Her Submission

BDSM, D/s, Erotic Poetry, Erotica, Submission

The moonlight danced for her and when she spoke, the birds stopped to listen.

When the sunlight touched her, it turned to gold and whole oceans could rise if you whispered her name.

Her touch could ignite fires and a kiss from her lips could start wars.

If only she knew the power she possessed.

She could stop the world turning if she just raised her hand.

But instead, she knelt. Before him.

She bowed her head and held out her hands.

And he watched her, silently offer herself to him, body and soul.

He bound her wrists and led her; and she followed.

He recognised her surrender.

And he knew there was more power in that than all the sunlight, moonlight, birdsong, ocean, fire, and war in this world.

So he protected it. He nurtured it.

He owned her.

But she possessed him.

The Illicit Encounter

Erotica, Orgasms, Sex

So, a new book is in process…another collection of shorts, but this time with a twist…Here is a snippet…

The Palladium was an upmarket sort of place. Just perfect for the rendezvous Charlotte had in mind. She wasn’t sure exactly how she had arrived at this point; she was both hideously nervous and ridiculously excited all at the same time.

Mark seemed utterly perfect. Granted, they hadn’t actually met in person yet, but she felt like she had known him forever. Had it really been just two months since they first spoke? It’s amazing how much you can learn about someone through the back and forth of emails on a daily basis.

She checked her phone; John hadn’t text her yet. She knew he would. She had been so careful in planning this evening. She was certain she couldn’t get caught, but now was not the time to get complacent. He would text her soon enough to see that she was ok and that she’d made it to London in one piece. She’d call him briefly and explain she was safe and sound with Karen and they were about to go for drinks. Hopefully she wouldn’t need to do that in front in Mark. Although he knew her situation fully, it was hardly a ‘mood setter’, was it?

The hotel bar was busy for a Wednesday afternoon. Some sort of business expo was apparently taking place and there were an awful lot of men and women, suited and booted, wearing plastic name tags around their necks and enjoying the parading trays of complimentary champagne a little too freely. On the one hand, she felt a little out of place, in her blood red slip of a summer dress and four inch stilettos, perched on the only occupied bar stool, on the other hand, all that free alcohol was proving pretty distracting, and so far, no one had even glanced in her direction.

Various people came and went. From the brief tidbits of conversation she could hear, they seemed to be in and out of the bar between seminars or lectures of some description. Her gaze wondered to the group of four at the far end of the room, standing in front of the large, elegantly dressed with cream and gold draped window. Three men and one woman. She had little interest in the two older, heavier set, gentlemen, that seemed to guffaw loudly like a clichéd caricature whenever the woman in their midst spoke; but she was utterly beautiful, and Charlotte couldn’t help noticing the fourth man, who from this distance looked like he stepped off the pages of a Calvin Klein ad, subtly placing his hand on the small of her back every once in a while.

She watched the woman talk animatedly to the men, confident and beautiful, in her classic (expensive looking) charcoal grey pencil dress and grey patent Mary Janes. She couldn’t help feeling envious of this stunningly attractive female, who obviously had these men eating out of the palm of her hand. She imagined her to be a high flying business women, who flitted between functions in Five Star resorts, spending her disposable income on designer outfits and lapping up the attention of men wherever she went. She looked down at her summer dress and thought about what she had waiting for her at home. No designer clothes, no disposable income, no weekends in the Med entertaining clients. Just piles of washing and endless housework, combined with a husband that liked nothing more than a trip to the garden centre on a Sunday and spent the rest of his free time moaning about his ever increasing blood pressure.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed and the tiny notification brought her back to her own reality in a heartbeat.

‘Hey Babe, are you there? Miss you x’

She took a deep breath and made the call she’d been dreading.

Just get this done, Charlotte, and then you can be whoever you want to be.

The phone rang twice before he answered. She put on her most cheery voice and smiled into the handset as she spoke.

“Hi! Yes, I’m here. Safe and sound. Karen’s just in the loo and then we’re gonna pop out for some food…Yes, the train was fine…Yup, the hotel is lovely…I’ll send her your love…I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m on my way home…Miss you too…Bye.”

And it was done. She was free for the next 12 hours. She felt a little sick at the thought of what she had just done, and what she was about to do, but if she didn’t follow this through it would haunt her forever. She’d spent enough of her life already playing it safe, she deserved a little fun and naughtiness.

By the time she’d tapped the end call button and slipped her phone back in her bag, she felt the definite presence of someone stood directly behind her. She turned a little suddenly and almost fell off her stool. It was him.

He smiled and put out a hand to steady her as he leaned and kissed her cheek politely.

“Hey,” he grinned, his perfect smile and twinkling blue eyes far more knicker dropping than she’d anticipated from just his photos.

“Hey,” she smiled back a little sheepishly, hoping that he wasn’t disappointed. Every photo she’d sent him had taken at least a hundred attempts in a bid to get the most attractive angle she could.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he said, still grinning, as if sensing her silent insecurity, staring hard at her and taking in every detail.

