Titillating Titbit Numero Dos - and a reminder

Here's another bit of On Demand for you - a spanking scene this time - yay!

His hand began to fall, faster, stingier, peppering my cheeks with shot. Instinctively I tried to put a hand back to shield my bum from this new campaign, but he pre-empted me, twisting my wrists up into the small of my back while the smacks continued in a random unpattern, sometimes down as far as my knees. Now I was writhing with discomfort, considering calling ‘amber’ but knowing that I would despise myself if I did. This was nothing, surely. But, oh, it really didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like searing vengeance on my poor bottom, and the worst of it was that I had no idea when it would end. I compromised with myself, moaning, ‘Pleeease stop, it huuuurts,’ instead of mentioning a colour. Somehow, though, I knew that this would inspire his arm to swing higher and his hand to slap harder, which it did.

‘Now you’re getting what you deserve, Sophie,’ he said. ‘You’re beginning to glow.’ I could vouch for that. His hot rain stopped abruptly; I sighed and pushed my bottom up, wanting his fingers to slip down into my burning crevasse. To my infinite joy, he took me up on the offer.

‘Hmm, dripping wet,’ he observed, skating around my eager spread, pushing in and pressing down. ‘Perhaps this is not punishment for you, Sophie? You seem to be finding some pleasure in it? Is that so?’

‘No, Sir, no I don’t,’ I lied, backing shamelessly into his touch. ‘It’s awful, Sir. It’s too painful for me.’

‘Ten strokes of the hairbrush for your dishonesty,’ he decreed, withdrawing his fingers with a squelch and reaching for a large wooden-backed number from the bedspread selection.

I flopped back on to his lap, defeated and doomed. The brush cracked down and it really, really hurt. Only ten of these, I told myself, I could handle ten. Mamma mia, but I had no idea wood was so hard! I would have congratulated myself at this point for my choice of soundproofed room, if only I could have thought of anything beyond the sizzling heat and swingeing impact of the oval terror at my rear. What made it more difficult still was that he seemed to be concentrating on just one area – the crease between buttock and thigh, sensitive flesh stretched taut in my bent position. I howled through the remaining nine strokes, then fought to regain my breath.

‘Good girl, Sophie; you took that well,’ he praised, putting the brush aside.

‘More than ten of those would definitely have been amber,’ I gasped, and then I lost the words again because his hands were returning to soak in my juices a second time.

‘Do you like to hand control over?’ he asked me, working busily on my tenderised clit.

‘I think so,’ I wibbled. Two fingers slipped inside, possessing me.

‘Good. I am responsible for you today, Sophie. I am responsible for your punishment, but also for your pleasure. What I want you to do now, Sophie, is tell me when your climax is close. Can you do that?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I wailed stickily, riding his hand, luring it up inside, knowing it would take very little. I felt on fire inside and out, tensed as a bowstring. When I snapped there would be a white-out of sensation.

I rocked up and down, sucking him in, I could feel the pressure rising, a counterpoint to the fading sting of my bottom, it would not be long, it was close, I was close. ‘I am close, Sir,’ I confessed unevenly.

He took his hand away and smacked my bottom hard.

‘NO!’ I cried.

‘Dirty girl,’ he gloated. ‘Come and look at yourself.’

Don't forget that I would love to hear your thoughts, anecdotes, ramblings, reviews on the subject of Black Lace if you have any to spare - just fire 'em off to justineelyot@gmail.com.

Titillating Titbit Numero Uno

I have my author copies of On Demand now, and they are handsome indeed. They look good, they feel good, they even smell good. Mmmm.

And, if you haven't got hold of one yet, here is a snippet of what lies within:

‘Oh God, that’s beautiful,’ whispered Phil, capturing the moment, the lips fixed together, the hands flicking at Maddie’s stiffening nipples, her legs weakening so that Damian hooked one of his in front to keep her upright. The eroticism of it made Phil wonder how long he could continue as mere onlooker. Perhaps he should speed the action up somewhat. ‘What if he puts one hand in your knickers, Maddie?’

‘Mmm hmmm,’ she consented, pushing her bum back against Damian’s hard crotch. One large hand travelled slowly down her stomach and into the waistband of the burgundy satin French knickers. Maddie had to part her thighs a little, wobbling on unsteady legs, to provide unhindered access to the wandering fingers. Damian groaned as they slid between the lips, finding them wet and ready for some serious attention. His wide palm rested against her mons while the fingers rubbed and probed. Phil’s photographs depicted the large bumps of his knuckles straining against the satin while Maddie rotated her hips, her mouth still caught against his, her sighs absorbed by his tongue in her throat.

