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.”

Say what now!? On BDSM Roles and Terminology

BDSM, D/s, Fetish, Fifty Shades of Grey, Kink, Sex, Writing

Thanks to a certain well-known (and no doubt well-thumbed…Pun absolutely intended) book, the whole world has now heard the terms Dominance and Submission with regards to what people get up to in the boudoir.

Women up and down the length and breadth of the globe are now jumping up and down and shouting, “I’m a submissive! Tie me up!” and the cable tie and rope section at your local DIY store has no doubt had an influx of curious customers who may or may not be using said items for their intended purpose.

It was within reason that every sex-specific retail outlet would jump on the bandwagon and start offering themed goodies to cash in on this behemoth of a trend, but even Supermarkets are getting in on the action and offering their own line of (perhaps a little less risqué) ‘accessories’.

Seriously, Fifty Shades of Grey did for grown ups what Frozen did for a generation of children…Perhaps short of people uploading their own recreations on Youtube…cause that could’ve been disturbing/entertaining (delete as appropriate).

BDSM has had an awakening, and in general, the community is pretty happy about the fact that their favourite pastime is a little more prevalent, a little less taboo. But there is an undertone of cynicism, a whispering of discontent, and whole bucket load of exasperation at the general misunderstanding of what BDSM actually is, and what the hell it actually means to be a Submissive…or a Dominant…and wait, I’m about to confuse the fuck out of you even more…

Doms, Subs, Bottoms, Tops, Sadists, and Masochists…to name but a few.

In some circles, these are all completely different. In some circles, these are all one in the same. In many circles, these are all general terms to describe certain aspects of the BDSM dynamic and they are used to help forge an understanding of someone’s particular interest in the bedroom.

Confused yet? You probably should be…

Ok, let’s begin at the beginning and explain just a few of the words that you may come across (no pun intended) if you decide to take a little peek into the actual world of BDSM…

BDSM – Bondage/Dominance/Submission/Sadism/Masochism (I know that should be BDSSM, but it isn’t, just go with it…)

Fetish – A sexual desire linked, with an abnormal degree of interest, to a particular act/object/scenario. (Side note – Rule 36 – If it exists, there is a fetish for it!)

Kink – Sexual practices that go beyond what is considered ‘conventional’. (Side note – Vanilla – Conventional)

D/s – An abbreviation for Dominance and Submission, which is also used as an umbrella term for most types of BDSM relationships.

Primal – Someone that enjoys the raw, animalistic, approach to sexual practice, within any of the following dynamics.

Sadist – Someone who has a Fetish for inflicting pain.

Masochist – Someone who has a Fetish for receiving pain.

Top – Someone who has a Fetish for being in charge in the bedroom.

Bottom – Someone who has a Fetish for not being in charge in the bedroom.

Submissive – (Ugh…this one is tricky…in the simplest terms…) Someone who has a Fetish for relinquishing control in the bedroom (or elsewhere), with regards to physical, emotional, and sexual practice, specifically to a Dominant.

Dominant – (Ugh…just as tricky…again…) Someone who has a Fetish for assuming control in the bedroom (or elsewhere), with regards to physical, emotional, and sexual practice, specifically of a Submissive.

(Responsible Disclaimer at this point – These terms refer to the dynamic between CONSENTING ADULTS; no physical or emotional manipulation plays any part in a proper D/s relationship…Let’s not get all trolly and judgemental about it.)

I know what you’re thinking…Pretty straightforward, not so confusing…So far so good, right?


You can be a Bottom without being a Submissive or a Masochist.

You can be a Masochist without being a Bottom or a Submissive.

You can be a Submissive without being a Masochist (But you would typically be a Bottom)

You can be a Top without being a Dominant or a Sadist.

You can be a Sadist without being a Top or a Dominant.

You can be a Dominant without being a Sadist (But you would typically be a Top)

You can be a Primal without being any of the above.

You can be any combination of any of the above, to any ratio, whatsoever, including, but not restricted to…

Being a Masochistic Submissive with a Primal edge that occasionally enjoys Topping from the Bottom.

Being a Sadistic Top that has no interest in Submission, but loves a good Primal Bottom.

Being a Sadomasochist that enjoys both inflicting and receiving pain but is in no way Dominant or Submissive.

Being a Bottomy Submissive with no Masochistic tendencies, whatsoever.

Being a Toppy Dominant with no Sadistic tendencies, whatsoever.

Being a Primal Toppy Sadist.

Being a Bottomy Submissive Masochist.

Being a Bratty Submissive with Switchy tendencies….Wait!! New terms???…Damnit….

See, it can get confusing.

So, here’s my point; I don’t believe there is any such thing as just a Submissive, or just a Dominant. But I also don’t believe that everyone running around calling themselves these after reading Fifty Shades of Grey is genuinely either.

I did it too….I discovered BDSM and called myself a Submissive for a long time. Then I spent some time researching…reading…writing…experimenting…and I realised just how vast and varied this lifestyle is. Just how complicated it can be, how confusing it can be, how enticing and exciting it can be, and how a thousand different nuances and tastes can be twisted and contorted and evolve into something entirely different to what you might expect.

