Sunday, 30 June 2013

So I Wrote This Novella...

Actually, I’ve written several novellas lately. I’m about to put the finishing touches to what I consider to be the best story I’ve ever written, an erotic romance about a woman haunted by the memory of her first dom, chockfull of big emotions as well as exciting sex scenes. It’s called The One Who Got Away and I hope to self-publish it soon. First, though, there’s this...

Tying Up Tayla is a 13,600-word novelette about a bi-curious woman who starts fantasising about bondage after reading Fifty Shades of Grey, only to be introduced to the delights of D/s by two kinky friends, a married couple called Chelle and Michael. Narrated by Chelle, the wife, this is a story of initiation and surrender, of having your boundaries pushed and discovering a taste for new things, and of the joys and insecurities of sharing one’s husband with a gorgeous friend. It’s filthy in all the right ways and has some heart-felt emotion. Sequels written from Michael and Tayla’s points of view will follow later.



For a moment, all three of us stand stock still. Then Michael grabs Tayla and pushes her against the sliding door of our built-in wardrobe.

For a second, I think he’s going to kiss her, which would be a violation of our rules; his kisses, we’ve agreed, belong to me. But he doesn’t kiss Tayla. Instead he cups her chin in his hands, looks at her in that imperative and knee-weakening way he has, and says, ‘So now you’re my little toy, Tayla. Are you going to submit to me like the good, obedient girl I know you are?’

Tayla nods. I think I detect a little anxiety in her expression, but if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this particular kind of anxiety.

Without taking his eyes off hers, Michael caresses Tayla’s cheeks and neck, his fingertips light on her tanned skin. ‘You’ll do as I tell you, and you’ll call me “sir”. Won’t you, Tayla?’

Tayla nods again, without speaking the words Michael wants to hear. I don’t need to see his face to know that he’s smiling at her inexperience.

‘The correct response is “Yes, sir”,’ he informs her.

Tayla swallows. Half a minute in and she already has a lump in her throat. This bodes well for the rest of the evening! ‘Yes, sir,’ she croaks.

‘Good girl.’ Michael affectionately pats her cheek. ‘Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?’ His hand meanders down to her chest, to the V created by her buttoned-down blouse, and gently caresses the top of a breast.

Sitting on the bed, my legs demurely crossed at the ankles, I watch with mixed feelings as Michael begins to undress Tayla. His eyes never leave hers; they bore into her as he takes off her necklaces, one by one, and throws them onto the bed. I hear two soft thuds as they land beside me on the bedspread, but I can’t bring myself to look at them. My eyes are glued to Tayla, who is meeting Michael’s formidable gaze with a mesmerised mixture of dread and arousal.


Like this snippet and think you might like to read more? Then buy the story here:

Barnes and Noble
Amazon UK
Amazon Canada
Amazon Germany
Amazon Spain
Amazon Italy
Amazon Brazil
Amazon Japan

At some point, the book will be up on All-Romance, as well.

Thank you in advance for supporting me, and enjoy your read!

Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Goodness, It’s Been a While Since I Last Updated This Blog...

I thought I’d be better at posting here. I thought I'd regularly share stories and reviews with you, as I have done on many a previous blog. Somehow I seem incapable of doing so, though...

I really intend to maintain an active presence here, but somehow all my blogging energy has lately come to be focused on my Tumblr, which just welcomed its 1,000th follower. Now I know what you're going to say. Tumblr doesn't really work as a marketing tool, no matter how many followers you have. You could have ten thousand followers and still sell barely a copy of your books. It's true, unfortunately. However, I guess I'm just a little too addicted to looking at erotic photos and writing suitable captions for them to give up my Tumblr and spend all my blogging time here. Even so, I promise I'll spend a little less time on Tumblr from now on, and a little more time here...

Anyhow. What have I been up to, you may wonder, apart from spending (and possibly wasting) a lot of time on Tumblr?

Well, let's see. First there was some heartache. Then there was a much-needed four-week reunion with some loved ones, which was brilliant. Then there was some more heartache, which thankfully passed fairly quickly. And in between, there were trips and long walks and photo excursions. As you can see below, I’ve been able to indulge my passion for photographing trees in water. I've had fun barging through the mudflats with my wellies on and my tripod in tow while all around me, terrified little crabs scuttled away. I look forward to doing it again soon when the water is a bit higher and there is even more scope for photogenic reflections...

