Tag Archive | Justine Elyot

Back for Good with Justine Elyot!


Here’s a very quick introduction because I’m simply handing Superotica over to the simply divine Justine Elyot today.  Take it away, Justine,


Thank you, Tamsin, for letting me loose here at Superotica. I love the name of your blog – makes me feel I should be wearing my knickers over my tights. And, in fact, I am.


But I’m not here to talk about that – I’m here to talk about my new book, Her World of Submission.


The book is the last one in a trilogy, and perhaps the thought of saying goodbye to my characters, Jasper and Sarah, drove me into a bit of a frenzy because not only did I give them a grand finale, but I also brought back two characters from a previous book to be their friends and partners-in-crime.


Dimitri and Rosie feature in my book, Kinky. I’d never really thought about resurrecting them until I started thinking about how I was going to end Jasper and Sarah’s story and suddenly it just seemed perfect. What better way to help Sarah to come to terms with her new sex life than by talking it over with a like-minded friend? And who could that like-minded friend be? Bingo! When I remembered that Dimitri was an aspiring actor, and Jasper a film director – well, I wondered why I hadn’t brought them together earlier.


The delight of writing two very different dom characters, and three contrasting subs (because Rosie’s nemesis from Kinky, Trixietots, is also involved) was something new and special for me. From the nervous newcomer to BDSM to the seasoned old hand, all kinds of different types and traits could be mixed and matched.


I had a blast writing it. I really hope you might be tempted to read it too.


Here’s an excerpt:


‘Did we really order this much booze from Ocado?’

Jasper was filling the wine rack while I got the plates ready for lunch. Our guests were in the dining room, testing the first bottle.

He looked up.

‘What? It’s New Year in a couple of days. And we have guests.’

‘You’ve already got a cellar full of wine.’

Jasper barked out a laugh. ‘That’s vintage, love. It’s not for boozy lunches with kinky body doubles.’

‘Ooh, you’re a snob! I had no idea.’

Jasper straightened himself, giving me what I tended to think of as his spanking eye.

‘You’re really loving that dangerous ground today, aren’t you, my dear? I wonder why you don’t build a house on it while you’re at it?’

‘Just calling it as I see it,’ I said, dodging a little way back from him all the same.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ He crooked a finger at me. ‘Over here, missy. Now.’

I darted a quick glance at the kitchen door.

‘Jasper,’ I hissed. ‘We aren’t alone.’

‘I know that.’

His expression was implacable.

I stepped closer, still wary.

‘If I let you get away with things just because there are visitors in the house, what kind of master does that make me?’ he whispered. ‘Bear it in mind, Sarah. The rules stay the same, no matter if the whole bloody royal family comes to stay. Now turn and face the worktop.’

I put my hands on the gleaming surface, my nose almost in the bowl of salad leaves, watching Jasper rummage in a drawer. He brought out a wooden spoon and I made a horrified face at him.

‘You can’t,’ I mouthed.

‘Don’t talk yourself into more trouble,’ he said, completely unruffled. ‘Over that skirt, this won’t make too much noise at all. It’s you they might hear. So make sure you keep it down, eh?’

He patted the seat of my skirt with the rounded side of the spoon and ordered me to stick my bottom out as far as I could.

I consoled myself with the thought that I would be able to hear the dining room door open if anybody left. Their muffled laughter could be heard quite clearly from where we were.

15315266_s‘Do you have anything to say to me?’ he asked softly, rubbing the flat part of the spoon around my buttocks.

‘I’m sorry I called you a snob, sir. I’m sure you aren’t one really.’

‘Right. So why did you say it?’

‘Just…it just came out.’

‘So you spoke without thinking?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And is that a good idea?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Quite right. What if I speak without thinking at lunch? What if I’m casually reaching for the mayonnaise and I happen to mention that you might not be sitting too comfortably because you got a good spanking in the kitchen with a wooden spoon just now. How would that make you feel?’

‘Pretty embarrassed, sir.’

‘So I’d better think first, hadn’t I? And you’d better do the same. Yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Right.’