Me? I’m a Bottomy Masochist with Submissive tendencies that lean toward the Primal.

On Orgasms and Blasphemy

deviance, Orgasms, Sex

I’m a big fan of the orgasm. BIG fan. In my opinion, it is the single greatest, pure, and euphoric pleasure in this life that you can have for free…for nothing…no cost…

It’s a fantastic pastime, a hobby really, I mean seriously…every other hobby I tried didn’t last more than a few weeks…

Netball – Six weeks

Hockey – Eight weeks

Brownies (that’s Girl Guides to most of the rest of the world) – Two weeks

Judo – Two weeks

Horse Riding – Six months, actually…there has to be some connection, there…

But orgasming? Still a committed member of that particular club, and as you get older, it becomes a fucking team sport! You can play solo, with a partner, in doubles, in groups…

When I was younger I figured there was only one type of orgasm, it took me years to learn that I was wrong…and suddenly, there was a whole new world of orgasmic delight just waiting for me to experiment with!

So, without further ado, I’ve categorised just a few that we all know and love, because, well, I’m bored, and who doesn’t like orgasms?

#1 – The Silent One – We’ve all done it! Don’t pretend you haven’t! That one you absolutely need, but you can’t let on to anyone that you’re doing it! Seriously, I am the Master of the Silent Orgasm! I can get myself off in utter silence, without making a move, while sharing a bed with a sleeping counterpart, and they will be none the wiser…It takes some skill to perfect, and some serious self-control, but it can be done…and Hallelujah, you can be orgasming anytime, anyplace, anywhere…

#2 – The Necessary One – You know the one I mean…It’s not really about the build up, or about getting turned on, you just need the relief. I always found orgasms helped me sleep, so if I’m having trouble sleeping, I’ll take one for the team…Bingo! Lights out! Job Jobbed.

#3 – The Half Arsed One – This one can happen on your own, or with a partner. It just needs to get done now. The epitomical moment has passed, and for whatever reason, it just didn’t happen. Now you’re willing to take whatever you can get…It happens, it’s great, it’s not Earth shattering, but it’ll do…for now.

#4 – The Oh Fuck I Needed That One – It’s been a while…for whatever reason you haven’t been able to pull off (no pun intended, guys, I know you get this too!) a Silent, Necessary, or even Half-Arsed One, so when you get the chance, it’s fucking awesome! It’s a wonderful release of tension, endorphins, adrenaline…It puts a huge smile on your face and you’re pretty fucking pleased with yourself. You can now go about your day without that horrible ‘Fuck-Me-Mist’ that has you picturing everyone naked and wondering if the guy you just walked past has is a ‘Show-er’ or a ‘Grow-er’…(Sorry…is that a British turn-of-phrase? Let me know….)

#5 – The ‘I’m Gonna Cry’ Cathartic One – This one is most definitely reserved for partner-play…It’s a Sonic-Boom of an explosion that pushes every emotion out of your very being and leaves your body not knowing exactly what to with itself…So what does your body do when it reaches that cataclysmic pinnacle? It cries…

#6 –The Blaspheming One – My personal favourite. Definitely not a solo event…The one so good it almost hurts. That peak is just so damn, fucking, insanely, amazing that you lose control of your brain-to-mouth filter and just start randomly worshiping deities out loud, like praying to the orgasm Gods is going to get you through the crescendo and wait…did I just have a near death experience?…Is that a white fucking light? “Oh God! Oh God! Oh Jesus Fucking Christ! FUCK, OH GOD!!!”

#7 – Oh! And of course….The Fake One! 😉

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.”

There’s a moment…

D/s, Erotic Poetry, Kink, Poems, Poetry, Sex

There’s a moment

A beat

An insignificant pause

When my mind unravels

And becomes wholly yours

There’s a caveat

A limit

A distinct silent wall

When I lose myself completely

And my knees hit the floor

There’s a crescent

A shift

A change in the pace

When my body responds

And my senses just taste

There’s a rush

An engulfment

A heart pounding quake

When my breath is all gone

And my legs start to shake

There’s a flicker

An ember

A slow burning flame

When I hear nothing but silence

Until you say my name

There’s a hunger

A craving

An untamed desire

When I crash to your depths

And my soul sets on fire



When I looked at her, I saw nothing of particular value.

She was odd looking. Countless imperfections and her features were…’off’. Her hair was average, at best, and she never really had any idea of what to do with it. She could straighten it, but it was never particularly straight. She could leave it wild and natural, but it was never the glossy curls the other girls had.

She could be loud…out spoken…Just a ruse, really. A facade to pretend she didn’t really care what she looked like. Or maybe to make sure she was actually noticed…either way…

When I looked at her I felt endless pity. She so desperately wanted to be ‘pretty’.

People paid her compliments, but she never believed them. Hell, I paid her compliments, but she never believed me either. She’d smile and say thank you (on a good day), she’d laugh and call them liars (on a bad day).

I could look into her eyes and see so much sadness. Oh, she masked it well, and if you didn’t know her as well as I do, you could be forgiven for thinking she was doing just fine…but I knew she wasn’t…not really.

