Of Silence and Pain

BDSM, D/s, Erotic FIction, Fetish, Sex

I’m lying naked, face down on the bed.

My legs are spread, my hands are above my head.

No restraints. But I cannot move.

He told me to remain perfectly still.

I’m not sure what exactly is keeping me here.

Fear? The overwhelming urge to not disappoint?

The smell of clean linen is the only thing that is invading my senses.

My eyes are closed and the room is deathly silent.

He told me to wait.

For how long?

The sound of movement in the room interrupts my thoughts.

The adrenaline is already seeping its way into my veins.

My heartbeat quickens. My breathing hitches imperceptibly.

Still, I don’t move.

I hear the crack before I feel the sting.

Pain rips through my body like a lightning bolt.

Then fades to latent heat.

Still, silence.

I begin to move.

Subconsciously squirming against the combination of pain and arousal.

“Keep still.”

His tone is even, yet threatening.


Harder than the last.

I cry out and beat my wrists against imaginary shackles.


I bite my lip to keep from screaming as the next blow lands.

I’m shaking.

Adrenaline? Maybe.

More likely it’s the only thing I allow myself to do so that I keep still and stay silent.

The lightest touch travels along my leg.

From my ankle to the highest point at the inside of my thigh.

Searching for something when it reaches its destination.

A sign.

A symptom of my body’s own betrayal.

Exquisite pleasure begins to wash over the shadows of the pain.

Dampening the lingering sting of the implement I chose not to ask about.

My heart rate quickens again.

But to a different tune.

Before I can reach that peak, it’s gone.

Silence again.

And I wait for the next lash.

The Predator and the Willing Prey

Erotic FIction, Erotica, Sex

It was cold when I left the nightclub. I’d barely made it down the steps towards the waiting line of taxis and I was already regretting my big girl decision to come out without a coat. Who wears an obscenely short dress and heels in January? Oh wait…I do…that’s who…For fucks sake.

Teetering on shaky legs that may have had one too many, I managed to make my way with some degree of dignity in the direction of the awaiting vehicles when I felt a hand touch my elbow.

I knew it was him. I’d seen him once or twice inside and although he didn’t approach me to make small talk about the weather or ask how my week had been, I knew he’d seen me too. I’d caught his gaze on both occasions and, even from across a crowded room with music so loud it boarded on being abusive, there had been a beat between us. There always was.

If I’m honest, I hadn’t expected him to find me outside. I’d not seen him for at least an hour and I figured I’d missed any opportunity to see him again that evening. Turns out he’d been waiting for me to leave.

My predator.

As much as I hated to admit it, I enjoyed this little game we played. The tease and the chase. It was the perfect tautology. It was exactly what it was.

“You’re walking home,” he told me in no uncertain terms. I didn’t bother to argue. I’d tried in the past, but he had always managed to sway my decision and I somehow always ended up in an alleyway, somewhere between the nightclub and my house, with my skirt hitched up.

“You cold?” he asked, with the doors of the nightclub a few paces behind us, weaving me around the gathering group of taxi-waiters.

“Freezing!” I replied, wrapping my arms around my shoulders in a vain attempt at garnering some warmth.

He put his arm around me and I felt instantly warmer.

I tried to concentrate on balancing in four inch heels after one too many vodkas, I was doing pretty well, at least well enough for him not to have noticed I was struggling. If he did, he didn’t say anything. He had other things on his mind; like finding the closest footpath between the rows and rows of terraced houses that would lead us behind to the silent, pitch black alleyways and the back gates of gardens.

It’s a strange feeling to be willing prey, perfectly aware of your fate, and at the same time, perfectly accepting of it. I relish that feeling. I thrive on it. I like being hunted, even if this particular hunter knows I’m easy game. There was something about him. About the way he looked at me, the way he handled me, the way he took control and not for one second let me think that I had any power in this little exchange, whatsoever.

There’d be no seduction. There rarely was. To be honest, I didn’t need seducing. I was completely under his spell from the minute his hand touched my arm. Fuck…from the minute his eyes caught mine in that orgy of party goers.

No conversation. He didn’t even bother to try and lull me into any false sense of security anymore. We were way beyond that at this point and as he turned me sharply around an unsuspecting corner, I felt myself get a little dizzier at the thought of what was about to come. A little wetter. A little more unsteady on my feet.

