The House of Elyot

Moving Over, Darling

2010-08-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

I've had it with blogger. It is horrible to use. So I'm over on WordPress now - come and see me!

Result!

2010-08-15T12:00:00.001-07:00

I have a winner! Using my scientific random selection procedure (aka Eeny Meeny Miney Mo) I concluded that my spare copy of Orgasmic will be winging its way to sunny California, straight into the mailbox of LaBibliographe. Congratulations, ma'am - just drop me an email or a message with your mailing address and I'll pop it in the post.

My second good result of the week was getting a cover for my November novella (the Nov nov) at Total E-Bound. And what a cover! I hope, if you find yourself reading Competitive Nature, you will find out for yourself how splendidly fitting this artwork is.

Stuff to Win, Stuff to Buy, Stuff to Read

2010-08-08T11:56:00.001-07:00

The generosity of those nice folk at Cleis Press means that I have an extra copy of the new Orgasmic anthology, featuring my story, The London O. Would anyone like a freebie? Just comment, mentioning your favourite word beginning with O, and I'll put your name in my magic hat.

If you already have a copy, or are generally looking for something hot and super-duper-brilliant to read, get on down to Total E-Bound and check out Charlotte Stein's latest release, Past Pleasures. It's due out tomorrow. Let me give you a taster:

Book one in the Desire Through Time Series

The future holds all the pleasures any woman could want.

No sex? No women?

When Kate agrees to a mad experiment with something as insane as time travel, she expects exactly what Professor Waites had suggested: dystopian nightmares and possible barbarians.

So when she finds herself in a future where women no longer exist and the men have no idea what they’ve been missing, she can’t seem to catch her breath.

Especially when the men in question—the darkly handsome Tem, and his starkly beautiful companion Aley, are so curious and so ready to learn everything she has to teach—including all the past pleasures they never knew existed.

Excerpt From: Past Pleasures

When the machine first wound down, Kate Connor couldn’t quite decide if it had worked. The room she was standing in looked ordinary—neat and uniform, but ordinary. The carpet was a rough beige pile, and a little curving armchair stood to her right, by the door. Warm light spilled from beneath another door directly in front of her, giving the entire room a soft ambience that she found somewhat comforting.

It could have been anywhere. It didn’t have to be 3033. For all Kate knew, the machine hadn’t worked, and instead she’d been teleported to somebody’s plush, little apartment.

But then more details surged into focus, and a different idea of what sort of year this was came with them.

The door to her right, for example. It had the look of something you’d find on a submarine. It seemed reinforced and strangely shaped, rounded where it should have been sharp-edged, sunken and scalloped where it should have been smooth and straight.

There was no discernable handle.

There were no objects in the room, either. It took her a while to notice, but once there they became starkly obvious. No books, no DVDs, no magazines lying around—nothing but a little table, a bed and an armchair, with nothing resting on top of any of them. Everything was pristine and seamless, as though no-one had ever lived in the room she stood in.

Even though she knew someone did live here. She could hear them, in the bathroom.

Of course, it could have been that the room before her was not, in fact, a bathroom. After all, the running water might have signified anything, in this brand new alien context. Perhaps they used the water to pass electric currents through their molecularised bodies here. Maybe it wasn’t water she could hear at all, but stabilising fluid, for their mechanised gears.

For the first time since starting this whole crazy thing, awareness of the complete unknown grabbed hold of her guts. She thought not of the sweet countdown to her first journey through the machine, but of its opposite—how long until Waites zapped her back? How long was left? Ten seconds? Twenty? It had seemed like a scrawny little glimpse, before, and she had pushed for more.

Why in God’s name had she pushed for more?

The bathroom door was starting to open. Any second, and Earth’s bleak and terrible future was going to emerge and grab her with its tentacles. She held her breath without even being aware of it; her hand clenched tight around the timer strapped to her wrist, ready to press and press and send a frantic plea for help across the vast acres of time and space—

He was almost a disappointment, after a build-up like that.

“Hello, brother,” he said—and not even in a Chaucerian accent in reverse, or with a buzzing mechanical note behind his voice, like the lizards in V. She ran her gaze the entire length of him, but no third arm sprang out. There didn’t seem to be a ray gun on him or a tentacle growing out of his bum or anything, not anything at all.

He looked like a normal human man. Apart from the preternatural attractiveness, which Kate was pretty sure didn’t count as terrifying. In normal circumstances, perhaps, but not when in the future, trying to cope with everything aside from handsomeness.

Like the gesture he appeared to be making. Hand up, palm facing her. It seemed impolite not to make the gesture in return, and yet awkwardness flooded her on doing so.

“Hello,” she found herself replying, the steady tone of her voice a flickering surprise. It should quake, if only because of one constantly beating fact—she was speaking to a man from the year 3033. Whether or not he was about to eat her face seemed somewhat irrelevant, in light of that fact.

“Can I help you?”

Whoa! I have my finger on the Buy button, waiting for the title to release!

If, after all that, you still need reading material, head down to ERWA, where the fabulous EllaRegina has a new story in the free reads section. 'The Hand & I' is one of my favourite stories of the year so far, surreal and sexy in equal measure.

Enjoy your reading!

O Wow

2010-08-01T11:52:00.001-07:00

August, to me, has long been a nothing kind of month. No people about, no work coming in, nothing decent on telly. A big fat zero of a month. But this year, that zero becomes an O. Because this August, the Orgasmic anthology hits the shelves.

Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel - always a hallmark of quality - this collection focuses on the female orgasm in all its glorious complexity and variety.

My story is called The London O and features two characters who will be familiar to those who have read On Demand. Adventurous lovers, Lloyd and Sophie, add a new dimension to seeing the sights in the capital city.

Originally I had planned to write a book of short stories centring around this couple enjoying the tourist facilities in different and inventive ways, but then I realised that it was rather a thin premise for a whole book, and this story let me indulge my craving without letting it get out of control. Here is a snippet for you:

“How does it feel?” whispered Lloyd, standing beside me, one hand placed possessively on my bum, rubbing my skirt as if this would wear through and reveal the answer.

“Very, very rude,” I replied. “Wicked and indecent. I really hope I don’t have some kind of accident on the way home. I do not want to end up in Casualty wearing these.”

“Does it fill you? Are you wet? Does it rub against your clit?”

“Yes to all three. Shut up, for God’s sake!”

“Oh no, I want you to know you’re wearing it – I don’t want you to be able to forget. And I want you to know that I know. God, this is turning me on. I hope there aren’t any delays on the Northern Line tonight.”

We stepped off the escalator and I made a concerted effort to try and walk normally, notwithstanding the exquisite pressure on my clit and the large fake cock wedged in my pussy.

“It’s giving you a sensational wiggle,” said Lloyd admiringly, falling behind me to survey my swaying backside. “It looks so obvious that your pussy is stuffed. But I suppose I know it is, which makes a difference. Maybe nobody else would guess.”

I was convinced that everybody knew it as we headed on to the platform. Every passer-by, from the teenage youths clicking teeth and sucking back hi-energy sodas to the elderly suited man reading his Telegraph, was perfectly cognisant of the fact that I was wearing vibrating knickers, the crotch soaked, my pussy wrapped around a plastic cock, because I was a dirty slut who loves to come and can’t get enough orgasms.

Lloyd kept putting his hand into his jacket pocket, teasing me with the fear that he might be about to activate the vibrator, causing me to clamp my thighs together and clench my pelvic floor muscles. By the time the dirty-grey train came roaring through the tunnel, though, he had still not pressed the magic button.

The train was about three-quarters full, and we could not find a seat together, so I sat in the centre of one row while he took a place by the door, at the end of the opposite bank. Sitting like that, with a highly-perfumed lady on one side and a gay punk on the other, I was suddenly sure that people might be able to see up my skirt somehow – though it was knee-length and didn’t even give away the fact that I was wearing stockings ordinarily. I decided to cross my legs, but this pushed the nubbed rubber even further into my swimming clit, and made my pussy feel even fuller – an inescapable sensation. I squirmed against the seat cushion, unsure whether to uncross my legs again – and Lloyd chose that moment to flip my switch.

I had to swallow a cry as the invasive presence in my pussy began to rev up, a slow shudder at first, speeding to an almost unbearable throb. It felt so painfully wanton that I knew my climax would not be put off for long. I sat back, stretching my spine, trying my very hardest not to pant or moan. My pussy lips twitched and my nipples were hard and sore, pushing against the lace of my bra until some of the pattern must have transferred to them. Lloyd’s sly, delighted smile accentuated the hot rush of sensation; he had had to put a copy of the Evening Standard over his crotch to hide the excitement of it all. My nether regions seemed to be flexing and rippling beyond any vestige of muscular control; the vibrator whizzed up to maximum speed, my clit was swollen and struggling to barge past the little rubber stimulators, my cheeks were hotter than fire, I was fidgeting so much that my neighbours forewent the customary Tube etiquette of complete-oblivion-to-all and began looking sideways at me. And then I came, pressing my hands down into my lap, trying to breathe through the intense flood of liquid sweetness, shuffling my bottom against the cushion and biting down on my lip.

And we were still only at Goodge Street.

Of course, as you would expect from Ms Bussel, a roster of stunning eroticians share the pages with me: Elizabeth Coldwell ; Jacqueline Applebee ; Velvet Moore ; Lolita Lopez ; Susie Hara ; Dusty Horn ; Rowan Elizabeth ; Louisa Harte ; Sylvia Lowry ; Kendra Wayne ; Donna George Storey ; Teresa Noelle Roberts ; Rachel Green ; Lana Fox ; Andrea Dale ; Lily Harlem ; Angela Caperton ; Heidi Champa ; Vanessa Vaughn ; Noelle Keely ; Neve Black ; Charlotte Stein ; Jade Melisande and, of course, the lovely RKB herself.

Please do consider making your August orgasmic this year. Happy reading.

Summer Special

2010-07-25T12:14:00.000-07:00

Summertime and the blogging is lazy. Or so it seems. I haven't posted much lately, so by way of apology, I have a free read for everyone, to say thank you for sticking with me.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I wrote my first totally original longish erotica story, which was a tale of a stowaway who finds herself in the clutches of a gentleman turned pirate called Capt. Jake Prince. Captain Jake, in the way of so many compelling erotica characters, is a bad, bad man, but my pirate story didn't really explain how he ended up on the high seas in the first place, so I started to write a prequel. I wrote two-and-a-bit chapters, then I stopped.

I know that there would be no point trying to sell this tale - it is everything the modern audience hates. Omniscient narrator, male point of view, historical, no romance, the list of unticked boxes goes on and on. I was aiming for a picaresque romp, basically. If that's your thing, read on! If not, look away now.

A Rake is Made

“I’ll have another flagon of your finest ale, wench, and look sharp about it.” With a ringing slap to her ample rump, the tavern girl scurried off, giggling, to furnish the customer’s requirements.

Having just that afternoon been expelled from his illustrious school in the town of S_______, young James Prince was of a mood to celebrate, and how better to do so than to indulge in the very same offences for which he had been castigated – boozing and whoring? He cast his by now slightly addled mind back to that momentous encounter in the Headmaster’s office. Offered a choice between twelve strokes of the cane before the assembled ranks of his fellow pupils or dismissal, he had stepped forward, smartly wrested the cane from the authoritarian’s hands and snapped it in two. His decision was clear. He could cheerfully forego the final few weeks of term. His parents were dead and his guardian scarcely cared what his young charge became extricated in, being himself far too occupied with matters of politicking than James’ moral welfare. The dons up at Oxford would still accept him as an undergraduate next term. There was really no reason to endure the humiliation and loss of face taking a dozen in public would afford.

So here he was, his tall and elegant frame beginning to slip sideways on the tavern bench while young Molly beamed at him from behind the counter. He gave her a wink, then looked up as another tankard banged down on the table in front of him, slopping beer on to the worn deal surface. James slid along the bench to accommodate the newcomer, who tipped his cloth cap in a gesture of seeming respect neutralised by the cheery wink that accompanied it.

“What’s a fine young gent like you doing in a place like this in broad daylight eh? Cutting classes?” he enquired pleasantly.

“Most assuredly not,” said Prince, with the suggestion of a slur. “My uniform misleads you; I am no longer a pupil of that establishment. I am a free man of the world.”

“Ah, then we have that much in common. Watkins, Sir, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I am James Prince, heir to the estate of the Dorsetshire Princes.”

They shook hands, Watkins’ face avid with curiosity. “I know of them,” he said. “Their property up at Casterbridge is long vacant, so I’ve heard.”

“They’re dead,” said Prince unemotionally. “The fortune and property is held in trust for me until I am twenty-one. My guardian lives up in London; he sits in the House of Peers.”

“Well, I am mixing with grand company today and no mistake,” said Watkins, with an ironical edge to his voice. “Might I buy you a beer, young Sir? You have a thirsty look.”

“Thank you, my needs are being seen to,” he replied, leering at Molly as she set his drink down. “But you may stay and talk with me if you wish. I am in a holiday mood, and I would have company for my high spirits.”

“Then company I shall provide,” grinned Watkins, and the pair toasted one another many times over before evening came.

Watkins was confounded by his young companion’s seemingly limitless capacity for strong ale, having expected by six in the evening to have accompanied his weaving form to a nearby secluded alleyway, relieved him of his coinage and pocketwatch and left him to sleep it off with the rats.

Yet the youth continued to raise the flagon to his lips, regaling the tavern with accounts of his many run-ins with the venerable staff of the institution he had so lately departed, all coloured to paint Prince as the nonconformist hero he considered himself, rather than the spoilt whelp his masters knew. Everyone in the inn hung amusedly on his every word as the tales grew more extravagant and the form of their telling more slurrily grandiose.

“They must be relieved to see the back of you, young Sir,” simpered Molly, edging past on her way home after a long day’s work only to find her waist seized and her skirts flying up around her as she was pulled backwards on to Prince’s lap.

“You impertinent little hussy,” he hissed into her reddening ear. “I think I may have to make you pay for your cheek.”

She squirmed joyously on the young man’s lap; many a time she had admired his aristocratic bearing and eloquent flattery on a long Saturday afternoon serving in the public bar. Indeed, they had kissed and fondled more often than she could count, though she never imagined he would think her worthy of more ardent attentions.

“What do you say, Watkins? Shall we take a room upstairs for the evening and show Miss Molly here the error of her ways?”

Watkins brightened at what sounded like a definite thieving opportunity with a tumble thrown in; it was funny, he reflected, how your luck could change in a heartbeat. Molly looked alarmed at Prince’s suggestion for her evening’s employ, but he put a finger across her protesting lips.