Over the years, so much has changed, and so little at the same time. She doesn’t look the same anymore. Don’t get me wrong, nothing has changed about her features, her face, even her hair (except perhaps she is a little more adept at styling it now), but she looks completely different.

Maybe it’s a maturity thing. Maybe I grew up, and perhaps I don’t look for beauty in the same way I once did. Maybe it’s because she removed herself from all the negative and surrounded herself with positive, and that darkness no longer casts shadows on her face to make her look…’distorted’. Who knows…

She still has bad days, but they don’t pull her down anymore. Everyone has bad days. And on a good day, those countless imperfections are barely visible.

But one thing is for certain; that girl…in the mirror…she doesn’t look sad anymore.

A few of my favourite things…

Music, Singing, Writing

It’s no secret that I love words. Words. Words. Words. I talk about my love of them here

“The fact that a few otherwise non-consequential words, written in the right order and read at the right moment, can evoke powerful reactions that can last a life time, that, for me, is magic. That’s what real magic looks like.”

But, as a singer, I also love music. My two greatest passions in life; writing and singing. Luckily, I’ve been fortunate enough to make a good living from both and now get to call them both ‘work’. And, of course, the greatest thing in the world for me is to find a song that is lyrically beautiful. It’s like my two favourite things coming together almost orgasmically (well, come on, I’m a erotic writer…there had to be some reference to filth in there somewhere…don’t worry, there will be more).

This is not an exhaustive list…there’s just too many to mention! I could go on and on about all the amazing songs out there, by any number of artists, but off the top of my head, and at 5am when I can’t sleep…these come to mind…

I literally listen to anything and everything. When I’m writing, I favour lyricless pieces, like Ludivico Enaudi or Chopin’s Nocturnes (and Opus 55 in F Minor seriously does things to me!), largely because I can’t think of words and hear them at the same time. Seriously, try and talk to me when I’m writing, I will probably grunt at you or, more likely, ignore you completely. I’m in the zone…don’t throw me off my game.

As a singer, I prefer acoustic, lyrical masterpieces. In my humble opinion, The Goo Goo Dolls, Iris, is utter perfection, for the lyrics, the melody, and the accompaniment. And I get to sing some great stuff…Guns’n’Roses, Patience. The Rolling Stones, Wild Horses. An acoustic, stripped back version of Lady Gaga’s Pokerface (ok, not lyrical perfection, but I get to belt out the second verse, full on Diva style, and I just fucking enjoy it!), and Four Non-Blondes, What’s up (who doesn’t love that song!).

Cheesy music makes me happy. And I do mean cheesy. Ok, don’t judge me for these, they are typically by association…

Meghan Trainor, All About the Base (I’m sorry…), because I spent an amazing weekend with three awesome girlfriends in Spain last year, and we drank sangria by the pool, wearing bikinis, listening to this song…it will forever have a special (albeit somewhat annoying) place in my heart.

Usher, Oh My Gosh….ARGH! I love this song! I don’t care…it’s awesome. You shhh….

Santana, Maria Maria…Come on…it’s Santana, what’s not to love!

And then we come to my favourite sub-category of music…Songs that turn me on; usually because of the lyrics, actually, definitely because of the lyrics.

Jason Derulo, Talk Dirty…Pfft…for obvious reasons.

It pains me to say it, but the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack is pretty damn good. Beyonce’s, Crazy Love Remix is pretty hot! As is The Weekend’s, Earned it. Oh, and B’s Haunted…too hot! They turn me on.

Pretty much the whole of the Maroon 5, Songs About Jane album…and just to give you a few examples…

Shiver – “Remember how my body tastes, and feel your heart begin to race” and “I shiver when I hear your name, I think about you but it’s not the same, I won’t be satisfied till I’m under your skin.”

Sunday Morning – “Fingers trace your every outline. Paint a picture with my hands. Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm, change of weather still together when it ends.”

And finally, from that same album, my all time favourite…the song that never fails to turn me on…always has, always will…(Drum roll, please…)

Secret – “Cool these engines, calm these jets. I ask you how hot can it get? And as you wipe of beads of sweat, slowly you say, I’m not there yet. I know I don’t know you, but I want you so bad.” – Seriously…this song!

I love…


And, while I’m looking at my poetry back catalogue….here’s another. One of my favs…

I love the juxtaposition.
I love the dark and light.
I love the gentle, teasing touch, while one hand holds me tight.

I love the contradiction.
The affection and the fear.
Romantic whispers speaking threats that only I can hear.

I love the violent contrast.
The gentleness. The pain.
I love mind-clearing catharsis that can render me insane.

I love the freedom in restraint.
The clarity of control.
I’m more myself when I’m someone else’s; mind, body, and soul.

Give me…


I wrote this several months ago, when I was reading far too much dark, classic literature. Today, a conversation reminded me of it…

Give me darkness, for I am burdened
Give me light, for I am blinded
Give me pain, for I am aching
Give me ecstasy, for I am yearning

Give me touch, and taste, and sound, and smell of flesh on flesh and hold me.

And in those fleeting moments, save,
to memorise each sense of me, and us, and this
and hold me.