The first stroke fell. It wasn’t loud, though I’d been dreading a sound that would carry through the echoing, high-ceilinged rooms to the dining table. In fact, it was a muffled thud that wouldn’t be heard beyond the kitchen. That was a relief. The pain wasn’t.

He laid a dozen hard strokes on me and I had to try every trick in the book not to cry out. I bit my tongue, squeezed my toes together, tried breathing in instead of breathing out. In the end, I resorted to picking one of the salad leaves out of the bowl and chewing on it. I wondered if I was the first person to eat salad during a spanking. Perhaps this could be a topic for post-prandial conversation? But no.

Jasper put down the spoon and kissed me.

‘I thought you were going to bury your face in that salad and howl,’ he said. ‘We’d have had to make a fresh one. Your face, though…’ He laughed into my hair and kissed me again. ‘Come on then. What kind of hosts are we, leaving our guests hungry while we kink up the kitchen units? I’ll do the hot plates – you go and take in the bread and salad.’

I wanted to wait for my flush to die down – on my bottom as well as my face – but he was right; it would be rude to keep them waiting.


If you want to give Jasper and Sarah a whirl, the new book is available here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Her-World-Submission-Justine-Elyot-ebook/dp/B00MYJH0US/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1411327131&sr=8-1&keywords=justine+elyot+her+world+of+submission


And the first book in the series, His House of Submission, is here for those who want to start at the beginning: http://www.amazon.co.uk/His-House-Submission-Justine-Elyot-ebook/dp/B009N7JF66/ref=pd_sim_kinc_2?ie=UTF8&refRID=0KHFYSQTJXM85M0T1M93



Drenched: It’ll Make You Wet!




I love my job for so many reasons – but one of the really great ones is that I get to sit and read erotica all day long and it’s work. I’m not slacking, I’m actually working hard. Turning the pages as fast as I can to reach the really dirty bits… After all, somebody’s got to do it.

And this week, I’ve had the exquisite pleasure of reading Drenched, a new anthology of wild and wet erotica from Sweetmeats Press, compiled by Kojo Black. I’d heard of Sweetmeats Press quite some time ago and I knew that they produced illustrated erotica, but this was the first time I’d actually read any of their output. And, boy, will I be reading some more!

Drenched isn’t illustrated but the five water-themed stories are completely capable of conjuring up a series of delectable images in your mind – from Janine Ashbless’s seductive “Melusine” to Justine Elyot’s adventurous “Naiad”, from Primula Bond’s riotous “Pool Party” to Lisette Ashton’s wicked executive in “Hard to Swallow” and Vina Green’s vicar’s-wife-with-a-secret in “A Divine Solution”. The quality of the writing is excellent throughout and, although sticking to the central theme, there is plenty of variety in the stories Black presents. Droughts are foiled, office politics are played and parties explode with a bang and all through it, the erotic power of water runs with an insistent throbbing that sweeps you from one story to the next. But be careful of the undercurrent – you could be in danger of being sucked under!

I have to say that my favorite story was Justine Elyot’s “Naiad”, so here’s an excerpt from it:

I arrived in the shade of the lime tree and sat down, shivering a little. It wasn’t cold, but the shade gave me a tiny sensation of chill, goose-pimpling my skin. Or perhaps that was nerves. I wrapped my arms around my knees and hugged them against my breasts, squashing my stiff nipples. They were beginning to ache from being so swollen for so long. He had touched them, pressed them, they were his now.

What would it be like to be his, in reality? To live here in his lakeside house, subject to his will? I drifted into a fantasy life, imagining us sitting in a boat at sunset while he fed me strawberries, talking about what he would do to me when he got me home to bed. I’d like to hear him talk like that, hear him say those words.

He’d keep me in a shallow pool, chained to the side because naiads were notoriously slippery creatures who could not be trusted. He’d unchain me when he wanted to take me out of my element and use me. He’d use me a lot …

I was shaken out of my increasingly lurid imaginings by his voice, making me jump.

“I thought I told you to lie down.”

It was light, pleasantly-spoken, but I knew at once that I should do as he said. Only somebody completely deaf to nuance could have failed the recognize the steel beneath the smile.