“Come, Molly, do not seek to feign this veneer of outraged virtue. I know you for what you are and I know you are willing.” He took a handful of coins from his pocket and dropped each down into Molly’s generous decollètage, kissing the spot behind her ear as he did so. “Now get upstairs and earn your money, girl,” he growled, guiding her towards the staircase with a firm hand on her bottom and another on her shoulder, Watkins following behind, bristling eagerly like a dog who has scented a bone.

Once the door had shut behind the trio, Watkins went and sat on the bed, watching his young friend gather the voluptuous girl up into his arms and kiss her soundly as she wriggled and giggled against his long, lean frame. With startling sure-footedness for one who had imbibed so much, Prince danced the girl round and round, never breaking the kiss, until they arrived by the bed and fell sideways into its feathery embrace, coming apart with much excited laughter. Molly moved on to her back, lying spread in wanton rapture with her dark hair tumbled from its clips and the exposed parts of her flesh jiggling temptingly. The men seated either side of her looked down with undisguised hunger.

“Did you ever see such succulence, Watkins?” murmured Prince, tracing a finger from her throat and along her collarbone, then dipping down to the cleft between her heavy breasts.

“No, I confess I should like to see more,” replied Watkins, pulling at the laces of her bodice until the enticing brown nipples popped free of their confines. He scooped up one mound in a reverent hand, his action mirrored on the other side by Prince, so that each man had a titty of his own to play with. And play they did, while Watkins fixed his mouth to Molly’s and Prince worked her lower garments down over her waist and hips so that her cotton pantalettes were all she wore. The expelled youth lowered his lips to suck and nip at Molly’s perky nub, all the while slipping his hand under the waistband of her undergarments, stroking the fleecy triangle with slender fingers until…ah…there…her secret place, hot and wet to the touch. She moaned into Watkins’ questing mouth, rotating her hips to welcome Prince’s explorations.

“Lusty little slut,” he commented, relinquishing her nipple and moving down to wrench the pantalettes off with unseemly haste. “You love it, don’t you, Molly. I’ve heard all about you.”

Molly was beside herself, only able to sigh and twist when Watkins moved to straddle her waist, unbuttoning his britches and resting his cock between the valley of her breasts. “Squeeze them together, girl,” he commanded, “nice and tight, so they rub against my John Thomas.” Molly obliged, pressing the twin pillows together and pulling them back and forth so that Watkins’ member was gently stroked. He flicked his thumbs across her nipples as she worked, giving her rough commands and words of encouragement throughout. Prince, meanwhile, knelt between her parted thighs, imparting a similar kind of stimulation to the little pearl at her centre, standing up from its hood and begging to be touched. The fingers of his other hand rummaged and plundered her intimate space.

“’Tis true she’s no maiden,” he remarked to his companion with a laugh. “I’ll wager she’s had half the farmhands in the county up here. Are you clean, Molly? Do we brave the pox when we both fuck you later?”

“No indeed,” Molly assured them, her voice weak and breathy. “I am without disease.”

Prince bent his considerable nose to her dripping love purse. “It’s true, you don’t smell like a stinking whore, even if you are one. I’ll take my chances.” He traced the outline of her sex delicately with his tongue, sending her over the edge of oblivion, yelling until she was hoarse. Watkins followed in short order, splashing his seed all over her tits, neck and chin.

The two men edged away from her body and looked at the picture she made, spread on the bed with her lips wide and breasts glistening with pearlescent semen. Prince was achingly hard, but he had more plans for her before he pursued his own release.

“Look at you,” he said derisively. “You naughty, naughty little trollop. You would let us do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sirs,” she confirmed, her eyes shut in rapt afterglow.

“That makes you a very sinful young woman, Molly. I feel chastisement is in order, to show you the error of your ways. Now come and lay yourself across my lap, young lady, and I’ll explicate my lesson on your wicked bottom.”

Molly prised open her eyes and crawled reluctantly over the young master’s waiting lap, presenting her soft white bottom to his appreciative view.

“Now watch this, Watkins, for I’ll need you to take over when my arm tires.” Prince began to apply his large hand to Molly’s quivering globes. The first few smacks left pink impressions of his palm on her skin, but very soon the area was covered in a warm rose blush. Molly squirmed and yelped under the force of Prince’s steady assault, but there was no relief for her.

“Please, Sir, it burns so much, I’ll be a good girl and do whatever you want,” she pleaded, but Prince would not be diverted until her entire arse was a deep shade of red, from the crest of her buttocks down to mid-thigh, and she would be aware of the tight swollen skin for some hours afterward.

He let a hand drift across her backside, impressed by its heat and aware that he would need to use her for his release very soon.

“Are you very sore, Molly?” he asked softly.

“Oh yes, Sir, it stings so badly.”

“Good; then the lesson is beginning to take effect. To continue it, you will need to kneel on the floor and take my cock in your mouth, my dear.”

Molly tumbled off Prince’s lap and did as he asked, watching while he unleashed his considerable prick from the tight school britches he was still wearing. It was impressive both in length and girth, its empurpled head pointing almost skywards.

“He is very pleased to see you, Molly,” murmured the youth. “Be kind to him.” She took the tip into her generous mouth and begin to lick and suck at it, moving slowly down the shaft. Prince growled with pleasure. “I always like to put my cock in a girl’s mouth after punishment,” he noted to Watkins. “It reinforces the lesson, I think. Take my riding crop from my valise and give her ten hard strokes, would you? Good man.”

Molly’s eyes stretched wide with alarm at Prince’s laconic words, but his response was to shove her head further down. “Keep it up, Molly. There will be extra strokes if I feel your teeth, by the way.”

The unfortunate girl pleasured Prince for all she was worth, though it was so very difficult not to stop as each blow of the crop fell squarely and harshly on her already well-reddened behind. Her cries of pain vibrated against her master’s tool, causing him to roll his eyes back in his head with ecstasy, and when Watkins landed the tenth biting lash, Prince could hold back no longer and shot his load far down Molly’s throat before she could even try to draw back.

“Good girl, brave girl, Molly,” crooned the younger man, ruffling her hair soothingly. “You did very well, my dear. I am pleased with you. Now your punishment is done, we can give you more treats.”

Watkins was back at half-mast now, the cropping combined with the sight of her plump lips pumping Prince’s weapon having sent the blood rushing to that part. His companion pulled Molly up for a long and intense kiss, tumbling with her back on to the bed, tasting himself on her tongue with relish and feeling the crop welts on her bum as they tangled. Watkins waited patiently for Prince’s next instruction, accepting his subordinate position with alacrity in the knowledge that he would be off into the night with the haughty lad’s worldly goods before midnight struck.

“Well,” chuckled Prince, seeing the condition of his new friend, “it seems our Mr Watkins might appreciate a demonstration of your oral talents, my dear. Come and sit on the bed, my fine fellow.”

Watkins sat, legs splayed, on the mattress while Molly was manhandled on to all fours, her north end hovering over Watkins’ eager cock while Prince remained behind her, bringing his virile young sword back to full tumescence, which he was able to manage with comparatively little effort.

“Suck him, Molly,” commanded Prince, and at the sight of her obedient, bobbing head, he knelt behind her and plunged his steely hardness straight into her gaping pussy, grasping her hips for purchase and penetrating her very depths. Molly gurgled with delight over the crown of Watkins’ member, delighted to be filled at last, and so comprehensively. Despite the ache of her cheeks and face from all the suction, she felt gloriously stretched and used and wriggled backwards to meet Prince’s savage thrusts, disregarding the additional sting to her sore bum that entailed.

“Egad, you know how to milk a man dry,” gasped Prince, feeling her tight cunny muscles clamp against his surging rod. He reached around to tickle her clit, banging into her frantically until she began to shake her head from side to side, Watkins pulled out of her mouth and spurted across her face, then she and Prince both roared together into an unforgiving climax, their cries flying out through the window to the street outside, alarming passers by and horses alike.

“Oh Sirs,” she wailed, falling forwards limply. “I am undone.”

James Prince lay down at her right side, while Watkins flanked her at her left. “You are our sweet, sweet slut, Molly,” whispered Prince, tracing patterns on the skin of her back and buttocks. “You are doing so very well, my dear. Watkins, would you be so kind as to call downstairs for a spot of refreshment?”

Watkins grinned – these two would sleep very soundly tonight, he would bet – and pulled on his britches, returning shortly afterwards with a platter of cheeses, meats and bread and a jug of water. The debauched trio tore into the food and drank thirstily, then Watkins took Molly into his arms and gave her a long kissy caressing while Prince watched with detached interest, chewing at the last of the bread.

“Watkins,” he said suddenly, “you haven’t had the pleasure of her juicy pussy yet, have you? Why don’t you fuck her while I play with her arse?”

“Gladly,” said Watkins politely, stretching out on the bed. “Hop aboard, my sweet. John Thomas is ready for you.”

Molly mounted the upright shaft, bouncing up and down with glee while Watkins fingered the jiggling breasts. Prince watched from behind awhile, enjoying the scene as the base of Watkins’ shaft played peek-a-boo in and out of Molly’s hole. Well, one of her holes, at any rate.

Prince crept closer and began to massage her still warm derriere, moving his inquisitive fingers ever further in until he had her cheeks prised well apart and a thumb against the little pinky pucker between them.

“Oh Sir,” said Molly brokenly, bending forward so her tits squashed against Watkins’ chest and her rear was even more prominently displayed. Prince exerted gentle pressure to the tight ring of muscle, then he wetted his finger in the juices of her clit and spread them around the target. “Oh, Siiiiir,” she gasped again when his thumb pushed a little harder. She tried to clench her buttocks against him, but he was firm and persistent.

“Surely you have been touched here before, Molly?” he questioned her and she shook her unruly locks.

“No, Sir, I haven’t. That’s what men do with boys, I thought.”

“They can do it with girls as well,” Prince assured her. “It is greatly pleasurable.” At least, so he had heard. The hard truth was that no girl had allowed him to go so far as yet, not even a whore. He found himself obsessed by the idea though, and lustful thoughts of packing his hard cock into a girl’s tiny arsehole consumed his days and nights.

“I…don’t know, Sir,” demurred Molly. “I don’t think it’s quite nice.”

Prince snorted. Who was this trollop, to be talking about what was ‘nice’?

“Try it at least,” he coaxed, and he pushed his thumb down so it broke through the muscular defences.

“Please, Sir, no, Sir,” she cried agitatedly, trying to climb off Watkins’ cock in her alarm, though he held her down. “I’ll scream! I’ll call the innkeeper!”

Prince scowled, defeated. “It’ll cost you a hard spanking, Molly,” he warned her.

“Then a hard spanking I will take,” she said. “Anything you want, Sir…just not that.”

Prince had to content himself with stroking the head of his shaft up and down her rear cleft while Watkins finished off.

She was laid down on her back and each man took a turn on her once more in the missionary position, chafing her bottom against the coarse linens with each thrust, before they fell to sleep in a mess of limbs and kissing mouths, sticky, sore and sated.

It was an hour or maybe two later when Prince suddenly awoke to find the candle guttering and Watkins gone. He sat up sharply, extricating the limbs that were mixed up with Molly’s, and padded over to the open door. His valise was gone but he sensed that Watkins had only just left the room. He peered down the dark stairwell but could neither see nor hear a thing.

Then he closed the door quietly and chuckled. He checked to make sure his belongings still lay beneath the bed, where he had hidden them when Watkins was fetching the dinner. Then he pictured the journeyman thief’s face when he opened the valise to find nothing inside but a cushion and a few old textbooks. He latched the door and returned to Molly, sound asleep after her exertions, her round face flushed as she dreamed.

So there you go. A fun experiment in period voice for me - hopefully a fun read for you.

Ladies and Gentlemen, our very special guest star...Ms Charlotte Stein!

2010-07-18T13:35:00.000-07:00

*cue wild applause*

Something a bit special for you tonight - a guest post from Charlotte Stein, whom I consider to be the brightest new star in the erotica firmament, and whose new novella TigerLily releases tomorrow. Could I be more excited? Only if the possibility of an Alan Rickman/Richard Armitage manwich was in the offing.

So, without further ado, I will hand you over to Charlotte!

"And now I come to Justine’s place, on my blog tour. My God, I feel like a proper author. I’m touring! Only on the internet, and at very few destinations. But the destinations are awesome, so there!

Take this destination, for example. It’s Justine Elyot! She’s amazing, she’s dazzling, she’s a superstar. But you know that, because you come here all the time and get dazzled by her, like she’s Edward Cullen only totally brilliant and not a banana-faced buffoon.

Anyhoo, in case you don’t know- I’m Charlotte Stein. I am, like, the lesser Justine Elyot. Think of Justine Elyot, and subtract 100. That’s me. And I have a release out on July 19^th called Tigerlily, from Total-E-Bound! So Justine, being me plus 100, agreed to let me guest post!

Yay!

And so I did a poem, in her honour:

Justine Elyot is all of the big words

The big good words

That I can think of.

Like: stupendous. Only that’s not enough

So how about:

Stupendofabulous.

But even that’s not enough.

So: Stupendofabulomazing.

She writes like a dream

About awesome things I can never write about.

And if I had not have been a Black Lace

Author too, I would have thought:

Who is this stupendofabulomazing person?

But I was, and so it came to pass

That I knew her.

My life is better for knowing her.

If I’d had

To struggle through the wilderness alone

I don’t know what

I would have done. Given up, probably.

So to Justine I say,

In the words of Anthony and the Johnsons:

You are my sister, and I love you

May all of your dreams come true.

And now a blurb, and an excerpt, and a link for Tigerlily! Which was my purpose for coming here, and that I kind of forgot for a minute there.

Oh what’s a girl to do, when she finds a sexy, naked man in her back garden?

When a naked guy turns up in Mae’s back garden, she can’t decide if he’s crazy or sent from heaven. He can’t remember his name, or where he’s from, but he seems to know one thing for certain- Mae is in need of some hot loving, and fast.

However, the more he persuades her to let go and give in, the more she finds herself believing that she’s met him before. But childhood games with a boy who she’s sure had wings on his back are giving way to her deepest sexual fantasies, and dreams of another world entirely are not far behind…

“There was a guy, running a blue streak through the trees. Mae Connelly could see him, even amidst the febrile greenery and the lowering light, arms pumping. Legs pumping. Cock swinging in the breeze.

Which was when she decided to stand up, and get a better look.

Purely out of simple curiosity, of course. Nothing unseemly about stepping off your porch to gawk at a man who appeared to be running through the field behind your house, buck ass nekkid.

