone, especially him.” I smile as a small bead of blood coats the edge of the blade. “I should make you watch.”

“Bastard!” The king’s eyes glitter with rage, but he holds his head high, ever the true, haughty monarch. “The citizens of this land will revolt, and I will take back the throne. And when I do, you’ll be the first to be drawn and quartered in the village square.”

I spit in his face. “Your citizens will rejoice while you dance in hell’s belly.” I pointed to the door. “Take him away, the sooner the better.”

The king wails and struggles, but he’s no match for my men. I stop one of them, and whisper in his ear. “I want you all to take him, as painfully as possible. Leave him screaming and covered in your fluids.”

Giles grins wickedly. “I’ll make sure he screams loud enough for the devil to hear.”

The slave is on his knees, shaking like a newborn lamb. I sling his frail body over my shoulder and carry him to the stables. After choosing the king’s best steed, I ride off with the young man draped across my lap. The grime covering his body turns my stomach, and I am happy to come across a small pond that will serve as a proper bath.

I strip away his ragged clothing, then remove my own. Cradling him gently in my arms, I wade into the tepid water, the feel of his naked flesh against mine stirs deep longing. He’s so frail, so wounded, I can’t go forward with my desires, not yet. But as I struggle with my inner turmoil, his fingers dance over my skin and his sweet lips caress my ear.

 “Elyan, I knew you would save me.”

Oleander told me that this story was a teaser and it is–the best kind! I need to know more about these characters, I especially need all the titillating bits fleshed out to the fullest! But then I am the kind of girl who overhears suggestive phrases in Starbucks…

Fortunately, Oleander is one of the most prolific writers I know, so continue to follow her blog. Or you can follow her on Twitter where she is generous with her wit and writing. If you visit her blog today, you can read my take on violation…