He was carrying things. Not just condoms. A cool box of the kind you’d use for a picnic, and a watering can. How strange.

But I didn’t question it. I straightened my spine down among the daisies and felt the cool tickle of the grass between my thighs. Above me, the sun glinted and hid through a tangle of branch and leaf. I could fall asleep like this, if only it weren’t for the face, looking down at me from a height, sweeping my prostrate form with hungry but pitiless eyes.

“How do you feel, Naiad?” he asked.

He had put down his burden and tightened the belt of his silk robe around him. He hadn’t offered one of those to me. I could do with one. The breeze was becoming more evident, especially around my nipples.

“I feel vulnerable,” I said, pressing my thighs together and curling my toes.

“Vulnerable, yes, good. But are you comfortable?”

“I think so.”

“Not too dry? Poor little naiad is used to the water, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so.” The residual drops from the jacuzzi had all slid off my skin now.

He knelt down by my side and passed his hands over my upper torso, rubbing and stroking over my breasts and collarbone and down over my stomach.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, bending to kiss my navel. “Very dry. This must not be comfortable for you?”

“It’s …”

But before I could continue, I let out a sharp cry.

He had reached into his picnic box and brought something out, which he placed square on my belly. It was a goddamn ice cube!

“Oh my god, that’s freezing!”

I tried to turn so it would slide off, but he tutted and held it in place with the tip of a finger.

“No, no, no,” he said. “This is good for you.”

I wriggled and shivered and whimpered while he sent the cube on a little journey, leaving cold wet tracks across my skin. He let it glide between my breasts, then climb their slopes, circling—but never quite coming into contact with—my nipples, until the damn thing melted.

I was gasping with the cold, but he showed mercy by kissing all the places the cube had chilled, warming them back up with his fulsome lips and tongue.

I wondered if he could tell that I was ready for him now … more than ready. My clit felt ready to burst with need for his attention and I didn’t need any ice cube to get me wet down there. Could he scent it? Something told me that he could.

But it didn’t mean he was going to go easy on me.

Another bullet of ice materialized on my nipple, making me arch my spine and howl. He was amused by this, holding my poor throbbing bud between finger and thumb and keeping the ice cube where he wanted it. He kept it there, not moving, just until my nipple went beyond pain and into numbness, then he transferred it to the other. The expression of satisfaction on his face told me how he enjoyed watching me writhe. I didn’t find it frightening. I found it intensely arousing. He was using me the way he wanted and I was willing to comply, even if it did mean purple nipples.

“I know it’s cold,” he whispered. “But you’ll warm it up, won’t you? Because you aren’t cold. You’re on fire.”

He put his free hand between my thighs and rubbed the juicy swollen clit he found there. Yes, there was his proof. I couldn’t deny what I was, what I craved.

The ice shrunk and disappeared, its existence only evidenced by the rivulets trickling down my breasts into the furrow between them.

Eberhardt put his face there and lapped up the crystal droplets, then flicked the tip of his tongue over my recovering nipples. The warmth buzzed them back into painful life. I wriggled my bottom into the buttercups as he opened his lips and sucked.

He alternated between nipples, dipping lazy fingers between my pussy lips and into my cunt at the same time. I was so close to coming from the double stimulation of being fingered and sucked simultaneously that I began to squirm. Instantly, he stopped what he was doing and smiled down at me. The sun had gone in. The leaves rustled against a stronger breath of wind.

“Oh,” was all I could whisper.7743750_s

“Not yet,” he teased. “Naiads are very sensual little creatures, aren’t they? I had no idea. I think more ice …”

“Oh no,” I moaned, but he was quick and deft and before I could clamp my legs together he was holding a cube to my clit. I kicked my legs against the acuteness of the sensation, but he rubbed slowly, up and down, then in slow circles, using his free hand to stroke and brush and pinch my nipples. I cried out and he popped a finger in my mouth, silencing me, making me suck on it. Now all I could do was hump my bottom up and down in a useless quest to free myself from my freezing invader.