Away from the glare of the street lights, as the blackness started to envelope us both, I knew I had but a few short minutes if I was going to change my mind. If I’m being completely honest, I contemplated it for a second or so, I often did. But before my mind had a chance to formulate any rational reason as to why I shouldn’t be there I felt the cold hard frontage of a brick wall hit my back, and his mouth was on mine.

And I was lost.

I couldn’t escape now if I wanted to; stuck, almost literally, between a rock and a ‘hard’ place, as he pressed his body against mine and the chill from the damp wall behind me met the heat from his warmth at my front.

Hands skim my waist and continue down to the hem of my skirt, lifting it easily and exposing me to the cold air, a sensation that both tortures and teases me at the same time. His lips move to my neck and his breath against my skin, as his fingers slip beneath the fabric of my black satin underwear, pulling it to one side, is more than enough to elicit a quiet moan, inviting more.

Not enough for him. He wants to hear me.

He teases and toys with silken lips, daring me to beg for his fingers inside me, his mouth barely brushing the sensitive flesh just below my ear.

The trap.

Of course I concede. Willing prey, remember?

My hands move quickly to the top of his jeans and I let my fingertips slip inside the taught denim, tracing the line from his hips to the centre, pulling him in closer as I go and finally finding the cool metal of a belt buckle that is quickly undone and pulled apart.

He continues his torturous tease with a smile on his lips; I can feel it against my neck as I undo the buttons and yank down just enough to free his throbbing cock, waiting impatiently to be stroked.

And at that precise second he decides to reciprocate, as my hand grasps the base of his thickness he pushes easily inside me with two fingers, exhaling loudly as his mouth clamps down on my neck.

It’s not frantic, it’s not slow, it’s rhythmic.

No sound, but that of our synchronised, heavy breathing.

My hips mirror the movements of his hand and all too soon, it’s not enough. I need more. I need him.

I lift one, high heeled foot, and wrap my leg around his hip; an invitation that isn’t ignored as his hand leaves me and grabs my thigh and I feel the cool imprint of wet fingers against my skin.

He’s inside me in one, hard, precise movement, knocking the breath out of me and beginning the animalistic onslaught that has the wall grazing the small of my back, leaving bruises and scratches that I know will be there for days. A souvenir of just another of our liaisons.

Every time is just as carnal as the last. Just as hungry. Just as driven by the desire to fuck the living hell out of me.

He cums loudly, heavily, inside me, with his last few thrusts, slowed down by the need to feel every euphoric ripple fully.

It’s almost amusing, how he gingerly replaces my underwear to its correct position, my pussy soaked from myself, and now him, with a wry smile on his face as he looks me in the eyes for the first time since we were in the club and then gently tugs my skirt back down.

He steps back, admires the sight that is me, fucked and dishevelled, still leaning against the brick wall, and holds out his hand for me to take.

“Come on.”

At His Beck and Call (A little teaser….)

BDSM, D/s, Erotic FIction, Erotica, Sex, Writing

Grabbing her firmly by the arm, he discretely marched her away from her friends and out into the brisk evening air. She was annoyed, but at the same time, the touch of his hand on her skin and the firmness of his grip send a tiny quiver of anticipation through her body. She tried to ignore it and maintain her frosty expression while she snatched her arm away from his grip.

“What?!” She barked. Jesus, he was arrogant.

He glared at her silently for a beat and took her arm again, walking further away from the bar and around an outbuilding at the back of the deserted car park. She could see he was angry. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were tense, and his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. She knew not to argue or fight on this occasion, and the combination of curiosity at what he had to say and magnetism she felt towards him was intoxicating. She couldn’t walk away from this situation if she wanted to.

Coming to a stop in the darkest corner he could find, he spun her around to face the wall of the out building, grabbing both of her wrists and holding them above her head against the cold, damp bricks. He pinned her there with one hand as she attempted to free herself from his grasp without much luck, his grip was too strong. It was a second; a fraction of a second, and his free hand was reaching under her skirt, lifting the fitted fabric and grazing her thighs with the roughness of his hands. She tried to wriggle herself away from him, to shake him off with her hips, but he pressed his body against hers and held her tighter with the weight of his arm while his fingers slipped easily inside her knickers. She wriggled again, tried to move herself away from his touch; the touch she knew so well and had craved for so long. He anticipated her every move, his fingers finding her easily and beginning their almost forceful massage of her most sensitive area.