And it didn’t sadden her—not even a little—when he ploughed into the long grass and everything below the waist got cut off. No—not even a little bit, uh-uh. After all, she was just a concerned citizen.

Concerned about someone who sure looked terrified. He looked more than terrified—she could see him, turning his head every five seconds as though expecting to see hellhounds behind him, chomping at his heels. He kept almost stumbling, like fear wouldn’t let him keep his footing.

And as he veered closer to her house, she could definitely make out red, striping his upper arms. The fact that said upper arms were sinewy with muscle and very nice indeed took a shameful backseat.

She shouted before her brain confirmed that doing so was a good idea.

“Hey!”

It was definitely not a good idea. He fell almost immediately, at the sound of her voice. She saw him turn, and then it was all just tits over ass and nothing but the long grass, stirring, to suggest that he had ever been there.

All the possible reasons that someone could be running, naked and terrified, went through her head: escape from a forced nudist colony. Being hunted by a Terminator from the future. Sex game that went horribly, horribly wrong. Or right, depending on your kink.

But none of them seemed either a) plausible or b) sane. As far as she knew, forced nudist colonies didn’t even exist. And likely Terminators and time travel machines didn’t, either. Especially not ones that sent you through time with your ass hanging out.”

http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=845

Thanks always, Justine!"

Waaaah, she wrote a poem about me! I plan to dig deep, find my inner McGonagall and return the favour - watch this space! And buy the book! You won't regret it, friends.

Not Paying Attention

2010-07-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

...as usual, which is how I happened to miss my author interview spot at the Fairy Tale Lust blog until two days after the event. If you want to hear about my love for the gothic and Grimm, you can find them here.

Gripping

2010-07-03T11:41:00.001-07:00

I am a guest blogger today, at the ever-entertaining Oh Get A Grip. Have a look and see if you can relate to any of my unconventional crushes - they are all perfectly reasonable, in my view, so I'm sure you will.

Fairy Tales

2010-07-01T11:56:00.001-07:00

Beautiful things in the post today - author copies of the Fairy Tale Lust anthology all the way from Cleis Press in NYC. Editor Kristina Wright has done a superb job with this, her first collection, and I have been very keen to get my mitts on this ever since I saw the line-up and read the introduction by Angela Knight.

I mean, everyone likes an erotic fairy tale, right? Fairy tales are thinly veiled erotica anyway, full of fantasy staples. So I hope you'll enjoy this, and I especially hope you'll enjoy my story, Three Times. Here is a taster for you:

"By the time she had reached the arbour where Princess Ellora languished in her tentacular prison, Elrond was far, far behind. From the arch that led into the garden, Selina could see the silver shimmer of the vine’s bark, calling her towards it. She gasped as, step by step, the Princess’ plight was revealed in full and frightening clarity.

Now that she was close to the captive girl, she began to doubt Villiers’ tale – how could somebody so seemingly unconscious be brought to the sweetness of climax?

Nonetheless, she was resolute, and her step did not falter until she was close enough to smell the faint perfume of the Princess’ skin, mingled with the sharp vegetable tang of the vine. Selina’s instincts told her that she should not touch the treacherous bonds, but limit her contact to the human flesh on display. She drew aside the flimsy garments and dropped to her knees, inspecting the tangle of plant and pleasure spot, assessing how best to go about her unusual task.

Although the root passed through Ellora’s lower lips, it had wound itself around her clitoris so that the shiny pink button stood out proudly. The silvery skein was easy to avoid. Selina put out a hand, slowly, as if afraid that the vine would rear up and lash her away, but it did not. Instead, her forefinger touched the Princess’ clit, jiggling it a little to ascertain how tender it was. It felt a little dry to the touch, but once Selina had stroked it for a minute or so, it grew slick and easier to manipulate. Selina fell into a diligent rubbing motion, sometimes stroking with finger and thumb, sometimes pressing her palm against the tiny morsel, watching it grow and swell beneath her touch. For all the obvious evidence of arousal, the Princess’ body remained impassive, held tight by its silver-green chains, but Selina noticed that, as the clitoris fattened, the vines began to swell inside her sex, and then to begin a gentle thrusting.

The first coming was sudden and over almost before it began; the smallest swivel of her hips led to a parting of her lips and a brief burst of exhalation. But the vines slackened noticeably, and Selina gasped, astonished at the power she had over this poor creature."

A truly brilliant line-up assembles the talents of: Delilah Devlin ; Andrea Dale ; Craig Sorenson ; Louisa Harte ; Alegra Verde ; Janine Ashbless ; Shanna Germain ; Allison Wonderland ; Kristina Wright ; Jeremy Edwards ; Aurelia T Evans ; Carol Hassler ; Saskia Walker ; Alana Noel Voth ; Michelle Augello-Page ; Charlotte Stein, and ADR Forte.

And the book even has its own blog, where you can find author interviews, competitions and commentary from the lovely Kristina herself.

Kicks For Free

2010-06-27T12:11:00.000-07:00

I was very happy to read that Xcite Books are now able to offer free shipping worldwide for any of their print titles - so when The Business of Pleasure releases in September, there will be none of the irksome hanging around for non-existent worldwide release that dogged On Demand.

This offer is available on books purchased through Xcite's own website - if you don't want to wait until September, have a gander and see if there's anything you fancy from the variety on offer now. There's a mysterious portal into the erotic world of Xcite at the bottom of the sidebar. You'll find that the vast majority of tastes are catered for!

Hot Romance is Hot

2010-06-17T11:43:00.000-07:00

Completing a trio of erotic romance sales is my story in the forthcoming Mammoth Book of Hot Romance, edited by Maxim Jakubowski and due for publication in Spring 2011.

Coming Home is one of those stories you indulge yourself with - like a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream in front of a log fire on a winter's night, it gave me a warm, rich sensation inside while I was writing it. I hope it will find favour with readers too - and if it doesn't, they have a treasure box of alternative stories to choose from.

(Image found at www.calgoodman.com)

A Passion for Passion

2010-06-15T12:47:00.001-07:00

While we're on the subject of erotic romance, I'm thrilled to announce that I will have a story in the brilliant Rachel Kramer Bussel's forthcoming anthology Passion: Erotic Romance for Women.

The book releases in November, and features a stunning line-up of writers - some established in erotic romance and others, like me, exploring the genre for the first time.

My story, Lingua Franca, features broken glass and all-night kissing. I hope it will strike a chord.

Total E-Thrilled

2010-06-13T12:09:00.000-07:00

After my father died in January, I needed a writing outlet that was less ferocious than the full-on erotica I was pouring into The Business of Pleasure. I needed something with a little more give and flexibility - sex would still be involved, but perhaps not in every other scene. What came out on to the page at that time fell into the category of Erotic Romance (insofar as things really have categories - I do try to avoid them if I can).

Back in the days of writing for friends and internet amusement, most of my output was erotic romance in that it always featured a primary partnership and always ended happily. Much as I often want to write a downbeat ending, I find myself incapable of doing so, perhaps because I see so many around me in the real world. So erotic romance was comforting to write and took me back into a warm and nostalgic place - which was where I needed to be.

I didn't know how good any of it was, but I sent some away anyway, just to see if anyone would like it. And I am delighted and relieved to report that anyone did. Not just Anyone, in fact, but the wonderful editors at Total E-Bound, who accepted my short novella, Competitive Nature, for publication in November.

I am absolutely over the moon to be able to add my name to the roster of fabulous writers at Total E-Bound - I even have an author page already, look: http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=145

I've had such an overwhelmingly positive experience with them already that I'm hoping to work as much as I can with the lovely peeps over there. And I'm going to join the yahoo group as soon as I figure out how to change my embarrassing old yahoo identity! Yeah!

Rock Me, Amadeus

2010-06-12T11:59:00.000-07:00

I could be wrong, but I think the late Falco's strange homage to Mozart constitutes the only UK number one record to be sung in German - which is a pity, because it's a damn fine language (except when you're trying to speak it under oral examination conditions, that is).

So I was mighty pleased to get a copy of a German translation of Black Lace's final anthology, The Affair, in the post. My story, Das Interwiew, looks really quite cool in German! And, inspired by Saskia Walker, who is celebrating her book Rampant's translation into Italian, I decided to have a bit of fun with online translation software.

Here, then, is how the opening paragraphs of my story are rendered from the excellent German translation back into English by babelfish:

'" If it is too late, I do not even become it into consideration. I radiated delay in my working life with enough; I also reject to face, in my Privatleben." My man is remarks is jähzornig comes prematurely, it is still only five minutes before three. Our candidate to be would know cuts of things a little well, but it is time enough, over parking lots A and crosses the gravel way up to the entry door before expiration of the term. I take my last chance, application threw a critical view on the photographies, although perhaps came with that, to ' critical' is not the mot juste. The man, the competition has himself struck to process to reach this last stage of the selective procedure is breath-taking to be regarded. A shot of its face in the half profile, do not catch the exact diagonal of its cheek bones, outlines of its rather wonderful nose and lightning Teufelei in its eyes reveal the anything to fuller lips disappoint except few that could be. But then, who wants perfection? My man, I assume, but it is its own animal at all.'

You'll have to trust me when I tell you that my own writing is slightly more polished than this. Or, if you need proof, the book is available on amazon ;).

As if evidence of good German taste were in any doubt, I should also tell you that they have picked up the wonderful Charlotte Stein's collection, The Things That Make Me Give In, for distribution in the Buchhandlungen of the country. Ja!

All the News That's Fit to Print

2010-06-11T03:31:00.000-07:00

Looks like the Curse of Elyot struck again then. Not content with having the last ever Black Lace publication, it looks as if I'm in the last issue of Scarlet Magazine too. And that's not the half of it either.

Sad face.

But there will be happy faces too. I have returned from various travels to lots and lots of news. In fact, too much news for one post. So I'll endeavour to shake off my blog-slackness and post every day until I run out of self-promotional things to say. And after that, you never know, I might say something interesting.

Wish I was still here...

Scarlet Woman

2010-05-13T11:56:00.000-07:00

This almost passed me by in amongst the non-stop carnival of fun and frolic that is my life, but On Demand is the featured Juicy Bit in Scarlet Magazine this month. So if you'd like a sneak preview, or even if you just want to read about Lady Gaga and Jake Gyllenhaal, you can pick up a copy from your local stockist. (Though your local stockist won't be very local if you're outside the UK.)

Please and Thank You

2010-05-01T11:49:00.001-07:00

Although it's been available in the US for a little while now, today is the official release date of Please, Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission. I am in awe of how hard editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is working to promote this anthology, which promises to be a scorcher - I curse the postman every day he doesn't deliver it through my letterbox.

It has its own dedicated blog, featuring author interviews and all kinds of interesting BDSM-related snippets, and throughout the month of May it is going on a virtual book tour, details here. And of course I've already posted the book trailer, which looks like about as much fun as you can have in front of a video camera.

My story, Sunday in the Study, features two characters who will already be familiar to those readers who checked out my serial story Lecture Notes, posted last year. It marks the return of Beth and Sinclair - so if you have any residual fondness for the pair, do please take a look at the book.

As ever, a host of wonderful writers are involved in the project: Shanna Germain; Elizabeth Coldwell; Sommer Marsden; Mercy Loomis; Tess Danesi; Heidi Champa; Emerald; Yolanda West; Remittance Girl; Evan Mora; Doug Harrison; Alison Tyler; Aimee Pearl; Kissa Starling; Charlotte Stein; Ariel Graham; Lisabet Sarai; Salome Wilde; Donna George Storey, and the estimable Ms Bussel herself.

I hope you get a kick out of it - or, if you prefer, a slap.

Watch a Sexy Vid!

2010-04-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

Not the under-the-counter kind, but Rachel Kramer Bussel's fabulous book trailer for the Please, Sir anthology. I'm very excited to be a part of this, and will post on the subject further anon. But for now - feast your kinky little eyes.

Even Spanking Madder

2010-04-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

As if Ultimate Spanking weren't, uh, ultimate enough, I also have another spanking story released into the world of ebooks this week. Strip the Willow is a one-off longish short story, and can be purchased for the bargain price of 99p - or the even more bargain price of nothing at all, if you take advantage of e-Xcite's 'Buy Two, get the Third Free' offer. Not as easy to say as BOGOF, but every bit as good.

So please do go down to the Xcite books website and find out what happens when the jeans come down...there's a free excerpt underneath the listing too.

Spanking Mad!

2010-04-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

Psst, I'll let you into a secret. I love a good spanking story!

OK, that isn't really a secret, is it? But it's completely true. Spanking stories are my first love, and they will be my last. Spanking stories of the future and spanking stories of the past *fires up synthesiser*.

So the latest anthology to feature my writing, Ultimate Spanking from Xcite Books, is one I am devouring from cover to cover. And it is a banquet - a feast of flagellation, a cornucopia of corporal punishment etc.

My story is called Paying For It and concerns a girl called Kat who feels the need to call upon an unusual specialist service. Here is an excerpt:

‘Right,’ he said, and he stood up, took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. I forgot to breathe, my wine glass frozen in my hand, watching him like a tiny mouse in the sights of a raptor. ‘If this goes well for you, then, Kat, perhaps we can come to a more formal arrangement. But first, I need you to put down that glass and fetch the straight-backed chair from the corner, please.’

My chest decompressed in an undignified rush. I rose on shaky legs and went to fetch the chair, which was plain old-fashioned wood with a very high back and no arms, in the Shaker style, I suppose, though I’m not sure that’s still in fashion. I could imagine Professor Strict – or whatever his real name was – as the preacher of some old-time religion, thumping the Bible in a kitchen with a similar light oak finish. Sending the girls outside to cut switches, oh yes, he had that look.

Shaker style was apt, because I was shaking, nay quaking, with the enormity of what I was doing. This was really happening. I could leave. I didn’t have to go through with it.

But he took my elbow, firmly but not painfully, seated himself on the austere chair of chastisement, and pulled me down over his lap in such a seamless gesture that I almost didn’t realise what he was doing. Talk about a shift in perspective. There, stomach pressed tightly to his expensively-trousered thighs, legs sloping down to the floor and head dangling perilously close to the shiny leather of his shoe, I truly felt the ignominy of my position. I was not even remotely in control of this situation, even though I was the ‘client’ and he the ‘service provider’. It was such…a relief. Yes. A relief. What happened next would not and should not be up to me. I wanted it to be up to him. And I knew he would not fail me.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to keep still? Or should I hold your wrists behind your back?’

‘I really don’t know. I’ve never…’

‘Alright. We’ll see how we get on.’ One hand cupped the tartan seat of my skirt, tapping it lightly and experimentally. ‘How’s your pain threshold?’