Buy it here:


Amazon UK

Barnes & Nobel

Sweetmeats Press

Justine Elyot – Fallen Woman!


When I read erotica for pleasure, I have some go-to writers who’s work I always know I’ll enjoy – so it’s a great pleasure for me to welcome one of them on Superotica today – Justine Elyot – who’s here to tell us about her latest release, Fallen.

Over to you, Justine:

Thank you, Tamsin, for inviting me to this always-enticing corner of the interwebs. I’m delighted to be here.

 For me, there’s something about the Victorians. I don’t know whether I watched too many Hammer Horror films in my youth or what, but sexiness is sexier when the man’s wearing a tightly knotted cravat or the woman is laced within an inch of her life. There is something more vivid, almost more real, about the Victorian period to me.

 In Fallen, the underside of repressive Victorian moral codes comes to the fore. All of the main characters have facets that have to remain hidden in polite society – in fact, some of the characters would never have made it into polite society. A pornographer, a prostitute, a lady and her ‘close companion’ all come together in a plot that encompasses dastardliness, mystery and lots of kink.

 fallen bpbHere’s the blurb:

 A lady of pleasure… In the backstreets of London in 1865, James Stratton makes his living writing saucy stories for anonymous clients. But then he receives an inquiry of a far more personal nature. Lady Augusta Heathcote is blind and has lived a very sheltered life, overseen by her watchful companion Mrs Shaw. But Augusta has a yearning to experience the intimate pleasures of dominance and submission and she makes James an offer he finds impossible to refuse.

 And an excerpt:

 The rooms above the shop had been used, over the years, for various purposes. They had been stock cupboards, brothels and family dwellings but never, until that late spring day in 1865, had they been used as a schoolroom.

On that afternoon, however, James Stratton had tidied away all the ink-stained papers from his well-worn desk and replaced them with a slate and chalk and an alphabet primer, with which he was doing his utmost to teach the buxom young woman beside him to read.

‘I do know me letters, though, Jem,’ she said, declining to place her finger beside his underneath the A. ‘I can tell that much. It’s just putting ’em together I ‘as trouble with.’

‘So if I wrote a simple three letter word, such as this…’ He paused to write the word ‘cat’ in as perfect a copperplate hand as the sliding chalk would allow. ‘You could tell me what it said?’

She leant closer to him, very close, so that he could smell that cheap musky perfume all the fallen girls wore, mixed in with sweat and last night’s gin and last night’s men and, way beneath it all, a faint whiff of soap. He knew why she was doing it. She wanted to distract him with her breasts, and very fine breasts they were too, but today he was fixed in his purpose and he intended to achieve it.

‘Why, that curly one’s a c, I think, and the middle is definitely an a. Yes, definitely. The one at the end, I don’t know, it might be an f or a…but caf don’t make sense, so it must be a t. Cat!’ She spoke the word triumphantly, beaming up at him with teeth that were still good, lips that were still soft and plump.

‘Very good, Annie. I’ll make a scholar of you yet.’

‘That you won’t. Who wants a whore what’s read the classics anyway?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ he said, his lips twitching into a smile. Annie always had this uniquely cheering effect upon him for some reason, though what kind of a man this made him he didn’t dare explore. She’d made her living on her back since she was fifteen and now, at twenty two, she was quite an old hand at the game, yet somehow she refreshed him.

‘Would you think better of me if I could quote yards of Latin while I rode your cock horse?’

‘Hush, Annie,’ he tutted, regarding his slate with resigned despair. It was clear she was not in the mood for concentration.

‘Besides, I’ve usually got my mouth full when you’re around,’ she continued cheerfully.

‘Now, I won’t hear this,’ he said sternly, jabbing a finger at the primer. ‘Eyes down, Annie, or I shall have to take measures.’

‘Ooh, “take measures”? Like in them stories you write? I’d far rather you read me one of those. Go on, Jem. It’s too hot for this, and I didn’t get much in the way of sleep last night and me head’s all stuffed with rags. Tell me one of your stories.’