“Stop it!” She rasped, but she knew her body was already betraying her, succumbing to his expert touch. He leaned in close to her neck, his stubble brushing against her cheek as his hands continued to work down below, making her slick and ready, in spite of herself.

“If you want me to stop, Anna, just say,” he breathed. Even at a whisper his voice was firm, in control.

He was right, she knew if she said it he would stop, and even though her head was telling her to leave well alone and return to her friends inside, she still craved his touch like it was the oxygen she breathed.

“Stop it,” she attempted again, more breathless, less certain.

“Anna?” He dared her, he needed to hear her say it with certainty.

She couldn’t. As his fingers circled her swelling clit and her body gave in to him, her struggling became writhing; she moved against his body and gave in to her overwhelming hunger for him. Her nipples hardened inside her bra and, as he felt her submission, his grip loosened from her wrists, allowing his hand to slide along the length of her arm softly, before placing his fingers gently around her throat. It wasn’t a threat, it never was, she never felt in any danger with him. It was a simple and silent message, a symbol of ownership. His breathing was heavy next to her cheek as his own arousal became more difficult to hide.

“See, Anna,” he whispered as her body gave in to him completely and the waves of pleasure began to build and spread over her body. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

“You don’t want me,” she managed breathlessly, a slither of lucidity escaping her otherwise clouded mind.

“Oh, I want you. I just can’t have you.”

The admission of his own desire was enough to push her towards the brink. His fingers worked faster, pulling her into him with every upwards stroke. Her knees began to give way beneath her and his body mirrored hers, holding her up and taking the one thing he desired most; her ecstasy at his own hands.

“Come for me, Anna,” he whispered.

Room 37

Erotic FIction, Erotica, Horror-Porn, Kink, Writing

Room 37. According to the online blogosphere, this was the room where the magic happened. She would have preferred it if the magic happened in the bar and she could’ve set up camp there for the next 12 hours, but who was she to tell visitors from the afterlife where to get their kicks.

She looked around The Grand Duke’s early 90’s, dated attempt at decadence; the garish patterned wallpaper, the off-white, overly washed bed sheets and sun-bleached curtains. Just once it would be nice if a five star hotel and spa resort decided to have a haunting.

The somewhat on-edge concierge had refused to step into the room, choosing to stand at the doorway and pass her her bags pretty swiftly. It wasn’t unusual in her line of work. The staff were always the worst and if the hotel management thought she was stupid enough to think they didn’t instruct all employees to play along and big up the hype, then so be it. Occasionally it even made her stays more interesting.

The Grand Duke was a little different though, she had to admit. So far, not one person had tried to regale her with stories of phantom noises and moving furniture, or that one time, Hilda, the 82 year old cleaner, had felt a ‘presence’. They definitely all knew why she was there, the side glances and slightly longer than necessary eye contact from the few employees she had come across so far made it clear that they were well aware of what she was doing.

Her job was always the same; arrive, set up, spend the night, record everything, occasionally interview staff for interesting stories, and, if the hotel or venue was willing to spring for the fee, take part in a séance with a local medium of at least some credibility. If the night was at all interesting, a few others would return and film the dialogue and presenting the following evening, the events and results were edited together in a bid to make it a ratings winner, which it rarely was, and the whole thing was then aired on a freeview tv chanel that had a lower viewership than the CCTV cameras in her local newsagent.

The rule was always never to speak to the guests. Most hotels didn’t want to scare away customers, but even when they were using their small-time notoriety to increase business, her boss didn’t want members of the public interfering with the ‘process’.

She began her ritual, pacing the room in order to find the ‘sweet spot’, every hotel room had one.

The corner by the dresser. Perfect.

She got straight to work setting up various pieces of recording equipment; some for sound, some for images. One with night vision, one without. She loved this part. She often fantasised that she was setting up for some tasteless, low rent, porn film, and she often thought she’d probably make more money if she did. She pictured various well-endowed men taking her roughly from behind on the bed on which she now centred the focus of one of the cameras. Just the thought made her creative (among other) juices start to flow. She squeezed her thighs together in bid to brush off the low burning sensation that immediately awakened between her legs.

Focus, Elizabeth!

She checked and double checked the equipment; not that it mattered, she rarely caught anything on camera that was going to provide her with her big break.