‘OK, I think.’

‘If you get to the point where you really can’t bear any more, you must tell me. Think of a word.’

My mind went blank. Think of a word? What sort of a word? Any old word?

‘Or should I think of one for you?’

‘Yes please.’

‘OK, the word is Antidisestablishmentarianism. Got that?’

I giggled and squirmed in his lap. ‘That’s too long!’ I objected.

‘You had your chance. Right then. I hear you’ve been a bad girl, Kat, is that right?’

‘Yes,’ I muttered, glad that he could not see my flushed face.

‘Didn’t catch that, Kat,’ he said, with a leisurely swipe of my behind that shocked more than it hurt. ‘Was that Yes? Or was it Yes, Sir? Which do you think is the right answer?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I squeaked.

‘Better. So what do you think happens to bad girls, Kat? Bad girls who come to my home?’

‘I think…they get a spanking, Sir.’

He rubbed my skirt over my bottom, the hem tickling my thigh so that I wriggled. ‘Is this irritating you, Kat? Perhaps we should get it out of the way.’ He raised the material to reveal my white cotton briefs, stretched tight over my vulnerable globes. ‘That was the right answer, incidentally. Well done. Can’t say it’s going to spare you any of what’s coming to you though. Speaking of which…’

Oh, on the thin cotton his hand raised the most resounding crack, making me jerk and yelp in surprise. The fabric was barely any barrier at all to his painful purpose, and he rained down a few more, glorying in the crispness and efficiency of his technique, for I was already whimpering and trying to rearrange myself to a less wide-open position on his lap – which he was having none of, of course.

‘You asked for this, Kat,’ he said warningly. ‘You know it’s what you need. You shouldn’t fight it, should you?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘No, Sir. That’s right.’ And his hand was being gentle now, rubbing at the site of the soreness, dissipating the sting. ‘This’ll help you take a longer spanking,’ he told me, ruining my illusion that it was all out of the kindness of his heart. ‘Short, sharp shocks are all very well, but I think a good, long session over my lap will be better for you.’ And with that, he repeated the initial fusillade, peppering me with hard smacks until I tried to cover my backside and, sighing deeply, he was forced to hold my wrists in the small of my back.

Many, many wonderful names also contribute to the book - you will find Monica Belle; Shanna Germain ; Philippa Johnson; Poppy St Vincent; Sadie Wolf; Rachel Kramer Bussel; Ashley Hind; Cyanne; Heidi Champa; Charlotte Stein; Robin Moreton; Amelia Thornton; Sandrine Lopez; Izzie French; Aishling Morgan; Laurel Aspen; Landon Dixon; Teresa Joseph and Philip Kemp.

Happy Spankings!

I'm Free

2010-04-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

Who likes fairgrounds? Who likes sex? Who likes sex in fairgrounds? Who likes reading about sex in fairgrounds? If you answered 'yes' to the final question, you might like to take a look at my free short story, Pleasureland.

It's part of a chapter of an abandoned novel - I stumbled across it in my documents folder the other day and found I quite liked it, so thought perhaps other people might too. So here is my little gift to you. If there was a season going on just now, I'd offer you compliments of it - but Happy April anyway. And Happy Reading.

Eggciting!

2010-04-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

I love the cover art for my September release, The Business of Pleasure, which appeared on sites including Xcite Books and Amazon today. Sheer luxurious lusciousness, mmmm - more tasty and tempting than the Lindor Easter Egg I've been eyeing up all day.

I hope you'll find that the contents measure up to the cover.

And, if you're looking at the Xcite page, check out the also very ravishing covers for the upcoming releases by Charlotte Stein and K D Grace. Quality!

How Rude!

2010-03-26T13:55:00.000-07:00

I think most erotica writers would agree that more sites devoted to the discussion and review of the genre would be welcomed with open legs, um, arms - so I was very pleased to note the arrival on the scene of Rude Words. In fact, I was so pleased that I, along with a number of luminaries, did an interview with them, which can be read here.

My favourite nugget from the site so far comes from Donna George Storey, whose favourite piece of writing advice is to bear in mind at all times that 'it's just for me, it's just for fun!' This is my mantra too - wise words.

Please do check it out and give Sally and the other Rude Wordsters your support - I hope this site will be successful and popular.

When a Man is Tired of London...

2010-03-25T04:31:00.000-07:00

I've always been with Dr Johnson on the subject of London - his full quotation speaks a lot of sense to me: "Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford."
— Samuel Johnson

So I was immediately captivated when Maxim Jakubowski put out a call for erotica submissions which must feature the city as an integral part of the story. I don't live in London any more (nothing to do with being tired of it either!) but I do recall my revved-up, heightened state of existence while I was there. I felt like part of something much bigger, and my own pulse tried to keep up with the manic beat of city life accordingly. I did things in London that I would never do here, and my story in Sex in the City: London reflects that.

It is called Thames Link, and is slightly based on true events - so there's a teaser for you! I explain a little more fully in the 'About' piece afterwards, which is one of my favourite aspects of the book. Each story is extended by a little explanatory note at the end, in which the author describes their relationship with London; I was fascinated to read these yesterday, and I hope you will be too!

Here is a taster from my story:

My throat was dry and tight; I hadn’t eaten all day and I needed a shower. Perhaps, I thought, I should go home. I turned back, looking unseeingly into the window of the junk shop over the road from the pub. A reflection loomed behind me, quicker than I could respond to, and then there were hands over my bare elbows, clammy hands, and hot breath in my ear.

‘Where do you think you’re going? I hope you weren’t thinking of standing me up.’

His voice, thick and greedy, pretending to be jokey but with a deadly serious undertow.

‘I’m…not sure,’ I confessed weakly. Now I was in his clutches. In his clutches. I liked the phrase. I liked the idea. But would I like the reality?

‘I am,’ he said, dripping his poisoned honey into my ear. ‘I’m sure. I knew you’d come.’

‘You couldn’t know that.’

‘I could. Come on, I’ve bought you a drink.’

There was nowhere to sit, so we leaned against the wall. He picked up a glass for me from the pavement – white wine, though I’d have preferred mineral water under the circumstances. All the same, I took a gulp, grateful for anything wet. He watched me over the rim of his pint glass, just as he had done that morning over the newspaper.

‘I like your dress,’ he said, and he leered. A true and unmistakable leer. Behind his eyes, his mind was stripping it off me and pushing me down on the church steps before pounding into me, right here, right now, in front of everyone.

It seemed wrong, somehow, to say ‘Thanks,’ in response, but I did it anyway.

‘Thank you for wearing it,’ he said, with a catch of something in the back of his throat. For a split second, he sounded self-conscious and it was such a relief. Oh, was he human after all? But then I realised it was laughter. He turned quickly to face me, his eyes vivid, skittering from side to side. ‘And thanks for coming.’

‘You knew I would come,’ I pointed out, somewhat sulkily.

‘Oh yes. But thanks anyway.’

‘So come on. How did you know? You worked it out by the power of your stare? Are you some kind of Sherlock Holmes character, and you’re going to tell me what I had for breakfast and the name of my childhood pet?’

He snuffled a bit and moved the toe of his boot closer to my strappy sandal, so that they touched. ‘No, nothing like that. Just applied a bit of psychology.’

‘What? Explain?’

‘Very curious, aren’t you?’ He smiled slyly.

‘What…do you mean?’

‘I’ve given you your answer. And that’s all I’m saying.’

‘You…’ I was beginning to feel seriously outmanoeuvred. Even more so when he took the glass from my hand and put it on the wall next to him.

‘But I’m very glad you came.’ He took my hand and grazed my knuckles with his lips and whiskery chin. ‘Like I said, you’re gorgeous. My favourite kind of gorgeous. Filthy gorgeous.’ He flicked out his tongue and licked a knuckle. I tried to draw my hand back, but he was too quick, pulling me closer to him and whipping an arm around my waist. His hand patted my hip while he continued to say weird and creepy things to me. I could have disengaged, I could have looked around for help from the crowds of evening drinkers, I could have told him to fuck off.

I didn’t.

But there are many sophisticated and sexy London libertines contributing to this volume, and several write outside the erotica genre as well as within it - you will also find stories by: Matt Thorne; Francis Ann Kerr; Valerie Grey; NJ Streitberger; Kristina Lloyd; Lily Harlem; Maxim Jakubowski; Elizabeth Coldwell; Clarice Clique; Carrie Williams; and Kevin Mullins & Marcelle Perks. Shell out a few bob and have a butchers, guv'nor - it's available now!

Falsehoods

2010-03-16T12:51:00.000-07:00

OK, I've been tagged again (I really am a menace to society, aren't I? not even an ASBO, just straight to tagging) so I have a copy of On Demand to give away to anybody who can correctly guess which two of the following statements are TRUE.

1. I was born in the back of a travelling van.

2. I can play the trombone to Grade 8 standard.

3. I've been in the Blue Peter garden.

4. I hate bananas with a passion.

5. I spent one summer working in a chocolate factory.

6. I can swear in Swahili.

7. I've been undressed by kings and I've seen some things that a woman ain't supposed to see.

???

Read an Ebook week

2010-03-12T11:35:00.001-08:00

Or is it 'eBook'? Like eBay? Or should there by a hyphen or something? I'm really not sure.

Never mind my syntactical ponderings - just read one. Preferably this one, which is free from e-Xcite right now!

Go here for ordering details, and enjoy your free read.

World Book Day

2010-03-04T11:49:00.001-08:00

In honour of the occasion, I have something cerebral and high-minded for you.

Except I don't. What I do have, courtesy of being tagged by the amazing Charlotte Stein, is the Book Boyfriend Meme! So much more fun!

Here is the gen:

We all have our favorite book boyfriends and now you have the chance to create one just for yourself and your fantasies! How do you play? Fill out the quiz below, post a picture of sexy men and tag five (5) other book addicts to do the same. Don't forget to pop to their blogs and let them know they have been tagged! Once tagged... you have to do the same, grab the button, answer the questions, and keep it rolling! But don't forget the picture of the sexy man! It doesn't have to match your fantasy man, just a little eye candy for the rest of us... heheheee!

.

1) Hair Style and Colour

These days, my tastes are catholic. Which is not to say that I favour a tonsure - no way! But I have moved on from my youthful insistence on flowing Byronic locks and now I prefer a look that is luxuriant but controlled. They can be blond, red, brown, black, preferably natural but not completely necessarily. Facial hair is fine so long as Father Christmas is not the look being modelled - for an exemplar of how to do it, look no further than the Sheriff of Nottingham:

Serious barnet, dude! Plus extra bonus points for the scar. And the blackness. And the relentless evil. In fact, the Sheriff wins at just about everything.

2) Eye Colour and Facial Features

Here is my face specification:

Forehead - high
Cheekbones - sharp
Lips - lush
Nose - the bigger the better (I'm thinking Rickman again, rather than Cyrano de Bergerac - I mean, it shouldn't have its own postcode)
Eyes - any colour, but they have to be able to look at you like THIS -->

Neck like a swan too...le sigh...

3) Height and Body Type

Cliche alert, but yes, tall. And thin like Jarvis Cocker, or broad-but-not-too-broad like Richard Armitage. Or both. Heh.

4) Visible Age

Oh hell, I don't care. Over 25. I think Aidan Turner is my youngest little ogle-sponge:

He is 26. My oldest, at nearly 200, is Franz Liszt, though I'm not generally speaking a necrophiliac.

5) Bangability - i.e. kinky/bi/size

Big, bad and bristling with shocking perversions.

6) Human or other

I'm a little bit conservative about this. He really does have to be human. Or a Time Lord.

7) Paranormal skills

Nah, not necessary. Mind reading would be terrible. I would have to become a nun.

8) Interests

World domination; physics & really brainy sciencey stuff; music; the Romantic poets etc.

9) Habitat

Somewhere not far from me, with any luck. I seem to be going through a phase of having heroes with massive flats in London though - so maybe that.

10) Special Skills

Seduction, deviancy, insatiability, a really evil laugh, a really dirty mind, oh, and I forgot NICE HANDS! Totally essential.

Sounds like your average Joe, doesn't he?

I'm not sure about tagging people - I don't feel as if I'm au fait with the etiquette of it. But if anyone wants to do this meme, just go right ahead. Comment with a link if you're going to do it, so I can come and give your pictures a scholarly assessment, if y'know what I mean.

Happy World Book Day!

Elves and Masons

2010-03-02T11:52:00.000-08:00

Dispelling a little of the gloom engendered by my previous post, I find today that On Demand now has THREE lovely five star reviews up on amazon.com - despite being unavailable in the US. Now that's the power of the internet for you!

So I'd like to thank the fabulous Mason Mason (great name!) and the eloquent Erotic Elf for their very kind words - it's really brought the smile back to my scowling mug today. The link to those reviews, and the amazon page they are on is here, if you fancy a read.

Your very good Elf!

Demand your On Demand

2010-02-16T12:05:00.000-08:00

Just a quick update on the situation with the global release of On Demand - it isn't happening.

That is, there are no plans to distribute it overseas, beyond the usual methods of buying online and paying shedloads for shipping. Oh, hang on, though! You don't need to pay shedloads for shipping - you don't need to pay anything at all for shipping if you order from The Book Depository. They have it listed at a bargain price and that £4.78 is ALL you will pay if you order from them.

Furthermore, if you are one of those lucky people with a Kindle, you can buy it here.

My apologies to everyone who was led by me to believe that the book would be available outside the UK. I had no reason, until now, to think that my book would be treated differently to every other Black Lace book ever published. But apparently, I'm special. Aww.

Valentinstag

2010-02-14T11:42:00.000-08:00

I've had some high times in Germany and many fond memories of the country, so I am particularly delighted to find out that On Demand is going to be translated into German. I don't envy the translator, mind you - it is highly idiomatic, especially the chapters in Sophie's voice, so they'll have their work cut out for them. All the same, I'm chuffed to nuts (what's that in German?).

It's almost enough to make me dig out my A-Level German oral notes. I picked as my subject King Ludwig II ('The Mad') of Bavaria. What a guy he was! A big highlight of my life was getting to visit one of his legendary Schlosses - not the one on all the old chocolate boxes, but the (ever so slightly) more restrained Herrenchiemsee.

There's still time (barely) for those of you who have been remiss in your Valentine duties to pick up the free gift from Xcite - three stories, gratis and for nothing. Details here, lovers!

Are You a Statesperson?

2010-02-02T11:43:00.000-08:00

By which I mean, do you reside in the USA, or do you have a mailing address in that fair territory? If so, and you are happy to provide a review on Amazon.com in return for a free forthcoming anthology of D/s (M/f) stories, email me at JustineElyot@gmail.com and I'll sort it out for you.