 If that’s tempted you, the book is available from all the best outlets, including

 Fantastic Fiction: http://www.ffadultsonly.com/e/justine-elyot/fallen.htm


 iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/fallen/id758238918?mt=11

 Thank you for reading!

Superotica Advent Calendar – Day 13

advent banner 3


Justine Elyot’s brought today’s Christmas offering: “My characters Bella and Guy from Under The Mistletoe could have done with an electric blanket when they sneaked off to some disused rooms in Guy’s father’s country house – disused, unheated rooms. But secret passions have to be indulged somehow…”


“He doesn’t ask me to choose a room again, bundling me through the nearest door. I love being in his arms so much that I barely notice the bitter cold air until Guy sits us down on the bed and gasps.

“I forgot. They don’t heat this wing if nobody’s staying here. Christ, I can see my breath.”

“Oh dear.”

My toes aren’t best pleased with the situation either.

“Only one thing for it.”

He pulls off his shoes and burrows under the covers, pulling me in after him. We lie clasped together like shivering limpets, waiting for our combined body heat to spread slowly through our limbs and kick-start our blood into efficient circulation.

“I know what would help,” he says, and we kiss again. How much kissing have we done today? Enough to fill an urn or a swimming pool or an aircraft hangar? A huge volume of urgent, desperate snogging, more than perhaps I ever did all year with Rupert. I snuggle my hands up inside his jumper, placing my palms flat on his chest then sliding them around under his armpits, hugging his back.

He has a bunch of my robe in one hand, around by my hip and he uses the other to grab my hair into a ponytail and hold it tight. The temperature rises, slowly but steadily. It is delicious beyond compare to be in this bed with him, lying on a soft mattress, our heads on pillows, our ankles wound around each other’s.

Somewhere deep inside our kiss, our bodies move and change positions and I am lying underneath him with my nightdress rucked above my knees. He puts a hand down to the hem and starts to raise it, slowly, his fingertips tingling against my leg.

I make incoherent sounds into his mouth, but I have no intention of stopping him. I know now that I will not refuse him anything and, even if it turns out to be nothing and he is lying about the Met and only after a Christmas night shag, it doesn’t matter. I will have known real desire and how a man can make me feel. I won’t ever settle for less than this again.

I want to remove his jumper. There are too many layers between his skin and my exploring hands. He anticipates me, kneeling up with his thighs astride my hips and pulls it over his head, tousling his dark hair so that I can’t resist reaching up to it.

He takes my wrists, though, after throwing the jumper aside, and pins them over my head, looming over me and growling like a tiger.

“Got you exactly where I want you now,” he says.

I put up a pretend fight, kicking my heels against the mattress and wriggling, but I don’t want to escape and he knows it.

He makes little swoops down to nip at my neck and earlobes.

“I could eat you up.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Who said you had any say in the matter?”

Then I really have no say in anything at all because his tongue is back in my mouth, scouring me for all it’s worth.

When he releases my wrists, I pull the bedclothes back over us – his straddling move pushed them halfway down our bodies. The bedding is rather ornate, in a paisley pattern with lots of gold embroidery, so he looks like a king with his mantle around his shoulders. King Guy. I cup his face in my hands and drink my fill of him. Now that the jumper is off I can feel the fever-heat of his body inside the cotton shirt. His belt buckle digs into my pelvis when he grinds into me, which he does often.

“Ouch,” I say when I come up for air. “Your belt buckle. I think it’s made a pattern on me.”

“I’d like to see it,” he says, kneeling up again.

There goes the bedding, once more.

He unbuckles the belt with a flourish. God, that looks incredibly sexy, especially now he’s all rumpled and mussed with pink cheeks and a heaving chest. He really could be some latterday warrior chieftain – he has the right kind of wild fervour in his eye. And it’s all for me.”

Lucky, lucky Bella! I think she’s forgotten about the temperature outside her body.

 Under The Mistletoe is available as a standalone ebook: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Under-The-Mistletoe-Xcite-Romance-ebook/dp/B00APONEVI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1386362494&sr=8-1&keywords=justine+elyot+under+the+mistletoe

 Or as one of three stories in the Mistletoe Kisses anthology:


 (The anthology is also available in print.)