And then there was writing. Not nearly as much as I’d hoped, but enough to say I’ve been reasonably productive. And it will all be self-published over the next few months, because I’ve also been busy learning the craft of self-publishing…

Speaking of publishing, I have some trad-pub news, too. Since I last updated this blog, I’ve had several short stories accepted for publication by Cleis. Two of these stories will soon see the light of day, in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica and Big Book of Orgasms, respectively. Rachel is currently giving away review copies of these books, so if you’re interested in receiving an advance copy and willing to commit to reviewing it on Amazon within six weeks of receipt, check out this blog post and claim your free read. Go on, you know you want to...

And that’s all for now. I promise I’ll be back very soon with more self-publishing news!

Friday, 22 February 2013

New Shibari Story: 'Roped In'

Forever Bound anthology

More publication news! Yesterday saw the release of another Mischief collection featuring a short story of mine, Forever Bound. As you can probably tell from the title, Forever Bound is about bondage. The original title of the anthology was 'bound and bonded', which says it all, really. I even managed to work those words into my story...

My story is called 'Roped In' and is about a woman whose husband/dom, a shibari enthusiast, comes up with an interesting way to spice up a dull afternoon at her family's: he ties a karada (rope harness) around her and makes her wear it under her clothes. As it happens, the harness features a crotch rope with a knot strategically placed right on the wife's clit, so needless to say, she gets a bit frisky while walking through her parents' living room and talking to unsuspecting relatives. And then her husband starts to talk dirty to her, right in the middle in a room full of people...


Here's a little excerpt to whet your appetite:

As he walked around her, directing the ropes between and underneath her breasts to create a hemp bra, she watched his fingers, so meticulous and assured. With great dexterity, he slipped an end of the rope into the space between two knots on her belly and pulled it backwards again to loop it into a similar space on her back. He repeated this process several times, moving further down with each repetition. She watched transfixed as the diamond shapes began to take form on her belly, luxuriating in the sensual feel of the rope sliding across her skin.

She'd heard
karadas described as rope prisons. She herself didn't think of them that way. To her, a karada was a caress, a hempy kiss to go with the sweet caresses Connor would occasionally bestow on her neck and breasts as he arranged and re-arranged the ropes. She relished the intimacy of the experience, the perfectionism of his patterns, the meditative character of it all. Most of all, however, she relished the way the crotch rope shifted each time he looped an end underneath. It wasn't long before she found herself responding to the movement, feeling chills of pleasure run up her spine with each subtle shift. And then, suddenly, Connor stopped.

'Aren't you... aren't you going to bind my arms?' she asked a little hesitantly when the harness was complete and Connor had tied the ends of the rope on her back.

He looked at her, his head cocked to one side. 'Do you really want me to deliver you at your parents' doorstep naked and with your arms tied behind your back?'

She chuckled at the notion, a little embarrassed. 'No, I guess not. But what...?' Her voice trailed off as she saw his face.

'You're going to go to your parents wearing this
karada under your clothes, to remind you that you are bound and bonded to me, and that only I can set you free. You're going to feel my hand on you even when I'm not physically touching you. And wait...'


Want to find out what happens next? Then purchase Forever Bound at Amazon or Amazon UK. The book only costs two dollars, for which you get thirteen stories, including a few by the likes of Elizabeth Coldwell, Kyoko Church, Giselle Renarde and Annabeth Leong. It's too good a deal to pass up, so be sure to treat yourself to a copy!

Thursday, 24 January 2013

The Joy of Having Sex in Public Places

Brief Encounters Tales of Fast Love

Today sees the release of a book I've been looking forward to for a while: Brief Encounters: Tales of Fast Love, a collection of ten travel erotica stories published by Mischief. My own contribution to the collection is a 5700-word story entitled 'The Silver Man', in which a young tourist in Barcelona is introduced to the joys of public sex and exhibitionism by -- get this -- a living statue. This is definitely the most original story I've published so far, and while I can see some beginner's mistakes in it, I still like it enough to give it a hearty thumbs-up. Check it out, folks!


Stephanie is a young Englishwoman who is spending a few days in Barcelona, Spain. One evening, while she's strolling around the city centre, her attention is caught by a living statue who is inviting members of his audience to come up to him and kiss his silver-painted lips for a funny holiday snap. Since she's in need of a new Facebook profile picture, Stephanie steps up to the statue, only to be caught in an embrace so intimate that it takes her breath away. Before she even realises what's happening, the living statue is feeling her up, in front of several dozens of cheering tourists. Poor Stephanie is faced with a difficult decision: be scandalised or play along?