‘OK,’ said Phil unsteadily. ‘Turn her around to face you and take down her knickers now.’

Maddie let out a meek ‘oh!’ at the withdrawal of Damian’s fingers from her secret spots, or was it the return of his tongue to his own mouth? Nonetheless she allowed herself to be moved around, her stomach up against the hot bulge of his cock, while her recent model peeled the knickers and stockings down slowly, revealing her smooth tan bottom to Phil inch by inch as he snapped hungrily. The elastic slackened at the top of her thighs and the silky material dropped down to the floor, looking eerily like a pool of blood in colour and dispersal. Damian, it seemed, no longer needed to take direction, and he lowered an unprompted hand to knead her buttocks, re-establishing their kiss while the other hand resumed its work between her legs.

‘Fuck, I can’t do this any more,’ said Phil, tossing the mobile phone on to a bed. ‘Make room for me.’

Tempted? More excerpts to come if you need swaying!

Giving Thanks

Friends in the US are celebrating Thanksgiving on the very day that I am celebrating the release (a week ahead of schedule) of On Demand. It even got into the top 20 erotica titles on Amazon! I've been so excited all day that I feel like a small child who's eaten eight bags of Haribo. Slightly sick and headachey but weirdly euphoric.

Anyway, I will post a few snippets here and there over the next few days, but first of all I really want to thank a few people - appropriately enough, given the day.

So thank you all the people who have stayed with me from the first story I posted on the internet, some of whom I still only know by nicknames, but all of whom have been brilliant - Amy, Sandra, Bonnie, Marilynn, Josh, ummm Scary Bear Hair :D. In fact, all of you - you know who you are. If I'd realised I could have put a dedication at the front of the book, you would have been in it.

Massive thank you to Adam Nevill for commissioning it and to Charlotte Stein for partnering me in debut-erotica-writer crime.

Thank you to everyone who has bought it, everyone who is thinking of buying it and everyone who had a hand in producing it (especially the cover artist - I love my cover!).

And a big, big thank you to the Mr, for never ever believing that I couldn't make it, even when I didn't believe it myself.

*weeps in Oscar-accepting manner*

I love you all. Now, where's my pumpkin pie?

An Invitation

My calendar tells me that On Demand releases in under a fortnight and, barring a radical reinvented return to the erotica block in 2011, it will the last of its illustrious line - the final Black Lace title to be published.

So an event that should be one of unalloyed excitement - my first full-length publication - will be instead tinged with sadness. But surely, I thought, it deserves some kind of marking; a funeral of sorts, but one of those jolly, humanist type funerals rather than one that's all...well...black lace.

With that in mind, I would like to invite anyone and everyone to whom Black Lace ever meant anything - whether you wrote the books, read them, or used them to prop up your wonky coffee table leg - to join me in a final fling.

Throughout December, I would like to post personal testimonies from people who were involved with Black Lace in any capacity at all. These can take any form you like - an extract of yours, some thoughts on a book that meant a lot to you, an anecdote, a picture of a favourite cover - it's up to you.

If you would like to add some final thoughts on an imprint that was groundbreaking, exciting and a byword for quality erotica in its day, then please do email me at JustineElyot@gmail.com and I'll be delighted to include them here. (Feel free to plug all your BL releases too, if an author ;)).

Let's make the last dance a damn sexy one.

(Image from allposters dot com.)

Me and Alan Titchmarsh

We rub shoulders now and again, y'know. What with our common interests in gardening and smut, it's hardly surprising - oh, wait, I don't garden. Well, OK, we don't really get together that often, I suppose. Except when we're in the same Press Release together! And when that Press Release is about MY NEW BOOK! Waaah!

In the words of the PR:

"Adam Nevill, newly recruited ex-Black Lace editor has doubled the Xcite list for 2010 to 26 books. New signings for Autumn 2010 include novels from Chloe Thurlow, K D Grace, Charlotte Stein and a short story collection from Justine Elyot. "These are four of the most exciting new names in modern British erotica, who have made a real impact in print erotica within the last few years," said Nevill.

The Xcite Books range was recently featured on the Alan Titchmarsh Show with sex expert Julie Peasgood. The company are exhibiting at Erotica 09 at Olympia from 20th – 22nd November 2009."

Good Lord, Xcite Books are fast movers! I had barely had five minutes to admire my new contract before my editor was emailing me a link to this story! It's rather reassuring, I must say, after months of tick following tock following tick following tock.

Huge congratulations to Chloe Thurlow, K D Grace and, most especially (with lashings of thanks on top for brow-soothing services rendered), Charlotte Stein.