Happy reading – and compliments of the season to Tamsin and to all you advent calendar door-openers.

Where Do You Hang Your Mistletoe?

I’m delighted to be paying Tamsin a pre-Christmas visit. She’s providing the sparkles and I’m providing the greenery this year.

 Yes, I have mistletoe for you. It’s more than the office sex pest’s favourite Christmas prop – it’s been a seasonal symbol since at least the 17th century. It can be hung on your door, your mantelpiece, your ceiling – but it mustn’t touch the ground until the last decorations have been taken down.

 I don’t know where you put yours, but Bella and Guy in my story Mistletoe Kisses are caught beneath a bunch on the ceiling. The ceiling is in a fine old house belonging to Guy’s father – Bella’s mother’s new boyfriend. She was prepared for an awkward Christmas of being the third wheel in a festive romance, but Guy’s arrival changes all that…

 Here’s an excerpt:

Mistletoe Kisses Front “Hidcote Grange.” Mum takes her hands from the steering wheel and bunches them into excited little fists. “What do you think?”

I look it over.

“Nice,” I say.

She sighs.

Well, what does she want to hear? It’s a house, it’s big, it’s snazzy and opulent and all that. It’s exactly what I expected.

“It’s a bit more than nice, Bella. Look, you aren’t going to be funny with Piers are you? I’m going to have the perfect Christmas if it kills me. If I have to kill you. So don’t you dare spoil it.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter, unbelting and opening the car door. “I’m not a bloody teenager any more.”

“Stop acting like one then.”

Outside on the gravel drive, I breathe in cold, clean air. We’re not in London any more, Toto. No exhaust fumes, no greasy pizza stand tang, just…nothing. And no noise either. Just swishy trees and a light crunch underfoot.

Mum softens a little as we climb the front steps to the huge pillared porch.

“I know you’re disappointed about Rupert, love. I still don’t understand why he had to go abroad at such short notice. Who on earth has to take a business flight on Christmas Eve?”

“Business is in Dubai, mum, I told you. They don’t have Christmas there.”20406618_s

“Well, I still think it’s strange.”

She rings the doorbell and I try to settle my stomach, hoping that the Rupert conversation is over.

She’s not wrong to think it’s strange. It’s more than strange. It’s a lie.

Rupert, my very freshly ex-fiancé, is not in the Middle East, unless it’s the Middle East of Surrey. The fact is, we split up two days ago and made a pact not to confess until the New Year, in order to avoid the Christmas of Family Upset.

I’ve never been more pleased to see Piers than I am when he opens the door, distracting Mum from her line of enquiry, his veneered smile lighting up his faux-tan face.

“Kate!” Kiss kiss, both cheeks, then he takes hold of her face and snogs her on the lips. I don’t need to see this, so I try to squeeze past, banging his legs with my tote bag en route.

“Bella.” He stops me, dropping my mum for a moment to turn around.

I stop and say hi, putting down my bag and standing awkwardly in the large vestibule, surrounded by polished wood and shades of green.

“So pleased you could make it,” he says with professional effusiveness, leaping over to shake my hand. “Shame about Rupert, terrible shame. Will he be back for the New Year?”

“Yeah, he said he would.” I can’t let this go on, so I snatch at the first words that come to mind. “Nice place,” I blurt, peering down into the hallway. Actually, I can see now that mum was right and this place is rather more than ordinary. It’s an exceptionally beautiful house.

“Glad you approve.”

Things are cold outside but I promise you, they will get hotter!

 I hope you want to give this story a winter wonderland whirl, especially since it comes in a beautiful velvety volume together with stories by two more of my favourite erotic romance writers, Elizabeth Coldwell and Sallyanne Rogers.

 Read all about it here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mistletoe-Kisses-Secret-Library-Justine-ebook/dp/B00FY3WYGQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1384264084&sr=8-1&keywords=justine+elyot+mistletoe+kisses

 Thank you for reading – and thanks to Tamsin. You’re all on Santa’s Nice List, I’m sure!

Justine Elyot’s Reanimation!