Good news about On Demand is that it was most favourably reviewed at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association by Ashley Lister who describes it as 'relentlessly rude and continually cheerful' (has he met me??) and 'compelling erotic fiction'. Full review right here.

Less good news about On Demand is that I still have no idea when, if ever, it will be properly available at amazon.com. And I have nobody to ask either.

I Have a Date

2010-01-15T11:27:00.000-08:00

What shall I wear? Is this too slutty? Not slutty enough? Do you think he really likes me?

Nah, not that kind of date - a release date! For my forthcoming fantasy-fest, The Business of Pleasure. According to Amazon, it will be on the scene just in time for the autumnal equinox, on September 20th. Googling this date, I find that it is the Feast Day of St Fausta and St Evilasius among others. I feel I would like to know more about St Evilasius. In the meantime, here is my listing - I'm available for pre-order!

In other news, you can ignore my moan about not knowing who was in the line-up for Sex, Love and Valentines (out now). The Xcite website has all the relevant info, plus the book can be ordered there with a minimum of delay, if Amazon has put you off. So I'm delighted to say that I share billing with: Kat Black ; Jeremy Edwards ; Shanna Germain ; Landon Dixon ; Roger Frank Selby ; Lucy Felthouse ; Primula Bond ; Izzy French ; Amelia Thornton ; J Manx ; Janine Ashbless ; Sue Williams ; Elizabeth Cage; Charlotte Stein ; Alcamia ; Lilli Lace ; Sophia Valenti and Lynn Lake. Twenty stories by nineteen writers - that's bang for your buck, baby!

Socks, Love and Valentines

2010-01-11T11:49:00.001-08:00

Or, hang on, maybe that should be Sex, Love and Valentines. This, after all, is the title of the brand new Xcite anthology available in shops now, and featuring my story The Heart-Shaped Box.

To celebrate, I have a small teaser for you:

"The living room yielded no clue as to the nature of my surprise, so I walked on through the bedroom. Aha. There on the bed, a huge red heart-shaped box, almost the width of the duvet, and about half the length. Beneath the ribbon that crossed its surface was a note, which I plucked out and read.

“Dearest Horny Hayley

Inside this box are treats for you and for me. Those for you are wrapped up in tissue paper – those for me are in boxes. You MUST NOT LOOK at the things inside boxes – I will unwrap them and show them to you when I get back. But you are very welcome to open your own presents – I expect you to be wearing/playing with them by the time I arrive, which should be in about one hour. Don’t let yourself come before I do though, and, most of all…

DON’T OPEN THE BOXES!

Always your

Spiro.”

Things to wear and things to play with…I suspected he didn’t mean a necklace and a game of Scrabble. Greedily, I whipped off the lid and cast my eye over pale tissue and intriguing boxes of leather and satin-covered card.

The first thing I reached for was soft and squashy – one of the somethings to wear, I surmised, and I found I was right when it turned out to be unexpectedly heavy, falling on to the bed in a liquid pool of blackness. What was it? So shiny and sheeny – oh! Latex underwear! We had discussed this once, in a pre-sex conversation about how we would like to see each other dressed, but it had remained in the realms of fantasy, until now.

Eagerly, I undressed out of my work clothes and struggled into the new acquisitions. It really was a struggle – they were tighter than elastic bands; I had to dust my skin with talcum powder before the shorts would go anywhere near my thighs. And there was something else about them that was special. The bra had little cutaway heart-shapes where the nipples should go, giving a peek-a-boo effect. The cut outs were trimmed with marabou, drawing the eye straight to my chill-hardened nubs. The short shorts were even more scandalous. Crotchless, they sheared away from my bottom, exposing most of it in a similar heart-shaped fur-trimmed frame. They were no more than a plasticised sign shrieking ‘LOOK! RUDE BITS HERE!’ I looked utterly and ravishingly whorish. I loved them."

Will Horny Hayley learn to cast off her cynicism and embrace the Valentine spirit? Buy it and see!

Usually I like to give a little run down of the other treats in store, with links, when I promote a book I'm in, but I have not had my copy yet, so I don't want to leave any names out by mentioning the ones I know.

However, I can tell you with no word of a lie that you will find a story by Jeremy Edwards in there - and he's the man to blame for my socks/sex confusion in the title. His book Rock My Socks Off officially releases today - and he's having a paaaaartay! Come on down and join in!

Happy 2010

2010-01-03T11:59:00.000-08:00

It's a new year, and I'm looking forward to all the things that are lined up for 2010.

So far, I have four shorts and a new collection in the pipeline so, for the purposes of order, I shall list them here.

1. Coming out this month (next week, I think): Sex, Love and Valentines from Xcite - featuring my story 'The Heart Shaped Box'.

2. In April: Sex in the City: London from Xcite - featuring my story 'Thames Link'.

3. In May: Please, Sir from Cleis - featuring my story 'Sunday in the Study'.

4. In July: Fairy Tale Lust from Cleis - featuring my story 'Three Times'.

5. Then in September my new book 'The Business of Pleasure' is published by Xcite. No pretty visuals for that yet, but I'll have them up here as soon as I get them.

So that's what is coming up for me. I've also made a few resolutions.

Firstly, to read a few more books by new-to-me authors, so on my Amazon list I have not only this:

by Jeremy Edwards, whom I already know to be a fine craftsman with the erotic pen, but also this:

by a writer who is new to me, but of whom I have heard some great reports.

Second resolution: to get some money so I can afford them in the first place.

Third resolution: to become a Time Lord so I can kidnap the Master and keep him as my pleasure slave.

Kinking up Christmas! I like this!

The Bestseller

2009-12-30T11:54:00.001-08:00

2009 is drawing to a close and will soon give way to 2010, the year that Black Lace as we know it ceases to be. So, just before Big Ben tolls the imprint's demise, my final guest commentator on the subject is the wonderful Kristina Lloyd, whose three Black Lace titles, Darker than Love, Asking for Trouble and Split are still regular fixtures in the erotic charts. I'm thrilled to have her as my guest. Take it away!

"Early Black Lace novels were an odd mix of wonderful and awful, often within the same book. As a reader, I favoured historicals, partly because the contemporaries were too bizarre and alienating. Sex in these books seemed to be a luxury item, something to aspire to along with the yacht, the health spa, the five million thread-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets and the handsome manservant (Italian, pref) with his imperious smile and perfectly manicured foreskin.

The first novel I wrote for BL, Darker Than Love, was set in the Victorian era. I'd had several short stories published in Forum, Desire and For Women but I knew my contemporary style was way too down and dirty for BL. Writers' guidelines at the time recommended authors use the words 'fuck' and 'cunt' only sparingly and preferably within dialogue. I couldn't see how a woman in the mid 1990s might own her sexuality but be a bit shy about swearing. A nineteenth century setting seemed more appropriate and I reckoned it would be easier, not to mention pleasanter and more interesting, to research the Victorians rather than the lifestyles of the rich and glamorous.

In 1998, when BL announced to authors they were relaxing their editorial guidelines, I was chomping at the bit to write a novel that was filthy, upfront and deeply unglamorous. Menage, Emma Holly's debut novel, had recently been released and I'd devoured it, thrilled to find such likeable, realistic characters leading ordinary but scorchingly sexy lives. I put a proposal together for Asking for Trouble in a whirl of excitement. In my covering letter to the then-editor, Kerri Sharp, I confessed I'd found most of BL's contemporary fiction 'all a bit Cinzano Bianco'. Kerri replied, 'I'm so glad I've chucked out the Cinzano!'

Asking for Trouble has been one of Black Lace's bestsellers – proof, if it were needed, women don't need rose petals and rubies to assuage any guilt about getting off.

BL was rarely complacent about its place in the market and I'm heartbroken to see it end, especially when it looked to be on the up. Single author collections were being introduced; new writers with fresh, original voices were being taken on; popular US authors were appearing in BL anthologies, a move sure to have helped blur the UK/US publishing division and raise the profile of the imprint Stateside; and, after a few years tussling, it seemed there was finally space for writers of erotica and erotic romance to co-exist within the imprint.

The internet, though it's often blamed for the demise of print porn, has proved a great marketing tool for genre authors who don't get much of a cut of their publisher's budget. These last few years, I've loved finding out more about familiar names and discovering new ones online; I've loved feeling myself part of an erotica community; I've loved challenging the industry's sexism and have been thrilled by the support we've received on Erotica Cover Watch. Thanks to everyone who's backed our campaign for man candy on covers!

Once, being a Black Lace author felt like being part of a job lot; the imprint had greater prominence than its individual authors. Readers had to buy blind and the impression was dirty books were all much of a muchness. Who cares who wrote it? So many BL authors have now surged beyond that to declare their distinct voices as writers and people. I hope we'll all manage to find hot new homes for our fiction – homes which will allow those voices to shine and suck cock! I hope readers will follow their favourite authors to their new homes. And I hope we'll all get to read and write a lot more quality filth in 2010 and beyond!"

Out with the old (especially the Cinzano) and in with the new (a good Scotch, maybe?). I'll drink to that. See you in 2010 xxx

Tis the Season

2009-12-24T12:44:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, sexy sybarites! Hope your stockings are well filled.

Easy Tiger

2009-12-14T11:43:00.000-08:00

Two lovely links to post today.

One is the influential romance commentator Michelle Buonfiglio's Heart to Heart blog at the Barnes & Noble book club in which she recommends On Demand as an antidote to all the trashy Tiger Woods gossip in the press.

"A young woman’s confidence and sensuality blossom when she’s mistaken for a call girl in a swank hotel. From that moment on, exploring the power of that fantasy – and learning the exotic penchents and desires of those who love and play lustfully w/in that hotel – becomes her raison d’etre, and the reader’s most erotic pleasure."

Secondly, I'm proud to say I've been Erotica Cover Watched - and Mr Suit passes muster! Thanks to Kristina and Mathilde, curators of this fabulous and ever-thought-provoking campaign site. Check it out!

The Enthusiast

2009-12-10T11:40:00.000-08:00

I'm absolutely delighted that Lucy Felthouse is stopping by tonight to give her take on the end of Black Lace. An avid reader and reviewer of their material, she was an invaluable asset to the marketing and promotion of the brand. And she is a terrific erotica writer in her own right! Check out the Xcite books website for some of the anthologies her stories are featured in - the latest one is Temptations Vol. 2. (Nice cover! nom!)

So without further ado - take it away, Lucy!

"Black Lace took my hand and led me into the world of erotica. I can’t even remember how I found out about the books, but I seem to remember the first one I read being Wicked Words 10, which I loved. I enjoyed the variety and smuttiness of the stories. From there, I started buying more, both anthologies and novels, but found that I much preferred the anthologies – the novels didn’t have enough sex in them for me! I found myself skipping through lots of text just to get to the dirty bits. However, I had this experience only with early novels and as my tastes and the label matured, I found myself loving the full-length tales just as much as the collections.

As I showed more of an interest in reading erotica – I also started writing it as the result of a dare, and my aim was to be published by Black Lace. My growing interest then stemmed out into my university dissertation, which was about erotic literature. Here I started corresponding with various authors from Black Lace and beyond, and realising just how nice they all were! Far from being stuck up and unwilling to talk, I found erotic writers to be the most friendly, open and helpful people, which helped greatly with my research.

It was around this time that I discovered authors which are to this day, amongst my favourites. Portia Da Costa, Kristina Lloyd, Janine Ashbless, Mathilde Madden and Saskia Walker – please take a bow. More recent discoveries include Deanna Ashford, Nikki Magennis, Charlotte Stein and of course Justine Elyot, you ladies also deserve a round of applause, for you have all achieved something that I cannot. You were published by Black Lace, and for that you should be very proud. It was a label which went through many changes, and had some variance in quality, but the one thing it always was – was a beacon of light for erotica, raising its profile and making people realise it wasn’t something just for dirty perverts, secreted in brown paper bags. It was sexy and fun and something that us ladies could talk about in the pub. It clearly did a good job as we’re still talking about it now.

Black Lace, you may be gone, but you’re certainly not forgotten. You’ve led many writers into the genre, and as a reader, I’m grateful for that. I’m sad that I’ll never have my name in or on one of your covers, but I was inspired enough to begin to write seriously and I hope that one day I’ll be as famous as Portia Da Costa!"

The Debutante

2009-12-08T11:41:00.000-08:00

How fitting that, on the US release date of her superb collection The Things That Make Me Give In (available here), Charlotte Stein is here to reminisce about Black Lace and what it meant to her. Fitting, too, that she namechecks the marvellous Portia Da Costa, who also has a book, Shadowplay, out in the US today (available here). I call that synchronicity in action!

So, enough of my rambling - here's Charlotte:

"The first Black Lace book I ever bought was, I think, Conquered. It had a ridiculous cover and the person who wrote it - Fleur Reynolds - had a pretty ridiculous name and the name of the publisher was pretty ridiculous, too. A stupid novelty band from the eighties!

But it was about 16th Century Peru! It had pervy goings on, going on in weird outlandish settings! The girl on the cover had a bird on her head! It was marvellous.

And for a while Black Lace, for me, was a sort of silly, fun sort of thing. But I think it changed, somewhat, when I read Portia Da Costa's The Stranger.

They weren't just kind-of-daft books anymore. I could actually see some of this stuff happening. They became, more and more, about real women, who often did outlandish things but all the while remained recognisable.

This was when I began to love Black Lace. I loved Black Lace more for Menage, Dreamers In Time, The Houseshare, Crash Course, The Top Of Her Game and Sin.Net. Because all my favourite books have that in common- a heroine I recognise. A real heroine, who could just be going about her ordinary little life. Who could be no-one at all...

...until you peek beneath the covers.

The last Black Lace book I ever bought was and ever will be On Demand, by Justine Elyot. It is a book that continues this tradition. That although many outrageous things happen during the course of its fantastic contents, her female characters are real, they are real women, and I believe in them.

And although Black Lace is no more, I am forever grateful that its authors- Portia Da Costa, Janine Ashbless, Madelynne Ellis, Justine Elyot and many, many more of my faves, continue to write about those wonderful, wonderful heroines."

Amen! And I certainly hope people want to keep reading about them too. Thanks, Charlotte!

This is the way the world ends...

2009-12-06T13:02:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure that On Demand features a lot of both, so it can't be said that Black Lace ended without bangs or whimpers.