At precisely that moment, the statue behind me began to stroke the back of my shoulder. Without releasing the pressure of his fingers on the front of my shoulders, he started caressing the back of my shoulders with his thumbs – up, down, up, down – until I lost the ability to think straight. I could see the faces of the people in front of me, laughing at my predicament, but all I really registered was the hypnotising feel of his thumbs sliding across my shoulders, invisible to anyone but himself.

Eventually, a dark-haired middle-aged woman stepped forwards to toss another coin into the basket. The statue's response was immediate. He gripped my shoulders even harder than he was already doing and pulled me backwards. Caught off guard again, I let out another shriek. My heart was in my throat as I fell backwards. Then I felt his body against mine, steadying me. I briefly thought,
God, I hope the paint on his costume doesn't rub off on my clothes. Then I was distracted by his hands, which snaked around my waist to find my breasts.

I sucked in a sharp breath as his gloved fingers cupped my boobs. Part of me was horrified at the liberties he was taking with me, in public no less. Yet another part of me, a part I never knew I had, enjoyed being pinned between his hard legs and brazen hands. I was almost disappointed when he stopped touching me, holding my breasts without actually moving his fingers. I found myself yearning for his thumbs and what I knew they could do.

The crowd, I noticed, was as confused as I was. Some of them seemed shocked and a little offended on my behalf. Others were laughing their heads off. Yet others just stood there, waiting impassively for what was to ensue.

Want to find out what happens next? Then find Brief Encounters on Amazon, Amazon UK or Barnes and Noble. At $1.99 for ten stories, it's practically a steal!

Monday, 31 December 2012

As Another Year Grinds to a Halt, A Few Quick Words on 2012...

And so another year is over... another year in which I ended up writing considerably less than I was hoping, but did learn some useful things about writing.

Without a shadow of a doubt, my greatest discovery of the year was one I've made very recently, namely that I have a valid excuse for not being as productive as other writers. You see, it's all my evil day job's fault!

Now I hear what you're saying. Other authors have evil day jobs, too, and they still manage to write a few thousand words each day. True. But these authors probably don't have my day job. You see, my day job involves a fair bit of writing. So much writing, in fact, that it completely uses up the part of my brain that deals with words and emotions, leaving me with very little energy to go about my own writing afterwards. Other writers probably don't have this problem because their day jobs don't require them to flex their writers' muscles. Mine does, unfortunately, and it's making me rather less productive than I could wish.

Now this may not come as much of an epiphany to you, but to me, it was. It took me ten years to realise how much the nature of my day job is affecting my writing – ten years during which I hardly made any progress on my magnum opus and frequently thought I was too lazy and undisciplined to be a writer, even though I knew on a rational level that I'm neither lazy nor undisciplined. And then, bang. Suddenly, I made the connection. In retrospect, I'm amazed I didn't make it years ago. But it has had a positive effect, in that I've become a little more forgiving of the glacial speed at which I write. This may not sound like a good thing to some of you, but trust me, to me, it is.

As for the other things I learned in 2012, well, I've mainly become a much better writer on a technical level. When I look now at the stories I produced just half a year ago, when I first began to write smut, I find many cringe-inducing flaws. I'll find myself thinking, Don't use that word! It's unsexy! Or, Don't use so many dialogue tags! It looks amateurish! Or, Don't interrupt the action with observations! It will ruin the flow of the scene! Or the greatest cliché of all: Show, don't tell, for heaven's sake! Don't tell your reader your heroine is aroused; show that she's aroused!

Sadly, many of my early stories – which feature all the above mistakes and more – are only now getting published, putting me in the unenviable position of having to promote work which I know is seriously flawed. As a die-hard perfectionist, I hate that sort of thing. All I want to do is take out my red pen and correct all the mistakes I come across, but I can't...

Oh, well. Live and learn, eh? That's my goal for 2013. Learn to become a better writer, and hopefully become a more productive writer, as well.

I can dream, can't I?

Oh, and best wishes for 2013, everyone. :-)

Sunday, 2 December 2012

Sunday Seven: A Few More New Zealand Photos

I promised you some more New Zealand photos from my 'real' camera a while ago, so here they are...

Lake Wanaka tree

A long exposure of my favourite tree in all of New Zealand, just off the shore of Lake Wanaka. If only the sunset had been a bit more impressive that night... and the water level a bit lower... and the wind still...

Lake Tekapo

A few lone pines on the edge of Lake Tekapo, one of New Zealand's largest lakes.


