Tag Archive | Superotica Valentine

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



Enjoy Being Seduced on the South Bank!


Time I caught you up with some of my new releases – last week saw the full release of Doing It For the Coach from Totally Bound, the week before that it was Her Boss and His Client from Xcite Books and just days earlier, South Bank Seduction from Velvet Books. But now-phew!-I’ve got time for a breather. Nothing due to come out for a little while so I can get back to writing. In the meantime, I thought you might like to do some reading, in terms of excerpts from my latest titles.9781783755851_FC

doingitforthecoach_800You’ll find a couple of spicy scenes from Doing It For the Coach on Day 18 of the Superotica Advent Calendar and Day 12 of the Valentine countdown. For a sizzling hot taster of Her Boss and His Client, try Day 3 of the Superotica Advent Calendar and Day 14 of the Valentine countdown.




However, here’s a first peak at my story Sweet Bird from South Bank Seduction. This anthology has been brilliantly collated by Ruby Kiddell from stories written by delegates to last year’s Eroticon 2013 conference which did indeed take place on London’s South Bank. My story moves from the riverside into the National Theatre, one of the South Bank’s landmark buildings for a sultry encounter between an actor and actress appearing together in the Tennessee Williams play, Sweet Bird of Youth. 

Enjoy the excerpt!

41GxAJestfL._SS140_SH35_The ovations still rang in my ears as I stood alone at the centre of stage later. It was much later. We’d taken more bows than were tasteful. Kelvin had scooped up bunches of roses that were thrown for me. We’d spoken to the press and drank champagne. And now I’d come back in the silence and the darkness to savour the moment alone. Because—deep breath—it had been a triumph. And I wanted to live in that moment for as long as I could. I wanted to hold the taste of it in my mouth because we only get two or three moments like that in a lifetime and they pass in the blink of an eye.
There was a single overhead spot that had been left on, creating a pool of light at the left side of the stage, away from the big bed which stood on the right. I stepped into the light and held out my arms, eyes shut.
‘What are you doing?’ called a voice from high up in the seats above me. An English accent.
I knew it was Kelvin. Even though he performed on stage with a perfect American accent—Chance Wayne talking with just the right amount of soft southern inflection for a native of the Florida gulf coast—he could turn it on and off like a tap. Now he was back to being Kelvin. London all through, a touch theatrical. The Brits don’t use the method, don’t inhabit a character other than their own.
I stepped out of the bright pool so I could see better where he was sitting.
‘Holding onto the moment,’ I said. ‘Ironing it onto my memory like a t-shirt transfer.’
Kelvin laughed and came down the aisle between the seats, then up onto the stage.
‘That was magic that we created here tonight,’ he said.
‘It did seem that way for a while,’ I said.
‘No one can ever take that from us.’
We stood looking at each other.
‘Dance with me,’ he said suddenly.
I looked around and shrugged my shoulders—there was no music. But he held out his arms and so I went to him. He started to sing. It was an old Bobby Darin song. Low and soft. His voice wasn’t brilliant but it sounded sweet in my ear as we rotated around the huge stage in a slow foxtrot. I hadn’t danced like this with anyone since my second wedding and I didn’t care to think how long ago that had been.
We got used to each other’s movement and he sped things up, swinging me out of his arms in a loop and back in against his chest again, until I laughed and lost my footing.
‘You know what we should do?’ he said.
I shook my head, breathing in the scent of him.
‘We should christen that big old bed. God knows, we’re going to be spending enough time lying in it over the next seven weeks.’
Was he being serious? I looked up at his face and there was intensity in the gaze that returned mine.
‘I thought you were gay,’ I said.
‘Bi-curious, if you like,’ he said with a bark of laughter. He started singing again and we twirled toward the bed.
And in those two spins, over two lines of an old, old song, I made up my mind to see where he wanted to lead me. I was Alexandra and he was Chance, alone in our room at the Royal Palms Hotel, St Cloud, Florida. 1950-something. And if I was making a grab at youth and beauty in the same way as Alexandra, what the hell?
We stood by the bed and he kissed me. A long, leisurely exploration of my mouth, his tongue soft against mine. He tasted of wine and that was grand, and I let the enjoyment of that kiss wash over me. I wasn’t in a hurry. His stubble scratched my chin and my cheeks. He clamped his teeth on my bottom lip and I pulled against it. Then he let go and plundered my mouth again, while his hands slid up and down my back, warm and firm with their touch.
‘I’m a star fucker,’ he said, as he broke away. ‘I can’t resist and you’re one of the biggest..
‘Everyone who screws me is a star fucker,’ I said. ‘Comes with the territory.’
I think I pulled him down onto the bed, but it may have been he that pulled me. In any case, we were first sitting on the edge and then lying, facing each other, on the tangle of sheets as they’d been left after the performance. We kissed again and I never gave a thought to the fact that we were on stage, in one of London’s most celebrated theatres. The building was silent, the players and the audience had left. The place was ours. The bed was ours. I pushed Kelvin onto his back and straddled him, pinning his arms at his side and unbuttoning his shirt deliberately slowly. I peeled the two sides back to reveal his smooth, hard chest and touched it with my hands. It was hairless—waxed—and I could feel the muscles under his hot skin. Just touching him like that sent a tremor up through me. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone, and even longer since I’d been with someone as beautiful as Kelvin.
‘Are you up for it?’ he said. And I thought how typically English that was. If I wasn’t up for it, I’d hardly be sitting astride him, pinching his nipples and grinding my ass against his growing erection.
‘Yes,’ I said, my voice already hoarse.
After that he was all action. He pushed me off and rolled me over onto my back. With nimble fingers he worked out the fastenings on all my clothes— the buckles on my waist cinching belt, the side zip and hook eye fastenings on the LBD I’d worn for the after party, the catch on my bra— and within moments I was spread upon the bed in nothing but my panties and my heels. All the while his breathing became heavier and more laboured. If Kelvin Adair was 100 per cent gay I was an orangutan’s grandmother.
Without shifting his gaze from the shadowed contours of my body, he peeled away his own clothes just as quickly. He paused momentarily as he scooted his pants down, producing from his pocket the familiar square package of a condom. I was staring up at his cock. It was already hard enough, so I held out my hand for a condom. The thought of rolling the fine rubber down the length of his shaft made my mouth water. But he dropped the condom down on the bed.
‘Patience,’ he said, dropping down on top of me.
His body was warm against the length of mine, and his cock was hot, pushing hard against my belly. His mouth found mine and his hands caressed — my back and shoulders, my breasts, the curve of my waist and the flair of my hips, the fleshiness of my buttocks and the soft skin inside my thighs. I explored his body, hard and muscular in contrast to my own, lean and strong and young. He kissed me hard and then, with one hand behind my head, and with lips as soft as breath, he moved his mouth across my neck. His tongue explored the hollow above my clavicle and his other hand cupped my breast and tugged at my nipple. Small bursts of pleasure collided and combined inside me like beads of mercury coalescing into a larger pool and then scattering apart again.
I reached down and grasped his cock with my hand. He grunted as my fingers tightened around it and I felt a tremor run through him as I started to slide my fist up and down its length. I wanted to feel it pulsing underneath my fingers, I wanted to taste the pearly fluid leaking out of its tip with my tongue, I wanted to guide it into the dark crevice between my legs until he could push forward to fill me with burning sensation.