She felt her cheeks burn as she looked away from his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he rushed, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. “But you are. Your pictures…I mean…wow…But you?….fuck….”

Perhaps he was just as nervous as her. Although he didn’t look it. He looked good enough to eat; so good she forgot entirely that this was the man that she had spent the last two months confiding every detail of her life in, and had spoken candidly to about her fantasies in such graphic detail that he had been responsible for more of her orgasms in that time than her husband had. Right now she felt like an awkward teenager being hit on in a bar by the hottest guy in the room.

Pull yourself together, Charlotte!

She sat up straighter, forcing a little confidence to the forefront, along with her ample chest, and tried to steady her nerves.

“No, I’m sorry…it’s fine. Thank you. I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“No need to be nervous, Char,” She smiled, he called her Char in messages. “It’s just me. Remember? Let’s have a drink,” he said, eyeing her already empty wine glass.

They drank and chatted for the next hour or so. As soon as that second glass of wine went down, she started to feel more at ease, and before she knew it, they were talking exactly as she’d imagined they would, like old friends or old lovers, completely enthralled with one another. She completely forgot about the beautiful business woman she had been so jealous of earlier, and when she looked around briefly while Mark was at the bar a little later, the stunning blonde in the pencil dress was nowhere to be seen.

After her third glass of wine, she started to feel the dizzying effects of the alcohol, and she in no way wanted to get drunk and make a fool of herself tonight, so when Mark offered her another, she requested a tonic water instead. He smiled and his hand reached out to touch her thigh, just above the hemline of her dress. He leaned in a little closer and the combination of his scent and the feel of his hand as it slid almost imperceptibly higher made her heart race and her knickers wet. She felt that familiar burning between her thighs and wasted no time in replying as his voice became a low whisper in her ear.

“Why don’t we make our way upstairs?”

She had checked into the room when she arrived. The keycard had sat in the bar in front of them like a ticking bomb waiting to go off. He picked up the card and guided her towards the elevators, his hand on the small of her back, making her mind flit back to the business woman and the Calvin Klein model. Suddenly, she wasn’t as jealous of her as she had been earlier as they reached the silver doors and Mark pressed the button for the third floor.

The tension between them was palpable as they waited for the ping of the elevator. When it finally arrived and they had stepped inside, the doors had barely even closed before he had her pushed against the wall, kissing her deeply and letting his hand wander a little further up her thigh than it had in the bar. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers found the delicate fabric of the new lacy underwear she had bought especially for that evening.

The second ping of the elevator, as it reached their floor, pulled him away and for a split second she felt disappointed before he took her hand and lead her towards the room they would be spending the night in. All night. She had him all to herself.

He marched with so much purpose towards that door that Charlotte was almost carried along behind him, barely able to keep up with his stride and almost crashing into him as he reached the room and slid the keycard in the slot, pushing open the door and thrusting her inside.

She was granted no time to catch her breath or take in her surroundings before he was on her again, against the wall, his hand returning to where it had been in the elevator and proceeding to pull those lace panties to one side. As his tongue searched her mouth, his fingers slid easily between already wet lips and she fought the urge to let her knees give way as he finger fucked her rhythmically while his thumb found her clit.

He pulled away from their kiss while his hands continued to work between her legs, his gaze fixed on hers as he watched her closely.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you, Charlotte?” He said before his fingers thrust roughly, deeply, and she let out a noise somewhere between shock and ecstasy.

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead dropping to his knees and holding her skirt above her hips as his tongue found the exact spot his thumb had just been and he licked her gently. This time she couldn’t fight the urge as her knees started to give way beneath her. He held her up with his hands against her hips and his face pushed further, his tongue now dipping inside her, pushing her towards the point of no return before stopping abruptly.

He stood up and his eyes found hers again, inches from her face while his hand traced the smooth line of the inside of her thigh slowly.

“Get on the bed.”

She wasted no time following his instruction, moving quickly to the pristinely made, Queen sized, four poster in the middle of the room. She hadn’t even noticed its existence before now, but as she lay herself down on what she was sure were Egyptian cotton sheets, she had a second to take in, for the first time since the door closed behind them, what she now noticed was one of the hotels exclusive suites.

He stood over her, not taking his eyes off her body as he started to undo his shirt buttons to reveal a perfectly toned chest complete with the perfect dusting of dark hair that lead a trail across his stomach and down beneath his jeans. Letting the shirt fall to the floor, he climbed on top of her, his mouth immediately moving to her neck and collarbone, placing gentle but firm kisses down towards the top of her breast. His fingers followed his lips and slid beneath the red fabric, pulling it down slowly and revealing an already hard nipple. His tongue flicked the tender bead as his lips surrounded it and sucked just hard enough to elicit a gentle, involuntary moan from her while his hand continued its journey to her other breast, following the same achingly slow routine before beginning to pinch and roll its counterpart.

She writhed against him, lifting her hips suggestively, she wanted him inside her. She had waited for this moment for so long.