Sighing and contemplating for about the five hundredth time whether or not this would be her last gig, she picked up her bag and left the room to explore the rest of the hotel.

There was nothing exciting about this hotel. Every room and corridor was as clichéd as the next, and the smell of slightly damp bed linen clung to the walls as she made her way around, getting a feel for the building and trying to find anything her boss might be able to use as what he called a ‘hook’. She gave up pretty quickly and decided to have an early (and decidedly sub-par) dinner in the hotel restaurant before returning to her room to shower and go to bed.

The internet was the program’s main source of income, from its website and webisodes (for those that didn’t make the tv cut), and the forums that had countless people suggesting venue after venue. She checked them regularly, returning this evening to the forum post that had lead her here in the first place. Strange noises in the corridor…blah blah…staff don’t even like to work there…blah blah….building has a violent history….blah blah….Room 37….


She wasn’t sure of the time. She wasn’t even sure if she was awake, but the definite brush of something against her leg made her shift under the covers and stir slightly. When it happened again she barely even noticed. The tiniest sound of contentment escaped her as the brush became a tender stroke that started slowly along the back of her calf. As it reached her thigh it became just slightly firmer, gliding smoothly upwards. She sighed a little, drifting in and out of the deepest sleep, enjoying the dreamlike sensation, and moved her leg aside to allow her imaginary admirer easier access to her.

The most delicate touch crept between her legs and lightly stroked her already silken wetness. She shifted again, her subconscious state enjoying this little episode. Fingertips traced the smooth line of her stomach, circling towards her ribs and barely sweeping her breast, arousing a tender nipple in their path, over her shoulder, gently down her arm, before curling firmly around her wrist. She half-heartedly attempted to release the grip, but her slumbering state left it a futile assignment, and this dream was just beginning to get interesting.

…….continued in Taboo, available now on Amazon Kindle!


BDSM, Erotic FIction, Erotica, Writing

The sky is beautiful from up here. Sentimental shades of pink and gold streak across the fading blue and she knows she’s only a few minutes from darkness. Soon the sky will go black, the stars will glitter in their thousands and half the city beneath her will go to sleep while the other half begins to wake; the nocturnal half. The ones that inspire and create, that dance and sing, the ones for whom the daylight holds no interest. The city is always more exciting at night.

She stands here, with the sliding glass doors of the balcony wide open, the cool breeze of the evening air brushing against her skin. She doesn’t care that she’s completely naked; some four stories up she’s quite out of sight, and for the creatures of the night that stir below, she is the least interesting thing they will see this evening. For those few that do notice the svelte, bare skinned figure at the door of the balcony, well, they’re in for a show aren’t they?

He should be here by now. He said 7pm. It’s now 8pm and the sky has turned a magnificent midnight blue colour. Any earlier excitement she was feeling in anticipation of this evening is now turning into annoyance, but she has resisted the urge to text or call, he knows where she was. He knows she is waiting. He is doing it on purpose.

By 8.15pm, the click of the hotel room door opening did nothing to startle her composure. She stands still on that very spot and listens to the sound of footsteps across luxurious carpet, a jacket being removed and laid carefully on the bed, his breath in her ear as he joined her where she stood.

“You’re late.” She doesn’t move.

“I know.” He doesn’t care.

“You’ve been drinking,” she says, smelling the indisputable but subtle aroma of alcohol as he plants gentle kisses from beneath her ear, down her neck, and across her shoulder.

“I’ve had a couple.”

As his lips find their way back to that spot behind her ear that sends charges of electricity throughout her entire body, she tries to maintain her irritation at his lateness, but the almost imperceptible tilt of her head and not so well hidden hitch in her breathing is enough to give her away.

His hands find her waist, sliding slowly down to the curves of her hips. Strong hands on soft skin; her body is already beginning to betray her and her annoyance is fading by the second.

“Close the door,” he says gently, allowing the back of his left hand to move upwards along her spine, reaching under her hair to the nape of her neck.

“Where were you?” She asks, closing her eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but his touch.

His hand immediately closes around a clump of her hair and he yanks hard, repeating himself with more conviction.

“Close the door.”

She resists the temptation to exhale audibly and instead bites her lip and follows his command, sliding the glass door closed slowly as the sound of laughter, chatter, and bustle on the street below gradually fades to silence with the click of the lock.