Banging and whimpering were in evidence from day one, of course, though in 1993, when the imprint launched, my awareness of it was pretty vague. I'd heard of it, because there was a fair bit of press hoopla at the time, but it washed over me. I think I might even have disapproved of the 'by women for women' tag line. There was no way, back then, that I was ever reaching for a book off the top shelf in a shop and taking it to the counter, especially in the WH Smiths concession at Bristol Temple Meads station, where I recall spending a bit of pre-journey time analysing the titles and covers and wondering - in a not very urgent way - what lay within. If I'd browsed them on the internet, I might have bought. But I'm not sure I'd even heard of the internet in 1993.

I got braver as time went by, and started buying erotica titles. I think it was because I was living in London then, and you had the feeling that nobody cared at all what you did in London, whether it was buying a copy of Delta of Venus or stabbing a passerby in the neck. Even then, I stuck with the 'classics' of the genre and didn't think of Black Lace. I don't think I had a reason for that, beyond not knowing what the quality was like because nobody had recommended them to me.

It wasn't until I read a piece - I think it was in Cosmopolitan, though I could be mistaken - about Kristina Lloyd's Asking for Trouble that I sat up and thought 'Ooooh, interesting.' I bought the book and I was not disappointed! Here, I thought, was the kind of book I wanted more of - sexy, dark, fresh, brave, modern. The kind of book I had imagined probably didn't exist.

It was a wonderful find, and the gateway to a secret garden. I was so happy to find it, and even happier to become part of the vegetation. But now, unless a Mary Lennox happens along sometime, the secret garden is all locked up again.

Funny thing about gardens, though - they can grow in a lot of places.

(I feel I ought to make it clear that I never stabbed any passers by in the neck while I was living in London. Just for the record.)

Five Star Hotel

2009-12-04T12:33:00.000-08:00

The first review of On Demand is up at amazon.co.uk and Lucy Felthouse gives the dodgy goings-on at the Hotel Luxe Noir a fab five stars. Here is what she had to say:

"Previous to reading On Demand, I'd read Justine's stories in anthologies and always enjoyed them. So I was pleased to get my hands on a whole book of her writing! Rather than being a novel, though, On Demand is an anthology of short stories, all written to a theme. And the theme in this steamy read is the setting - a hotel.

What makes the book so fabulous is the fact that it isn't just a book of stories based in a hotel; it's also centred around the same characters. This means, of course, that you get to know and care about the characters and what happens to them. You'll feel yourself getting thrilled when they get hot under the collar, and getting hot somewhere else when they're getting laid! And boy, do they get laid!

With a theme like the one chosen for this book, it would have been very easy to get stuck in a rut and for all of the stories to have been formulaic. However, Ms. Elyot has skilfully written the stories in different places and scenarios, so every tale is fresh and fun, as well as damn sexy. The tone is light, and there's definitely more physicality going on than emotional attachment, but that's what makes this book what it is. It's a fruity, frisky fun fest that has something for most tastes, and will get you horny in no time!

As well as being fabulous, On Demand is also the end of an era. For it's the last book to be published by now defunct erotica publisher Black Lace. R.I.P, you will be missed. So grab yourself a piece of history and get a bonking good read at the same time! "

I'm thrilled to have such a glowing first review - thanks a million to lovely Lucy! I hope anyone else who has bought it enjoys it just as much - especially my competition winners, Damiana and Anne-Elisabeth. Congrats, ladies, the book will be on its way to you.

Titillating Titbit Numero Tres - and a competition

2009-12-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

Here is the third and final piece of On Demand, red in tooth and claw, for your delectation:

‘I have some lovely new toys to demonstrate today, and I hope my lucky winners will be able to help me with the show,’ she says, smiling. She lays a large case out on a low table between me and the audience and opens it up. ‘Take a good look at what is inside,’ she invites. ‘Choose your favourites and then, when we are ready, you can try them out on Sophie here. Please don’t be shy to do whatever you wish to her. I am paying Sophie to do as she is told, and she will get to choose and keep her own favourites after the show. For the next hour, no part of Sophie is off-limits – you may use her tits, her pussy, her arse, exactly as you please.’ They look sidelong at me, curious and ravenous at once. Furiously flushed, I stare down at the lacy tops of my stockings, drinking in the shame and transfiguring it to a strong gush of need between my thighs. ‘But of course,’ Lura finishes, wagging a bony finger, ‘you may only use the products. No flesh is to meet flesh, please. This is a high-class establishment, not a brothel, and Sophie is here to demonstrate, not to service you.’

‘Not yet,’ mutters Neil and I aim a killer glare at him. He winks back at me, then the group bow their heads over the suitcase, picking things up and inspecting them, sometimes looking over at me as if speculating on the effect they might have on me.

I see long columns of smooth metal, precious mineral rings, acres of discreetly hued silicone, pots and bottles and horsehair and silk.

‘Has everybody chosen?’ asks Lura. ‘Who would like to begin?’

The female model steps forward, holding up a glass vial. ‘I’d like to try some of this on her,’ she says. ‘I’ve heard good things about it.’

‘Be my guest.’ Lura nods and the model smiles widely at me, opens her vial and dabs the stopper on my temples, then she peels off the sparkling pastes and treats my nipples. There is a moment of sting and a dizzying aphrodisiac aroma once my skin absorbs the contents. I take a deep breath, noticing how my nipples are an even darker red now, throbbing lightly and begging to be touched.

‘How does that feel, Sophie?’ asks the model.

‘It’s…heightening my senses…and it smells gorgeous,’ I say, gasping as she grabs hold of a calf, hoiks it over the velvet arm of the chair and then glides the stopper along my labia majora, once, twice, three times, until the potency and intensity of it have caused my clit to expand and emerge from its hood. I see all eyes upon it, eyebrows raised, chins stroked. I think some sales may have been made, but I am too unfocused and needful of more touch to think of much else. I wriggle my bare bottom against the plushy pile and bring my hands up to my nipples, which seem to explode into spangles, oh, god, it’s almost enough to make me come already. How long have I been here? Five minutes? I signed up for an hour.

‘Sophie,’ says Lura sternly. ‘Hands off your nipples. I’m not paying you to touch yourself.’ I moan and grip the arms of the chair, gazing longingly at some of the dildoes and vibrators the men have chosen. One of those is just what I need now. But Lura is busy hyping up her new concoction. ‘Imagine the possibilities. A few dabs on your lover’s skin and he or she is helplessly aroused, beyond reason. You can use it during normal sex, as a stimulant, or those with wickeder imaginations can devise schemes for pleasurable torment. Leave them tied up and burning for you. Make them wear it in a public place, underneath their clothes. And I’m led to understand that it can add a whole new dimension to a spanking. I will leave your admirably filthy minds to come up with your own scenarios.’

If you would like to win a copy of the book, all you need to do is drop me a comment. I'll put all the names into a hat, and on Friday I will draw two winners! Good luck!

Titillating Titbit Numero Dos - and a reminder

2009-11-30T11:37:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-28T11:35:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-26T11:37:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-20T11:54:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-10T11:45:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-08T11:58:00.003-08:00

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

2009-11-04T11:41:00.000-08:00

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.

Pretty Lady

2009-10-27T13:05:00.001-07:00

Isn't she a stunner? I badly want that feathery corset she's wearing too.

After a lengthy news drought, I can now tell you that I have a story in the awesome Rachel Kramer Bussel's upcoming anthology Please, Sir - tales of male dominance and female submission. Having seen the line-up today I am both impressed and thrilled by the company I'm keeping between those covers.

Another thrilling thing about it is that my story, Sunday in the Study, features some characters who might be quite familiar to those of you who followed Lecture Notes. I can't believe those guys have made it into print (though Sinclair isn't at all surprised).

The book comes out in May 2010 and is already available for pre-order from Amazon.com here.

Kindle A Flame

2009-10-11T12:22:00.000-07:00

Any Kindlers in the house? I ask because I have just realised that Ultimate Decadence is available in the Kindle format from amazon.com - look here!

And while I'm on the subject, I am mortified to realise that I haven't posted up a snippet of my story in that collection, Blind Man's Buff, yet. So here is one:

"I am aware of the bodies before I reach them; there is warmth and scent heralding their physical presence. If I do not like the smell, I try to elude them, but this one is peaches, lovely ripe delicate peaches. Or nectarines. When I catch her she laughs, low and mellifluous, and strokes my hair. She is about my height, and her touch as she unhooks my basque is exquisite.

‘Oh, look, they are standing up for me!’ Warm merriment in her voice, bathing me. Then she is pulling me back against her body – her dress is silk – and pinching at my nipples, demonstrating for the room. ‘Look at these pretty things, everyone.’ She reaches down to unsnap my stockings, then removes them. Her hair tickles my bottom and thighs and there is sweet breath on my skin. Once the hosiery is removed, she drops a gentle kiss on the inside of one thigh, then stands back up and repeats the action on the back of my neck. ‘Pretty things,’ she repeats, crooning it into my hair.

‘Put her down, Saskia,’ says Gil indulgently and, to the accompaniment of sighs, I am released once more, to pad about the room in no more than my thong. Their voices are giving away their location now, for they have broken into conversation, and their conversation is about me – or rather my breasts, and my bottom, and the curve of my hips and the tone of my skin.

‘You’re a lucky man, Gil.’

‘She is built for pleasure.’

‘Made for fucking.’

‘The perfect little slut.’

I twist this way and that, in between the sound waves they produce, until eventually I trip over a shoe – a man’s shoe, perhaps a brogue – and stumble into him.

‘Oh, I have hit the jackpot!’ he proclaims. ‘Let’s get these knickers off then. Such as they are.’

His thumbs settle inside the elastic, resting there for a while, snug against my hipbones, then he begins to ease them down, very slowly, very deliberately. He runs a finger down the string, releasing it from its captivity in my arse crack, then he chuckles – I knew he would – when my pubic hair is revealed.

‘That’s sweet,’ he says. ‘A heart shape. Look at this.’ He hurries to get the flimsy things off me so he can show my clipped, shaped mons to the world. There is a rumble of laughter and some clapping.

‘There now, ladies and gentlemen,’ says Gil. ‘Your gift is unwrapped. It is now up to you to enjoy it. Catch her and you may use her in any way you wish – short, as we have established, of penetrative sex.’ His voice is getting closer, he is almost beside me. ‘Are you ready, Venetia?’ His hand brushes my cheek. I nod. ‘Then let the real game begin.’"

Champion

2009-10-09T11:48:00.000-07:00

Damn, I wish I could be in Leeds. Or thereabouts, at least.

From time to time, my fellows in Black Lace like to meet up and discuss the type of things we discuss. Mysterious and secret things, my friends, wicked and wanton things. Such as jelly snakes and Vincent d'Onofrio. But alas, I live in an obscure part of the country from which Barcelona is literally more accessible than Barnsley, so I have had to forego these excursions so far.

But I have been wondering lately why is it that so many fabulous erotica writers hail from Yorkshire? Is it the windswept moors, the rugged coast, the earthy honesty, the Tetleys Bitter? Because Portia Da Costa, Janine Ashbless, Charlotte Stein and Saskia Walker, to name but four, all pen their exquisite words from the various Ridings. Oh, is it because they're called Ridings? That's quite sexy, in a way. And I'd bet money that, were Charlotte or Emily (maybe not Anne) to materialise in 2009, they'd be writing hawt scenes in the heather like nobody's business, up there in the vicarage in Haworth.

So...any theories? What are they putting in the teabags? I need to know!

(Of course, it could be all the eye candy.)

Lecture Notes Chapter 19

2009-10-08T05:10:00.000-07:00

Fin.

Lecture Notes Chapter 18

2009-10-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

Sinclair meets the parents.

Ultimate Decadence

2009-09-29T11:37:00.001-07:00

Ever since I read Mil Millington's hilarious introduction to this book, the phrase 'ecstatic syncope' has been rolling around in my head. I am angry that I didn't get to invent it, but I am certainly the opposite of angry that I get to be in this terrific collection which, if you weren't already aware, is in aid of the MacMillan cancer charity.

Many famous and wondrous names can be found inside the covers - Rachel Kramer Bussel, Karen Krizanovich, Elizabeth Coldwell, Jeremy Edwards, Maxim Jakubowski, Madeline Moore, to name just a few. And it's all held together at the seams by the magical sexy glue of editor, Emily Dubberley.

She has done a grand job. To get your hands on this anthology of 'detonator-cap short stories', surf on down to the Xcite Books website right here - it's available in print and as a PDF download - ooh, how modern!

The Things That Make Me Give In

2009-09-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

I had this beautiful, shiny thing delivered through my letterbox the other day - look at those lips! The very definition of luscious!

But it isn't just the cover I'll be devouring. This is the debut collection by Charlotte Stein, a new writer who is well worth a few of your spare quid, or dollars, or Euros, or yen, or (insert currency here).

The first story I read of hers was one of her pieces in Liaisons, a story called Men, and it made me weep for two reasons.
One: it was kind of meant to - the twist at the end is very poignant.
Two: it made me wish I could write like her.

But don't go thinking that Charlotte Stein is more likely to activate your tear glands than your, er, other glands. She writes hot, hot, hot scenes full of passion or dirty sex, or, most usually, both.

If you like two-dimensional characters with no emotional depth who find themselves in unrealistic and unthought-out sexual situations - well, she won't be for you.

Similarly, if you like bland, tepid, formulaic imaginings of sex, you won't find them here.

But if, like me, you love intelligent, precise and searingly sexy writing, this promises to be a must-read. I recommend it, before I've even read it!

(Also, check out her blog, linked on my sidebar. She is well funny.)

Lecture Notes Chapter 17

2009-09-25T15:01:00.000-07:00

The aftermath of the storm.

September Man of the Month - Gareth Malone

2009-09-23T02:47:00.000-07:00

Now look. I don't really fancy Gareth Malone. He is too clean-cut and baby-faced for me (some nice suits though). So I don't lust at the TV while watching The Choir - at least, not unduly. I might fix my eyes a little bit more intently on the screen but that's ALL.

There is, however, something about a choirmaster. Hundreds of voices are his to command, and without the necessary force of personality, the performance will fall into cacophony. The combination of artistic talent, boundless enthusiasm and natural authority...well, y'know. I like that.

Lecture Notes Chapter 16

2009-09-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

OMG, drama!

Lecture Notes Chapter 15

2009-09-13T12:10:00.001-07:00

Trouble in Paradise.

Xcite Me!

2009-09-12T01:07:00.000-07:00

Along with many others in Eroticaville, I was thrilled to hear the news that Adam Nevill, late of Black Lace/Nexus has a brand new post as commissioning editor for erotica at Xcite Books.

Good news on so many levels - I am so pleased for him, and for all the writers he worked so hard to support and publish. This town was a poorer place without him.