Roof decoration in Duntroon. Sadly, the restaurant beneath the roof was closed for renovation. Too bad -- I would have loved to see the interior!


A kea (snow parrot) I photographed on the road from Te Anau to Milford Sound, which got a massive amount of snow the night we arrived at Milford Sound. The road has two parking lots where birds gather to beg tourists for food. This kea started rummaging though my camera bag the moment I turned my back on it for a second. It was bold as brass.

We saw many great signs in New Zealand, including a brilliant sign pointing to Shag Point (a shag, of course, being a type of sea lion). I loved this particular sign for its sheer exoticism. Yes, we did see penguins in New Zealand (about two hundred of them, I reckon), and yes, we did see a few crossing the road when we left the colony at Oamaru late at night. Thankfully, we were driving slowly, as instructed. :-)

Lake Te Anau

The remains of an old jetty off the shore of Lake Te Anau. I love taking long exposures like this, but again, the sunset was disappointing.

Milford Sound

The entrance to Milford Sound from the foreshore walk. I took a lot of pictures here -- more than in the fjord itself, which, while very impressive to visit, doesn't really lend itself to photography.

And this concludes my New Zealand photography for now...

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

Best Bondage Erotica 2013 Out Now!

I was so busy last week that I forgot to mention that the first erotic story I ever wrote has been published! It's called 'The Longest Afternoon' and it's one of 22 stories featured in Best Bondage Erotica 2013, a bondage anthology which is now available in e-book format, although the paper version of the book won't be released until mid-December. Best Bondage Erotica 2013 was edited by the redoubtable Rachel Kramer Bussel, who also has a story in it. Other contributors include Elizabeth Coldwell, Sommer Marsden, Shoshanna Evers, Evan Mora, Tiffany Reisz and Andrea Dale, so you know you're in for a good read...

The blurb for my 4,200-word story:

Melanie has been tied to a chair by her Dom, Steve. She's been in the chair for a long time, and she's getting distinctly uncomfortable. As she waits for Steve to do whatever it is he's planning to do, her mind drifts to all the various possibilities. But when Steve finally reveals what he's expecting from her, she's caught completely by surprise...


Opening paragraphs:

The heat was the worst. The heat, and the fact that she had to go to the toilet, ASAP.

It hadn't been like this the last time he had tied her up. She'd been on their bed then, which was a nice and comfy place. Moreover, he had used her quickly, so quickly that she'd been astonished at how soon it had been over. She guessed “furious” was the right word to describe it. Furious and brutal and, well, memorable.

Nor had it been like this the last time he had tied her to a chair. They'd been in Paris at the time, in a hotel where everything seemed to be at least 100 years old. The chair to which he had bound her had been a leather armchair, soft enough to be comfortable and old enough to be stylish, and some of its antique beauty had seemed to rub off on her. She'd felt elegant sitting in that chair, whose color perfectly matched the black of her corset and stockings. Yes, she'd felt elegant, despite the fact that her legs were spread wide and she was wearing a ball gag that made her drool. And although Steve had lashed her with both words and whips, she'd enjoyed the experience, because it was so very iconic and because she had always wanted to be part of such an opulent tableau.

She did not want to be part of this tableau. She did not want to be sitting here in their messy living room on this cheap and nasty IKEA chair, bound with a type of rope which she normally didn't mind but which now chafed horribly against her sweaty skin. Nor did she want to be sitting here in front of the window, bathed in sunlight on what was probably the hottest day of the year.

Sweat was running in rivulets down her naked back and between her breasts. It was pooling on the seat of the plastic IKEA chair that was her prison, and was making her skin both itchy and sticky. A few times already she'd felt a stab of discomfort as she had wriggled in her chair, only to feel her skin tear off the smooth, white plastic with a ripping sound. It hurt, and not in the way she liked.

And then there was the fact that she had to go to the loo. This was a problem she hadn't encountered before, as Steve generally had his way with her long before her bladder filled up. This time, though, he seemed hell-bent on keeping her waiting. And since the luxury Sunday morning breakfast to which he had treated her had involved a large pot of tea as well as two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, and since it was now well into the afternoon, the pressure on her bladder was getting intense.


Want to know how this ends? Then get yourself a copy of Best Bondage Erotica 2013 here...

I should warn you, though -- 'The Longest Afternoon' wasn't just the first story I ever wrote; it's also easily the dirtiest thing I've ever written. If you're at all squeamish about bodily fluids, you may want to give this one a miss, although you should of course seek the book out for the remaining 21 stories.

Happy reading!