While I’ve been away touring my zombies across the continents, I’ve invited a few guests over here to keep you entertained. Today, it’s the turn of lovely Justine Elyot, who’s come over to tell us about her latest release, Lecture Notes. (And, wow, don’t you love that cover?)

Over to you, Justine:


 Since Tamsin is all about the zombies just now, I thought I’d give my post a title to suit the general theme. And it’s relevant, too, because my latest release is, in fact, a book that has arisen from the dead zone of my documents folder, where it has languished since I finished writing it in 2008.

 Lecture Notes was written to amuse the online friends I’d made in the world of fanfiction. When one of them started writing an original story, I felt challenged to do the same – just to see if I could do it. This book wasn’t my first attempt – before that there was an historical novella about pirates. It went down well, so I thought I’d write something longer.

 The reaction I got from my friends, and other readers on the archive where I posted it, was enthusiastic far beyond my expectations. I began to think that I might be on to something with this erotica lark. I wrote a short story for publication shortly afterwards and off I went.

 Beth and Sinclair wouldn’t stay where they were put, though. As soon as I removed the story from the archive, people asked for it to be reinstated. And since then, I have had dozens of requests to share it again. So, for everyone who enjoyed Beth and Sinclair’s adventures the first time around, I’ve self-published it for Kindle Direct. It’s a nostalgia trip for me, and I hope it amuses a few more people. I’m very fond of it.

 Here’s an excerpt:

lecturenotes_cover_quote I am in my usual perch. Back row, extreme left, primed for a quick getaway at the end of the lecture. Of course, the other advantage to this position is that nobody can risk a sideways glance at my notes, or lean over and squint curiously at my doodling from behind. There is a mountain of course texts between me and my only neighbour, and an unobstructed view of the object of my pathetic lusts.

Professor Eliot Sinclair lectures on the Cultural Legacy of the French Revolution today, but he could be delivering his stylish verbiage and polished aphorisms in fluent Klingon for all I am taking in. I am oblivious to all but his measured, long-legged pacing in front of the screen. Every movement is stagey, large, yet tightly controlled. He uses his hands to stunning effect, pointing and tapping with those long pale fingers, or flourishing them in elegant gestures. He always wears light coloured suits, linen in the summer, with open necked white shirts, giving him an expensive, colonial lordly kind of air and his high-maintenance hairstyle, all sandy waves and crests with a sharp little beard betrays vanity. He appears on television a lot as a rent-an-intellectual when Newsnight is a commentator short; heading for media-darling status (or media whoredom, as is sometimes disloyally whispered in the common room).

So far, so sexy. Tall, slender, aquiline-featured, authoritative, intelligent. But what really sets him apart from your average academic heart-throb is The Voice. It is why this lecture theatre is packed to the rafters every time he gives the address instead of half-heartedly half-full as per usual; and why most of the avid listeners are girls (notwithstanding that Humanities, Arts and Languages are female-dominated faculties anyway). We all come to listen to that dark, low, minimum 70% cocoa solids, velvet woman-trap of a voice, loving every trick in its repertoire from the sarcastic sneer to the honeyed hush. It is seduction itself.

Five minutes until the end of the lecture and my notes are sheer mumbo-jumbo.

‘SINCLAIR IS THE SEX’ is written in a banner headline at the top, amidst doodles and loopy squiggles. Below I have scribbled a nonsensical blurt of rabid passion, stream-of-consciousness stylee.

How would it feel to be pressed against your Professorial chest? Would you be brutal or gentle, or both? In a collision of lips, how long would it be before teeth and tongue intervened, taking my mouth with seigneurial arrogance and mixing my breath with yours? Your voice intones my name in my dreams; it lives inside my head and tortures my nights with hot sweet suggestions, while by day it gives me reading lists and dispassionately criticises my Voltaire essay….” Well, you get the picture. There is much more in this fervid vein, pouring out like inky madness from my brain. I need to get a grip, but not today.

He is wrapping up the lecture; books and pens are being stowed in bags all across the theatre. It is time for my swift getaway. I gather my belongings to my chest and head for the double doors across the steps.  But I am not swift enough.