Somehow the quietness of the room seems so much louder than the noises she has just shut out. A deafening stillness that is heavy with anticipation. His hands continue their journey over her body, tracing lines he knows so well like he’s discovering them for the first time; gently, carefully.

“Hands on the glass.”

….To be continued…in my new Amazon Kindle title, Taboo!

An excerpt from At His Beck and Call

Erotic FIction, Erotica

Ok, so here is an excerpt from the first book in the Masters Series, At His Beck and Call (a teaser is available on Kindle right now!) The first time Anna and Nathan have sex. 

A little back story…After some, quite hands on, flirting in the office a few days earlier, Anna has been hiding from her boss, pretending to be at home with a migraine…Nathan has turned up, unannounced, at her home.

“Do all your employees get a personal visit when they are feeling a little under the weather?” For some reason she felt mildly cocky, knowing full well he could almost see her knickers and feeling she had the upper hand for a moment because he was in her home.

“No,” he said simply. “So, why weren’t you in today?”

“I had a migraine,” she said, noting the clipped-ness of his manner and mirroring it herself.

“Uhuh,” he nodded slowly. “I’m surprised you didn’t have one yesterday, you had a heavy weekend.”

He knew. He knew exactly why she hadn’t been in the office. But he wanted to hear it from her.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her say he was the reason she had pulled a sicky.

“Heavy? Not really,” she attempted in her best ‘I have no idea what you might be referring to’ tone.

He said nothing, he just stared, searching her eyes for something that might give away whatever it was he was looking for.

“Was there anything else, Nathan?” She had him on the back foot and she knew it. His eyes darted to her incredibly short shirt and knickers combo and Anna’s stomach flipped wildly at such a subtle gesture.

“So, you’re not sick anymore?” He said in his low, ultra sexy tone. His eyes remained on the line of her shirt as he took a slow step forward.

“Nope,” she managed, a little edged by his movement, it felt once again, predatory.

“No migraine? No headache?” He stepped forward again. Now only a foot or so away from where she stood in her living room. She had the overwhelming sensation to step back from his advance, and yet she could not move.

“No,” she said quietly as he stepped forward again, now only inches from her; so close that she could smell his heavenly scent, making the hairs on her body stand and bristle.

He stepped forward once more, forcing her to take a step back and find herself against the cold wall. He was practically on top of her, she could almost taste his skin and the feel the material of his tshirt brush gently against the protruding hardness of her nipples.

His mouth moved to hers, taking her lips with a forceful kiss that almost had her knees giving way beneath her. His tongue invaded her mouth almost violently and within seconds his hand slid along the inside of her thigh, slipping beneath her shirt to the line of her thong. His fingers lingered on the delicate fabric, brushing her clit for only a second but sending shock waves of pleasure ripping through her already sensitive body.

He pushed slightly at her thigh and she willingly parted her legs enough for him to touch her more easily. As his fingers slipped easily into her already slick, wet folds; his kiss stopped briefly, open mouthed and waiting; savouring that sweet moment.

Anna gasped at his touch, at the feel of his fingers expertly toying with her from the inside. She had thought about those hands so many times before and wondered just how perfectly they would pleasure her, she was not disappointed.

Already the waves of her own climax were beginning to wake from deep within her. Stirring and pouring to the surface like a long awaited tidal wave. And then his hands were gone, moving swiftly to the buttons of her shirt and slipping the garment easily off her shoulders. He paused for a second and allowed his eyes to wonder over her nearly naked body.

Under normal circumstances, Anna would have felt incredibly vulnerable at that moment, being assessed so openly by critical eyes, but she didn’t. She felt admired, adored. Something in the way he looked at every curve and every line, took in every inch of her and appreciated it like a fine work of art. She had never felt so beautiful before in her entire life.

She barely noticed as he undone his own trousers and positioned himself, grasping his throbbing manhood with one hand while his other slid around to grab her backside and lift her leg so it wrapped perfectly around his torso.

And then it happened. As his huge, beautifully solid cock slid deep within her she felt every inch of him take over her body and mind. He filled her so perfectly it was like they were built for each other; as if their bodies were molded to fit together. She had never felt so consumed before, so utterly taken by a man that she was willing to give herself to him completely.

He moved slowly at first, savouring every second as she arched her back and gasped at every movement of his within her.