Lecture Notes Chapter 14

2009-09-07T12:05:00.000-07:00

A butt plug has led to a watershed moment. As they do.

Misbehaviour

2009-09-05T11:44:00.000-07:00

The post title does not refer to what happened on my "holiday" (aka unbroadcast episode of Survival), but to the splendiferous Black Lace anthology now available in the UK.

My story Office Sex kicks off the perverse proceedings - a Ronseal title if there ever was one*. The back cover gives a tiny teaser - 'Mr Morrell is hotter than hell and he proves it in the stationery cupboard'. Here is a tiny whetstone for your appetites:

I hear Mr Morrell shut the door, then take a quick breath when I hear a sound like a key turning in a lock.

“Turn around and face me,” he says. He is standing, arms folded, a pinstriped sex god with a key dangling from the fingers of one hand. He puts the key into a pocket, withdraws a Blackberry and, with total deliberation, switches it off before replacing it.

It seems I have become Priority Number One, marked ‘urgent’.

Oh, what on earth is in store for me, in the stores?

“That’s a very short skirt you’re wearing,” he remarks. “I’m not sure it’s entirely appropriate for the workplace.”

“Oh…aren’t you?” My conversational faculties have taken an early coffee-break.

“I’ll give you a choice, Hannah. You can go home, get changed and come back here in a longer skirt. Or…” The pause is just long enough for me to wonder if my heart is still beating. “…You can take it off. Here. Now. Which do you choose?”

Oh, I HATE choices. It takes me half my lunch break to pick a sandwich filling. This, though, is one of the easier decisions I have faced in life. The set of his jaw, the angle of his eyebrow, make it for me.

Fumbling fingers unclip and unzip; the brief strip of charcoal flannel slides over my hips and down to the floor, the nylon lining crackling static against my stockings as it falls.

“Plucky,” he says, smirking slightly. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

Only now does the implication of what I am doing sink in. I am standing in front of Morrell – my boss – in my tarty underwear. In a stationery cupboard. A cold stationery cupboard. My hands reach down to cover my goose-pimpled thighs, but he tuts and shakes his head. He swirls a finger in the air, the circular motion suggesting that I am to give him a twirl.

I remove my hands and perform a slow 360 degree turn. The knickers I am wearing are sheer and black with a red bow on the front. While not as revealing as a thong, they are cut high at the back, the filmy lace shearing away up to my hips so that most of my bottom cheeks elude coverage.

“Good,” he says eventually, then after another excruciating pause, “Shall we make a start then?”

I laugh nervously. “A start?”

“This stock inventory I have in mind. Why don’t you count the scissors in that box and then bring a pair to me.”

This was not what I have been expecting him to say. Wrongfooted, suspecting trickery of some kind, I go over to the box of scissors and count nineteen pairs, conscious all the time of his eyes upon my bum cheeks, taking the nineteenth gleaming pair of stainless steel snippers and handing them to him, nonplussed.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to offer the handle, not the blade?” he tuts. “Stay there. I want to make sure these are in full working order.”

He reaches down to the top button of my white work shirt, tugs on it and then, heartstoppingly, snips it off.

But it isn't just me contributing misbehaving minxes to the collection. You can also find fine fare from: Janine Ashbless ; Gwen Masters ; A D R Forte ; Alegra Verde ; Eva Hore ; Rhiannon Leith ; Portia Da Costa ; Jennie Treverton ; Sommer Marsden ; Chrissie Bentley ; Kimberly Dean and Charlotte Stein.

It's Black Lace's penultimate multi-author anthology, so show it some love - there aren't too many more where that came from.

* Ronseal, for those who might never have seen their advertising campaign, is a range of DIY products that do 'exactly what it says on the tin'.

Camp

2009-08-31T11:30:00.001-07:00

I'm tuning up my acoustic guitar and practising my drippy voice for a few days under canvas.

Camping, apparently, is 'sexy' these days - let's see how erotically charged it can be to wear twenty pairs of socks to bed, shall we?

Though Morrissey did write the lines: 'Were you and he lovers/ And if you were, then say that you were/ On a groundsheet under canvas/ With your tent flap open wide' - which is at least making an effort. Tent flaps at the ready!

While I'm away, don't forget that the Misbehaviour anthology, featuring my story Office Sex, releases in the UK on September 3rd. I'll be back with more on that, plus a teaser, at the weekend.

Hi-de-hi.

Lecture Notes Chapter 13

2009-08-26T11:59:00.000-07:00

Absence makes the heart grow ruder.

Lecture Notes Chapter 12

2009-08-20T11:50:00.000-07:00

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Taboo?

2009-08-18T11:58:00.000-07:00

Taboo was a really popular drink in the 80s but you never see it around now, do you? Orangey-red, in a frosted bottle, tasted of alco-Tizer. I think it had a 'sister' beverage as well, but I forget the name - Mirage, maybe?

Anyway, that's not really what I want to post about today.

When I was in Paris, I went to the Musee d'Orsay (how do I get an acute accent on this thing?) and I saw this:

L'Origine du Monde by Gustave Courbet, hanging in a public gallery for anyone and everyone to see, just as long as they've paid their Euros to get into the museum. I think there may have been a little notice with a warning on at the entrance to the side room, or I might be getting it mixed up with the Pompidou Centre.

So, if you want to go and look at it, you can. If you don't like graphic depictions of genitalia, you can pass it by. Presumably you, as an adult, are capable of making this decision for yourself.

Unless...the genitalia are male. And you are a lady. Then, of course, you no longer have that facility. You need your little eyes covered.

So it would seem, at least, given the palaver there has been over Filament Magazine's attempt to find a printer who will deal with them. Are they publishing inflammatory material of a nature likely to incite hatred or fear? No. It's just a cock.

It's like one of those obscure medieval laws you sometimes read about that are technically still in force - having the right to paint your cow yellow on the sixth Sunday after Septuagesima or whatnot. It's hard to believe that it's still taboo, and even harder to work out why.

But Filament, thanks to some good old fashioned nu-media campaigning by the ever-vigilant Erotica Cover Watch, has sold enough copies of its excellent opening issue to hire a less tentative press. There will be tumescence!

I am fascinated to see what happens about distribution now, and I wish them the very best of luck.

Man of the Month - Dodgy Victorian Gent

2009-08-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

Halfway through August already and no man of the month?! I must have been distracted.

This one is more an archetype than a man, but my recent viewing of Desperate Romantics has renewed a dormant enthusiasm for the Victorian cad, or rake, or generally sketchy geezer. I have loved these demons in brocade weskits from childhood - given the choice between Adonis-like hero and melodrama baronet, I would always root for the latter.

Now I am longing to write a novel featuring such a man. A Rawdon Crawley, a Francis Levison, a Sir Despard Murgatroyd. Ooh, that would be so exciting.

Lecture Notes Chapter 11

2009-08-12T11:50:00.000-07:00

A trip to the zoo.

Sexy Little Numbers

2009-08-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

Today UK peoples can buy Sexy Little Numbers, an incendiary device full of fierce fiction by the likes of: Kristina Lloyd; Charlotte Stein; Rachel Kramer Bussel ; Portia Da Costa ; EllaRegina ; Janine Ashbless ; Dianne Dawson ; Sadie Wolf ; Shayla Kersten ; Madelynne Ellis ; Carrie Williams ; Jamaica Layne ; Kay Jaybee ; Kristina Wright ; K D Grace ; Heather Towne ; Shada Royce and Delilah Devlin.

And me! My story is called The Number and in it I shoehorn about half a dozen of my favourite fantasy scenarios into one 6K piece of fiction. I hope some of them might be your favourite fantasy scenarios too. The outgoing editor at Black Lace liked it so much he thought I could use it as the springboard for a novel. Alas, it seems that that will now never be.

But here is an excerpt for you:

‘Nothing will happen that you don’t want,’ confirmed Master in her other ear. ‘We are taking you on a journey into your own needs and desires.’

‘We are going to pleasure you.’

‘And punish you.’

‘Punish you with pleasure.’

‘Pleasure you with punishment.’

‘Because that is what you want.’

‘Because that is what you need.’

The words were sufficient to quieten the nagging doubts that had prevented Charlotte’s full immersion into the experience. A weight lifted; she rolled her head back on the seat and breathed a heavy sigh.

The hands were moving inexorably higher, underneath her skirt. Another hand cupped her right breast while mouths pressed against her neck on the other side. Fingers arrived at her outer lips, prising them apart then dipping into the waters with a luscious slicking sound.

‘Well, well, something tells us our Charlotte is enjoying herself.’ Sir’s voice, just above her shoulder.

‘Did you ever doubt it?’

Two sets of fingers delved the velvet depths of Charlotte’s most intimate places, while mouths breathed warm air across her swollen nipples, then flicked the tips with their tongues.

‘When we get to the hotel, Charlotte, we are going to make you come, over and over and over again,’ Master informed her, half-eating her ear as he poured his voice down it.

‘Until you can’t walk.’

‘Or talk.’

‘Or think.’

‘Or move.’

One finger, two fingers, three fingers, more, scissoring inside her, scattered across her clit, pushing, poking, pressing, arousing every one of her nerve endings all at once. Her thighs spread wider and wider, until they were hooked over forearms, the skirt having now ridden irrevocably around her waist, no further thought given to the cabdriver. Every part of her body under sensual attack, defences stripped down, surrender ignored by the marauding hands and mouths and tongues and teeth. Charlotte felt herself to be no more than one gigantic pulsing organism; every pore in her body shot sparks down to her clitoris, which seemed enormous now, and rapacious in its need.

Twenty fingers worked at her core while two sets of lips caressed her breasts; she was pushed back in the seat with her legs forming a wide V in the air above her; one calf held firm while the triumphant digits invaded further and further across her borders, pillaging her most intimate parts.

When she came, writhing on fingers that thrust down and down while others circled her swollen clitoris, she kicked so hard that a shoe fell off and clattered to the floor of the cab.

One tongue then two plunged into her mouth before it had finished its broken keen of defeat. They drew back, the fingers leaving with them to remove her blindfold with a flourish, so that Charlotte lay, legs limp and loosely spread, skirt around waist, shirt wide open and bra cups down to reveal sorely reddened nipples, hair wild and eyes glazed, in a post-orgasmic slump.

‘I think you needed that,’ proclaimed Master. ‘Don’t you think she needed that?’

‘She needed that,’ confirmed Sir with a nod.

Lecture Notes Chapter 10

2009-08-04T12:05:00.001-07:00

In the absence of any news of any other kind, here is another chapter of Lecture Notes.

Lecture Notes Chapter 9

2009-07-31T11:47:00.000-07:00

About time too, I know, I know!

Exercises for Beth.

City of Light

2009-07-27T12:12:00.001-07:00

I feel reinvigorated and renewed, and a few other re- things to boot. Refreshed. Reformed. Rebarbative. (Actually not sure what that last one means.)

I have walked more miles in the past four days than I have done in the previous four months; I have seen the Seine and mused at the Musee d'Orsay; I have stirred coffee and stirred ideas around in my head. Paris, I think, is good for the spirit. Certainly good for the imagination.

Story and plot ideas started popping into my head from the moment I looked through the back window of the hotel room and noticed the grey-suited arm of a businessman working at his desk in the apartment/office building opposite, and from that moment they just went pop! pop! pop! at regular intervals, like a succession of champagne corks.

I love champagne! I love Paris! And, just at the moment, I am back in love with writing again.

Vive la difference!

(I have to say that, when I saw this picture - Gustave Caillebotte's Raboteurs de Parquet - I did think of Erotica Cover Watch. I think their nineteenth century predecessors would have approved!)

Away From It All

2009-07-22T10:47:00.001-07:00

Away from the silence and the stubborn inbox '0 unread' message. Away from the sadness and the badness.

Away to improve my mind by exploring great cultural monuments:

Ahem.

Later, dudes.

Lecture Notes Chapter 8

2009-07-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

It's the day after the day before for Beth and Sinclair.

Half-Hearted

2009-07-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

If you have the other half, can you send it back to me - that's: Justine Elyot, Slough of Despond, UK.

Or maybe I'll soldier on with my fifty percent of ticker and just write fanfiction forevermore, because Desperate Romantics - starting next week on BBC2 - looks as if it might launch a sea of purple Pre-Raphaelite prose, and I do think I might like to surf that wave.

Paint me!

Lecture Notes Chapter 7

2009-07-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

And the beat goes on. Or does it?

Pervy Professor action here.

Man of the Month: July

2009-07-09T11:47:00.000-07:00

This month (so far) I have been mainly watching The Sound of Music. It comforts me, it rocks me to sleep, to dream of dirndls and strudel and whistles and bells and...

Schwoon! Who would not want to dance the Laendler with Captain Von Trapp, eh? All that uniformed, buttoned-up, imperious passion. Jawohl!

So, yes, that is what has been taking my mind off the general woe. That, and all the wonderful Black Lace writers who have been such towers of strength and solidarity over the past few days. You know who you are - thank you all.

Lecture Notes Chapter 6

2009-07-07T11:49:00.000-07:00

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I'm miserable now
I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now

All the same, here is the next instalment of Lecture Notes.

Well, It Was All Going Suspiciously Well

2009-07-03T06:29:00.000-07:00

Just call me Jonah.

Lecture Notes Chapter 5

2009-07-01T11:54:00.000-07:00

The last chapter ended on a cliffhanger and this one will be no different - I am, after all, a member of the EastEnders generation and I honour my soap conventions faithfully.

But I guarantee you there will be ACTUAL SEX in the next chapter.

For now...just let the tension ratchet up a little higher...

Devon Cream

2009-07-01T11:43:00.000-07:00

That's what Black Lace is like, apparently, and it seems to me a damn fine foodstuff for erotica to aspire to be. Better than cauliflower or quinoa or something like that, surely. As a dweller in the land of Cream Teas, this image tickled me, and I was also very pleased to read the rest of Jean Roberta's thoughtful review of Liaisons.

"Advanced Corsetry” by Justine Elyot is a more elaborate and tightly-laced BDSM fantasy told by a custom corset-maker who loves her craft. She is approached by a man who orders a corset for his “wife,” a woman who seems to be under orders never to speak. Following the “husband’s” instructions, the corset-maker is able to arouse the “wife” in unmistakable ways, but a disturbing question about the consensuality of the “fittings” hangs in the air. When the corset-maker is almost excited enough to ignore her own concerns, the “wife” breaks her silence to reveal her true motives. This story is essentially a lesbian romance to which a man has been added as window-dressing.

Check out the review in full here.

Lecture Notes Chapter 4

2009-06-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

Sinclair gets jealous and Beth oversteps the mark here.