Anyway, yes, the new book is out in Autumn 2010, so I'd better get cracking. 'Let's get mucky' as Gordon the Garden Gnome (voiced by Mr Titchmarsh) might say.

*I'd also love to know if 'sex expert Julie Peasgood' is the same person who played Barry Grant's girlfriend in Brookie.

Away With the Fairies

I'm not usually one for ponytails on a man, but I'd make an exception for this dude. The whole cover is ravishing, which is one more reason to be over the moon that I'm included in this gorgeous anthology - the terrific erotica writer Kristina Wright's first time in the editor's chair.

My story is called Three Times, and is a bit of departure for me, having a fantasy setting (yeah, I know, cos my usual stuff is, like, so realistic...) with princesses and woodsmen and magical plants and suchlike.

I can't wait to see what the other contributors' takes on the theme will be - erotic fairy tales have really caught the popular imagination of late. In fact, I'd say they were the new black - but I'm told that that's spanking ;).

Anyway, the collection is published by Cleis and will be out in Spring 2010 - look out for the striking cover and be swept away to fairyland.

The End Is The Affair

No more Quickies. No more Wicked Words. No more Sex with Strangers, in Public, in a Shopping Trolley on Your Hols, or any of the various configurations. No more Seduction, Liaisons, Misbehaviour, or Sexy Little Numbers.

It ends with an affair. The Affair, in fact - the final multi-author anthology from the monolith of reading pleasure that is Black Lace.

My story in this book is called The Interview, and here is a taster for your palates:

"Unlike the ruthlessly clean-shaven Ralph, Aaron has a trace of stubble and I find I want to rub my face against his sandpapery skin, rub him on to me. His lips are firm, his breath warm, his body warm, his embrace firm, all firm and warm; it is comforting first, then it is arousing. He allows his hands more license, letting them wander all over me, down to my hips and across my bottom, then his fingers walk slowly up my spine, finally grazing the nape of my neck until I feel ready to kiss harder and longer and fuller.

I try to push him, try to crush him but it is deliciously difficult to make any impact on that hard flesh; I try to devour his mouth with my tongue but he just captures it and beats me at my own game. I try to merge into him, to force myself through his pores, but the bruising bulge beneath his midriff keeps our centres apart. Sooner or later it is going to demand attention in no uncertain terms, and now is as good a time as any.

‘I want to take off your underpants,’ I say hoarsely, gasping for air.

‘Good.’

I unveil the beast, which is large, maybe larger than Ralph’s, though I’m no judge – I rarely look it in the eye. I flinch and look up into Aaron’s eyes again.

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘I…I’m sure it’s…very nice.’

‘Nice? No, Jacqueline, it’s not nice. It’s a greedy selfish bastard that will ride roughshod over you to get what it wants. It’ll make you feel good, but so does cocaine, and nobody says cocaine is nice.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve said the wrong thing. I don’t know what I should say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything yet. Touch it. Find your way around.’

The surrealism of the situation is not lost on me. Adonis stands bare-naked in my living room and I’m worrying about the etiquette of handling his…um…you know.

I put out a hand and tap the side of it. It is hard and stiff and springs back to attention straight away. There is a bead of moisture at its head. I still can’t look it in the eye and I blur my vision a little, avoiding its frank stare. My fingers drift downwards, outlining the heavy sacs beneath, then weighing them in my palm.

‘Grab it. It won’t break,’ urges Aaron. I hesitate, so he takes hold of my wrist and moves my hand back to the shaft, prompting me to wrap my fingers around its girth. I find I quite like the feel of it; the skin is velvety and malleable, even as it stands proud, and my hand spans it comfortably. I begin to stroke it, trying not to loosen my grip, moving my other hand down to squeeze the sac.

I look up to see that he has shut his eyes and thrown back his head; an encouraging sign, so I speed up a little. His eyes open and he coughs a little before saying, ‘Perhaps you should taste it too.’

‘Taste it?’

‘Yeah. But you have to ask me. Ask if you can suck it for me.’

‘I can’t!’

‘You can. Just say it! Don’t think about it.’

‘I…can I…no, I can’t.’

My hand seizes up and I look away, feeling tears well up. Why can’t I just say the words?"

Will she be able to say the words? You'll have to read the rest of the story to find out!

But don't just read mine! There is plenteous treasure behind the cover lady's lavender shift dress - treasure that includes: Charlotte Stein; Elizabeth Coldwell; Portia Da Costa; Kyoko Church; Shanna Germain; Primula Bond; Rachel Kramer Bussel; Janine Ashbless; Gwen Masters; Alegra Verde; Izzy French and K D Grace.