Their bodies rocked together in perfect synchronicity, driving himself into her over and over, deeper every time, and yet every thrust not deep enough to quell either of their desire. She never wanted it to end, the smooth glide of his thick cock inside her was euphoric. His hands grabbed her hips as he pulled her onto him, his head arched down towards her peaked nipple as he sucked gently, rhythmically with his own movements. She gripped his shirt at the waist, tugging at the fabric as she tried to pull him closer, deeper, harder.

The stirring awoke within her again, much faster and harder than before, from deep inside she felt her own body rising to its crescendo. With every thrust it grew stronger, heavier; she felt his body react to hers, his cock thickening, his breathing harsher. She knew he was close. She needed to feel him find his release, knowing it would be enough to push her over the edge.

Their movements became frantic, she pulled him in tighter, her leg gripping his waist desperately. A few more seconds was all she needed before her body exploded around him, and with it, he came hard and hungrily, guttural groans escaping his mouth, fingers digging into her hips, shuddering and shaking while she collapsed into him, just barely managing to stay on her feet.

They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, catching their breath and letting the final ebbs of their mutual ecstasy dissipate, bringing them gradually back to reality and the realisation of what had just happened.


Fifty Shades of Grey?

Bared to You, Erotic FIction, Erotica, Fifty Shades of Grey, Writing

Well, this wouldn’t be much of a kinky blog about Erotica without at least some reference to the global behemoth that is Fifty Shades of Grey, would it?

So here’s my opinion…and it’s just my opinion, mind, let’s not get all uppity about it…

No, I did not start writing Erotica because I read Fifty Shades; I have written in this genre for some time, I just haven’t had the nerve to publish it.

Yes, I do owe EL James a debt of gratitude for bringing this genre to the mainstream and giving me the balls to actually put my stuff out there.

By mainstream, I mean, supermarket book shelves. I have, since it was released, fought ardently against all those that jump up and down and claim Fifty Shades of Grey brought Erotica to the forefront and ‘allowed’ women to read filth. Mills and Boon did that YEARS ago! What EL James managed, and quite successfully, was to allow Erotica to sit proudly and prominently on every shelf in every bookstore and supermarket across the land.

For the record, when I read the books, I enjoyed them; I had to put a few of my issues regarding the over use of repetitive adjectives, verbiage, and sloppy writing to the back of my mind (for example, he needs to stop ‘cupping her sex’, and her clothes ‘pool at her feet’ far more than necessary), but I enjoyed them, on the whole.

My opinion, however, is that there are better pieces of BDSM related Erotica that could have been the flagship for this genre. I know how she done it; she created the perfect fairy-tale to filth ratio, with just enough cliché to make it lovable and just enough taboo to make it scandalous. Genius, really, if you ask me. But, let’s not pretend it is a literary masterpiece, because it isn’t.

I would much rather have seen Silvia Day’s, Bared to You, hit the big screen than Fifty Shades, it has a lot more depth and darkness.

My point is, Fifty Shades of Grey is what it is, slating it will not make it go away, or change the opinion of the masses, but I would recommend that you don’t make it your point of reference when it comes to Erotica, and certainly not when it comes to BDSM.

So, a little about me…

Erotic FIction, Kink, Writing

Well, here I am. Starting my blogging journey in a bid to promote my writing and get myself ‘out there’.

If you fancy coming along for the ride, please follow my story and then, when I’m rich and famous (mwahaha), you can say, “I knew her when…” Just kidding (well, maybe).You should probably know a little about me, though, huh…?

I’m a wife and mother of two, soon to celebrate the 3rd anniversary of my 29th birthday. I’ve been a professional Freelance Writer for over three years now, but have been an author and poet in my head since I was about five. In my day job, I write about fitness and nutrition, supplements, and clean eating; the rest of the time I write about filth, kink, sex, and ‘all that good stuff’ (see what I did there…).

I am a geek, I love films and old books, I am (slightly) obsessed with Oscar Wilde, I have tattoos, I grow my own vegetables, I also sing Opera (not even kidding, I really do…), I sing other stuff too, but yeah, I love Opera. I am opinionated, insecure, and somewhat misanthropic at times. I have amazing friends, I mean seriously, amazing! They keep my going and stop me losing my mind…and I am a ridiculous over-user of the ellipsis…

Part one of my new erotic fiction series, ‘At His Beck and Call’, is soon to be published on Amazon Kindle (a teaser preview is available to buy now).

So, there you have it; me. Happy reading!