“Miss Newland.”

 The book is available now, exclusively from Amazon for 3 months.



Cigarettes, Crosswords & Sex in the 20s!


Today I’m delighted to be hosting Justine Elyot with her take on the perils of penning historical erotica!  Over to you, Justine…

Cigarettes, Crosswords and the Perils of Writing HistoricalsSecrets_Lords

It’s lovely to be here with Tamsin, who has kindly offered me the run of her blog to tell you about my new novel from Mischief Books, Secrets And Lords.

Now, when it comes down to brass tacks, I’m a historicals person – cut my heart in half and you’ll find Victorian literature spilling out with the blood – so nobody is more surprised than I am that I haven’t written one before now.

Actually, there is a good reason for it. I love to read historicals by people who really know their stuff because glaring anachronisms make me wince. But it’s so very, very easy to succumb to them – as I now know! I owe a debt of gratitude to the Mischief copy-editor who pointed out that my 1920 characters shouldn’t be smoking filter-tipped cigarettes, for example. Neither should they be doing crosswords – I had no idea that the first crossword didn’t appear in a British newspaper until 1924 (The Daily Express, if you’re interested). But I do now!

So, thank heavens for great eyes for detail. I hope the rest of the book passes muster as an accurate, albeit dramatic and highly-coloured, representation of the period.

If you want to know a bit more about the story, here’s the blurb:

The summer of 1920 brings illicit liaisons to stately home Deverell Hall. Lords, ladies, butler and maids all succumb to the spirit of the roaring 1920s as sex and scandal take over.

From the author of bestselling Mischief titles ‘Kinky’ and ‘Game’, Justine Elyot’s ‘Secrets and Lords’ is a historical erotic novel that will seduce anyone who loves period drama Downton Abbey and delight fans of The Great Gatsby.

Lord Deverell’s new wife has the house in thrall to her theatrical glamour. His womanising son, Sir Charles, has his eye on anything female that moves while his beautiful daughter, Mary, is feeling more than a little restless. And why does his younger son, Sir Thomas, spend so much time in the company of the second footman?

Into this simmering tension comes new parlour maid, Edie, with a secret of her own – a secret that could blow the Deverell family dynamic to smithereens.

It’s available now from Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Secrets-and-Lords-ebook/dp/B00CKE0FK4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369856569&sr=8-1&keywords=justine+elyot+secrets+and+lords

Thank you for reading! And thanks again to Tamsin.

Sh! XXXmas Pleasure Hunt – Win Super Sexy Goodies!



Christmas is coming and it’s definitely time for fun and games!  And what could be better than an online treasure hunt?  No need to go outside in the freezing wind and rain – just surf from blog to blog hunting down treasure and you could win an amazing goody bag of prizes or some fantastic books from the authors taking part.

So for my post today, I want to really BIG UP the girlz over at Sh!  They do an amazing job and the shop over at Sh! is brilliant – if you haven’t dropped in yet, I would urge you to do so.  But if you live to far away, you still get your hands on all their naughty delights by ordering from the website.

And I want to thank the Sh! girlz for something else – thanks to them, I experienced one of those seminal moments that only happen once in a writer’s life.  I popped into the shop the other day and there, piled high on a table in the middle of the shop, was one of the anthologies I’m in.  That was the first time that I’d seen a print copy of one of my books, on display in a shop.   Boy, did my heart skip a beat with delight.

And the book?   It was Smut by the Sea – maybe a little unseasonal for this time of year, but actually what could be a better way of banishing the winter blues than reading about saucy sex on hot beaches?  And it would make a great Christmas present for someone special…

And remember to visit today’s partners in crime to get your other two clues:

Sommer Marsden

Janine Ashbless

Enjoy the rest of the treasure hunt – tomorrow you’ll need to visit these blogs for your clues:sbts-vol1-cover

Tabitha Rayne

Lily Harlem Erotic Romance

Kay Jaybee – Everyone Needs a Bedtime Story

And if you want to find out how to take part, all the details are on the Sh! blog

Good luck to all who enter!