Sensing her eagerness, he placed his hand on her and gently pushed her flat to the bed.

“Not yet,” he smiled, moving down to lift the skirt of her dress and slipping his fingers under the sides of her underwear, gently teasing them down over her hips and thighs, sliding them off completely and tossing them aside.

He positioned himself between her legs, spreading them with the broadness of his shoulders, kissing ever closer to her now glistening pussy. By the time his tongue reached her lips and started to lap and suck her hungrily, she was already grinding her hips towards his mouth, desperate for the release she craved.

It didn’t take long. Within moments of his tongue invading her, she was bucking and cumming harder than she’d ever known.

A little dazed and perfectly sated, she barely even noticed as he lifted her dress higher, gently coaxing her arms above her head and shifting the floaty, blood red fabric over her head and casting it aside. For a second, she regained some lucidity and noticed she was now almost completely exposed, except for the matching lace bra that had been positioned by his eager hands under each breast, lifting them pertly, her nipples still hard.

She fought the temptation to cover herself just as she saw him stand and begin to undo the zip of his jeans that was now straining against the throbbing erection beneath it.

As he slid down the denim, taking his fitted, black boxer shorts with it, her heart rate quickened again at the sight of his outstretched cock. Hard and ready.

She couldn’t move, frozen completely to the spot where she lay on the bed, as he moved towards her and positioned himself above, taking her wrists in his hands and placing them together, above her head while he held them in place with one hand, firmly.

His other hand moved to the base of his solid length and she felt him gently tease her swollen, sensitive lips open with its tip, his eyes fixed on hers the entire time, while she held her breath and bit her lip subconsciously.

With a guttural grunt, he slammed himself deep inside her, beginning a heavy rhythm that coincided with their mutual groans. It was forceful, almost reckless, an absolute and untamed need to fuck her as hard as he could. His fingers dug into the soft skin of her wrists as he pinned her there, and still his eyes did not leave hers, flashing a dark and desperate desire to be deeper, push further, take more of her than anyone else ever had.

“Do you want me more than your husband, Charlotte?” He whispered into her ear between deep thrusts.

The question shocked her a little and the flash of reality made her uncomfortable, but when she looked at him and saw his darkened eyes, driven by lust, she remembered his own confession in their earliest conversations; the stranger that fucks the wife of another man. To have a woman so fuelled by desire for him that she is unable to control herself, willing to break her marriage vows to feel him inside her.

The thought of being his ultimate fantasy, of turning him on like no other, became the most intoxicating thought, and as she said the words he was waiting to hear, he groaned ever louder, thrust ever harder, and she lost herself in his need to fuck her senseless.

Wrapping her legs around his waist and feeling the relentlessness of his hunger for her, she had never felt sexier, never felt more wanted. She felt that desire with every slam of his hips against her and as his cock thickened inside her, nearing his own release, she felt that low burning wave begin again, rising with every beat of his body against hers. At the precipice of her own orgasm, he came hard inside her, pushing himself as deeply as he could and releasing her wrists so that his hand could reach down and push her over the edge, letting his thumb slip eagerly over her swollen clit and relishing in her shuddering orgasm that had her spasming muscles milk the final ebbs of his own.

They lay there like that for what seemed like hours, basking and dozing in the aftermath of their long awaited encounter. When she was lucid enough to get her bearings again, she realised it was finally dark outside. A flicker of disappointment that their night would not last forever crept across her sleepy mind and she attempted to sit up in a bid to wake herself slightly and prolong the evening.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He whispered with his eyes still closed.

“Nowhere,” she smiled, watching him closely before feeling his hand start to slide gently along the outside of her thigh, his grip becoming firmer as is climbed higher.

“Good.” He said, eyes now open, looking back at her with the same desire he’d had earlier.

He shifted himself slightly and proceeded to roll her onto her front, manoeuvring himself on top of her and letting his once again rock hard cock slip between her legs.

“Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

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.

Do you want to…?

BDSM, Erotic Poetry, Erotica, Kink, Poems, Poetry

Can you see me from up there?
Do you know what I’m about?
Do you want to bite the apple?
Do you want to call me out?
Do you want to bend and twist me?
Push me? Bind me? Break me? Then…
Do you want to put the pieces back together once again?
Do you think that you can offer me everything you know I need?
I’m down here, waiting, for you, Sir.
You’ll find me on my knees.

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!

A Poem About Submission

BDSM, Erotic Poetry, Erotica, Kink, Poems

Take me to that place
Where my mind is not my own
Where the colours are more vivid
And the music has more tone
Where my senses all evaporate
And all that’s left behind
Are the pictures that you choose to paint
On the walls inside my mind

Let me drift on placid waters
Let me hang on crescent moons
Let me wander in it endlessly
Don’t let it end too soon

Take me to that place
Where I do not need to think
Write your stories on my body
Let your touch become the ink
Take me far away from here
Let the world outside us cease
Let me take your pain and give you tears
Our bitter sweet release


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.