Just a Reminder...

2009-06-23T12:03:00.001-07:00

...that Liaisons, featuring my story Advanced Corsetry, is available outside the UK from today.

Oh, how I wish I could afford to shop at Agent Provocateur...

Lecture Notes Chapter 3

2009-06-19T12:15:00.000-07:00

Beth moves in with Professor Sinclair.

What could possibly go wrong?

Lecture Notes Chapter 2

2009-06-13T11:40:00.001-07:00

Beth's private tuition sessions begin - find out how it goes here.

Enjoy!

Alison, Your Aim Is True

2009-06-11T12:21:00.001-07:00

How can I explain the impact, the significance, the brilliance of Alison Tyler? I'm not sure I can, so I'll just cast my net and see if I can catch a fraction of her luminescence here.

It was 2006, I think. I got a laptop of my own. It was for 'work'. Fairly soon...OK, make that very soon...I started exploring the non-work possibilities of the internet. I can't remember exactly how I stumbled on Alison's Trollop with a Laptop blog, but the odds of it being through one of her beloved random search strings is rather high.

Maybe...supple leather burning ass...or...voyeuristic bondage baron...or...gloves lubricant plug...well, y'know. Something like that. Anyway, what my ramblings on Google yielded was something far, far better than I had ever expected.

There was this blog, right? And it was a filthy, delicious, no-holds-barred, scintillating ride through all my favourite aspects of erotica and female sexuality. It was a revelation to me - seriously. This is some of what I learned from browsing the archive:

1. You can be a woman, and sexual, and honest about it, without having to make excuses or apologies for yourself.
2. Whatever you have the taste for, somebody somewhere will share it.
3. There are loads of things you can do with a leather belt.

I know I'm going to sound ridiculously naive, but these were some life-changing realisations.

So I have to thank Alison for giving this to me. I tend to lurk, but I'm an avid lurker, and over the years it's become obvious that Alison is a one-off. Her tirelessness, her endless generosity to new and established writers, her commitment - all are extraordinary. And that's before we even mention her writing and editing! I'll never forget the knock-your-socks-off moment when I realised I was in an anthology with her.

So here you are, Alison - you're a hero of mine, and always will be. Happy Birthday.

Thank You For Coming

2009-06-07T12:26:00.000-07:00

Really, I am so pleased to see you! Would you like a smoked salmon pinwheel? Maybe a small sherry? Or would you rather have part one of a hot tale of D/s lust and love between a perverse Professor and his equally kinky student? (Disclaimer: I know that NO professor would ever consider something as unethical as deviant sex with a student, and quite rightly so - tis mere fantasy.)

For hot Professor action, go here.

Otherwise, these are for you:

Coffee and D/s

2009-06-07T11:52:00.000-07:00

W00t (how do you pronounce '00'?) - if it isn't my first ever review!

Liaisons gets a big juicy thumbs-up from Coffee Time Romance, and this is what the reviewer had to say about my story Advanced Corsetry:

Miss Frost makes corsets and once in a while she gets to do a unique one with special toys and sections within the clothing. Jess comes into her store one day with her husband and waits to be measured and fitted for one. When Miss Frost finds out an interesting fact about Jess, it may give a whole new meaning to customer satisfaction.

Ms. Elyot blew me away with her interesting and hot tale. Using erotic descriptions even during the measuring for the corset made this a fiery story. I love how Miss Frost tried to be the perfect host even as she suffered from her lust for the other woman. Add the little secret between Jess and her husband and this is a definite read anyone can enjoy!

Read the review in full here.

Man of the Month #1 - Sir Guy of Gisborne

2009-06-01T11:43:00.000-07:00

By most aesthetic standards, Richard Armitage = mancandy. He even has his own army of fans, and what those girls don't know about tactical manoeuvres ain't worth knowing. I'm never averse to spending a bit of time admiring his...acting skills...but it is one role in particular that really rings my medieval chapel bell.

The villain. The black-hearted blackguard in black eyeliner, Sir Guy of Gisborne.

Is it his low-chested lowdown growl of a voice? Is it his tormented soul? Is it the chink of vulnerability that made him susceptible to Marian's charms? Is it the smouldering eyes and the brooding disposition? Is it the certain knowledge that he would be a sex beast of monumental proportions?

Well, yeah. But mainly it's the leather ;).

Must Do Better

2009-05-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

I've let it slide, I've let it slip, I've let myself go.

This blog is dustier than Miss Havisham's gaff, and I feel I ought to do something about it. Shall I get my cloistered adoptive daughter to snare the unsuspecting heart of a callow youth? Nah. I have a few other ideas for jazzing the place up. Fairylights? Massive Flash plug-ins? Maybe not.

I'm thinking some snippets of writing, perhaps a serialised story of some kind. Some entertainment to repay people the compliment of passing through here. I might also try my hand at the mancandy thing, though I have to warn you my idea of mancandy is probably not the same as yours. In fact, I tend to prefer manbrandy. Man70%cocoasolids. Manfinecubancigar. Even, to my utter shame, manpotnoodle. 'The Slag of All Snacks', as the baffling ad campaign used to say.

Anyway, I'm wittering. I'm a bit excited because On Demand is with a copy editor, which means it didn't get the thumbs down and will, yes, WILL be on the shelves in December.

It really is a sizzler! Not sure about the nutritional value though.

Liaisons

2009-05-07T06:48:00.001-07:00

I am in a book - a proper book that is on the shelves of proper booksellers from today in the UK.

That would be crazy enough in its own right, but just LOOK at the other names in this selfsame book:

Janine Ashbless ; ADR Forte ; Primula Bond ; Charlotte Stein ; Alison Tyler ; Kristina Wright ; KD Grace ; Sommer Marsden ; Carrie Williams ; Mae Nixon ; Portia Da Costa

Almost too much awesomeness there to contemplate in one sitting! Plus me.

My story is called Advanced Corsetry and it's damn kinky. This excerpt will give you a flavour:

‘I will need to take additional measurements.’
‘As you wish.’
I stood directly in front of my subject, unwinding the tape measure very quickly so she could hear the light swish of it, such an efficient sound.
‘Your nipples first, I think. Are they quite hard enough?’
I turned to her husband. ‘Perhaps they need to be a little harder,’ he agreed.
The pad of my thumb described a light circle over both tips until her chest began to buck and heave a little. I applied my finishing touch – a firm pinch to each – then wound my tape around the pair, pulling it as hard as I could get away with, looking for a grimace or, better, a sound. I got the grimace; the sound did not come.
‘Small but not too small,’ I noted. ‘There will be a standardised size of clamps for them.’
‘Oh, I’m aware of that.’
‘Now to the matter of the rings. What size of penetrative object were you considering?’
‘Big enough to be noticeable. If you could perhaps measure both holes and then order rings for perhaps half a centimetre larger all round. She will need to be stretched a little.’
‘I understand. Well, shall we start down here? I think, my dear, I will need you to bend over. Could you put your hands on that footstool just there and spread your legs as much as you can. That’s…just the job, dear.’
The whole spread was wide open and willing, from the swollen ruby of her clitoris to the brown bud peeking at me from between her cheeks. I felt like a gourmet at a feast, unsure of which dish to sample first.
I started at the top, or rather, the bottom.
‘Perhaps if you use your fingers? To get an idea of what she can comfortably take?’
I acceded to her husband’s request, snapping on a pair of thin latex gloves, and took a jar of lubricant he had produced from his trouser pocket. I smeared it liberally around the entrance of her pucker, greasing it up and pressing my thumb against the ring. ‘Don’t clench.’
My gloved index finger snaked slowly and surprisingly easily beyond her sphincter. I twisted it around in there for a minute until she began to squirm, then introduced a second finger. She began to whimper a little, so I went for the third, ramming them up as far as I could repeatedly and pressing down on her little red mark with my other hand. ‘Yes,’ I said, now having to work at controlling my own breathing. ‘If I measure the width of these three fingers, that should be sufficient.’
I took off the glove and wound the tape around my fingers, enjoying the residual warmth from the invasion of her most private space. I thought about putting a fresh pair of gloves on for the next part of my measuring mission, but the prospect of all that hot, wet, yielding flesh against mine was too much to resist.
One finger was sucked into the tight, slick cave of her cunt; two were better, scissoring and prodding at the sides, feeling for the bump of her g-spot, finding it and rubbing it. And then, yes, she definitely moaned; her walls quivered, and I added a third finger. I could feel the suction; she was pulling me in and I was tempted to stay, but I realised that this was not on today’s agenda, so I pulled out with a luscious squelch and added the figures to the list.
‘She’s extremely receptive,’ I remarked to her husband.
‘She’s a slut,’ he said, and the smallest of sighs escaped his wife’s lips.

It isn't available outside the UK until June 23rd, but I believe The Book Depository offers a discount PLUS free worldwide shipping if you can't wait that long ;).

On the Job

2009-04-23T04:28:00.000-07:00

In ye olden days, when I was at school, there were all kinds of innocuous-yet-filthy-sounding euphemisms for sex-related activities. People might be a 'good lay' (or an easy one); they would try to get their 'leg over'; they would 'have it off' with somebody. I hardly ever hear or read these phrases since they were superseded by variations on the ubiquitous 'shag'.

In a funny way, I miss them.

Amazonfail

2009-04-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

Twitter ye or Twitter ye not, the likelihood is you will probably have heard of #amazonfail somewhere along the line by now.

While the element that caused the most brouhaha - the random sales de-ranking of GLBT material of all levels of content - has been reversed, and put down to a genuine, if stupid, categorisation error, questions remain.

Is there or isn't there an 'adult material' policy? Several authors were told yes, and there is information going back to August 2008 to back this up. So there is a policy. But what is the policy? Should we not be told? And whatever the policy is, is it applicable only to the UK customer base? Black Lace and other erotica publishers have had their material re-ranked in the US and other territories - but not here. No sex please, we're British? Really?

So I'm scratching my head and waiting for a reply to my email of today from the UK arm of the monop, ahem, company. I hope that publishers are aware of this and voicing their displeasure accordingly.

At least there was some fun to be had amongst the outrage. I did enjoy the SmartBitches Googlebomb, for instance. And cyberactivism is quite exhilarating in its way. It does tend to wreck concentration though.

UPDATE: All Black Lace titles restored to their rightful places at the top of the erotica charts. I can relax and do something productive now, hurrah.

Sweet Lovers Love The Spring

2009-04-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

...or so Shakespeare reckoned. I think he must have shared my enthusiasm for Cadburys Mini Eggs. I hope the Easter bunny brings you plenty of oval cocoa-infused things. Or maybe some of this...

What's The Story?

2009-04-02T11:47:00.001-07:00

I like the new Black Lace anthology themes for 2010 - they all lend themselves to a variety of interesting scenarios. I'm looking forward to dreaming up some wild and wicked ideas to work on.

Of course, some people don't like erotica. Or, more accurately, haven't read any but just don't like the idea of it. A lovely smut-writing friend was recently made to feel horrible by one such unbeliever who just 'couldn't understand' how she could bring herself to write such 'disgusting erotica'. 'It really grosses me out,' she said, although never having read any of my friend's oeuvre, it's not clear how she reached that conclusion.

Obviously, it is pointless to even reply to remarks like this. But what would be a good response? I would have just asked 'Why?', I think, and then dropped the subject. Each to their own and all that. All the same, it struck me as a rude thing to say - and not the good kind of rude.

Oh, and final note for the day - I loved Seduction. It is a marvellous anthology from cover to cover - to the point that I can't even pick favourites. There are too many good 'uns. The death of the decent anthology is a long, long way off.

Humour Me

2009-03-25T12:32:00.000-07:00

I've been having an internal tussle lately over whether I'm putting too much humour into my stuff.

Obviously I'm not against humour in erotica - I don't much like writing that is dour or takes itself excessively seriously. But where is the tipping point at which a little bit of sassy attitude becomes tiresome and detracts from the sexiness? I can't seem to locate it, and I'm fretting a little. I don't want to fall on the wrong side of the divide.

Stylistic concerns aside, I also wonder if I'm being a little dishonest with myself. Am I trying to imply that I am somehow 'above' the earthy preoccupations of my characters? Am I, when it comes right down to it, embarrassed by what I'm writing, trying to laugh it off?

At this stage, it's more than likely. I haven't been doing it long, and I have years of irksome conditioning regarding what 'nice girls' do and don't do to unlearn.

So I want to leave in the humour that is inherent to the characters and situations, but avoid that which tries to interfere with the erotic content. I think it will be a long process. Is there a pill I can take or something?

Coming Clean...

2009-03-17T02:50:00.001-07:00

...or at least, as clean as I ever get.

I don't know why I've been so shy of mentioning it before. Maybe because I had a bit of a premature celebration a few months back. I had this idea at the back of my mind that I might jinx myself if I said anything too soon, perhaps. The right moment never seemed to quite arrive. But now the darn thing is up on Amazon denials are futile - it is time for a confession (because I do love a good Confession).

So roll up for the grand unveiling of my Black Lace anthology, due for publication in December. It's a long way off, but seeing the cover has made it all surreally real.

A foxy bloke in a suit! One of my very favourite things! My only regret is that, as a fan of the distinctive nose, his is not in evidence. Nice knickers too! As a friend said to me, this is the kind of book cover she can whip out in the doctor's waiting room without giving any little old ladies heart attacks. Marvellous. I love being complicit in a bit of sneaky surgery smut-consumption.

So, cool cover. Now I have to make sure the contents live up to its promise. Hmmm.

Stiletto Crazy After All These Years

2009-03-07T11:58:00.000-08:00

I am a woman (honest, guv), ergo, I must have a shoe fetish. Or so I'm constantly told.

Most of the female characters in my stories have a clicky heels moment somewhere in amongst the action. They like to wear stilettoes, because they are named after a weapon and they make them feel dangerous and they thrust out the rear and lengthen the legs and all that.

They would also love these (maybe for the office).

Well, OK, I would love them. They are my ideal shoe. Also any high-heeled shoe with ribbons. Anything with buckles - the more buckles the better. And I've already mentioned the Victorian eyelet-laced boots.

My characters don't wear Crocs.

Untitled

2009-03-03T12:25:00.000-08:00

I can't write titles.

I have a story in Sexy Little Numbers called 'The Number'.

I have another in Misbehaviour called 'Office Sex'.

Neither of these titles can be credited to me. I gather I need to be more upfront and explicit in the little shop window of information at the top of my story. So for my next few stories I might try titles like

A Threesome

Buggery

Felching and Frottage in Las Vegas

And now I can't switch off the italics! (That is a lament, not a potential story title btw.)