Amazon UK


Superotica Valentine – Day 14



It’s coming on 6th March – my new title for Xcite Books, Her Boss and His Client. You saw it here first!


Jack seemed to sense my concerns and he got up from his chair and came across to where I was sitting.  He stood in front of me, looking down with a serious expression on his face.  Then he bent a little to take the wine glass from my hand and put it down on his desk.

‘Dana,’ he said, so quietly I almost had to strain to hear him.  ‘You’re going to be fine here.’

He dropped to his knees and before I realised what was happening he’d cupped my face in his hands.

‘You’re going to be brilliant.’

He stared at me intensely again; those gold-flecked eyes only inches from my own.

‘We’re going to be brilliant together.’

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant but I know I moved my face forward a fraction of an inch.  I didn’t mean to but he did the same.  I could feel his warm, wine scented breath on my cheeks.

‘Oh, Dana,’ he whispered, shaking his head. 

If I was reading his expression right, he was conflicted over what to do next.  He still held my face in his hands, still held my eyes with his and I watched as his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.  My core muscles tightened with desire as a small sigh escaped my lips.


He put a finger on my lips and shook his head.  His look said all that needed to be said and when he took the finger away he immediately replaced it with his lips, softly brushing my own.

That first kiss, always a heart-stopping moment, seared itself like a brand on my conscious and sub-conscious mind.  His lips were soft but he plundered my mouth as if it were treasure for the taking. They moulded themselves to mine and then I felt the tip of his tongue slowly running along first my upper lip and then the lower.  At the corner of my cupid’s bow, it breached the gap and as my mouth opened willingly to give him access, I heard a low groan emitting from deep within his throat.  Then his tongue touched mine and greedily exploring the cavern of my mouth.  He tasted of wine and he smelt of figs and sandalwood and myrrh.

I pushed back with my tongue to gain entrance to his mouth, barely able to sit still in the chair as my body struggled to get closer to his.  His stubble ground against my chin and my cheeks, adding to the sensation in direct contrast to the softness of his tongue and the hard, smooth surfaces of his teeth.  I wanted to kiss him forever, to never come up for air.  I took a handful of chestnut hair at the back of his head to hold him steady as my mouth quite literally devoured him.

‘Dana…’  He pulled back from me.  ‘We shouldn’t… we can’t be doing this.  I barely know you.’

‘But you know you want me.’  My voice sounded different in my ears, thickened with desire, my breath coming in short gasps.

‘But we have to work together.’

He was right.  I took a deep breath and looked into his liquid caramel eyes.

‘I’d better go,’ I managed to blurt out.

Jack stood up and moved back to be out of my way.  I got up and straightened my skirt.  I was so wet; I had been so ready for what had been about to happen.  Having to stop felt like a kick in the guts.  My legs turned to jelly and I had to steady myself by gripping the arm of the chair.

‘Are you alright, Dana?’

I wasn’t drunk, so I don’t know if that makes what happened next better or worse.

‘Jack, you started something.  Now I need you to goddamn finish it.’ 

I could hardly believe the words which were coming out of my mouth and, by the look on his face, I don’t think Jack could either.

I took a step towards him and reached out with my hand.  The bulge in his jeans was clear to see and when I touched it, I felt his cock twitch in response through the denim.

When our lips met again, the kiss was anything but gentle.  Jack’s tongue pushed its way as far into my mouth as he could get it and it twisted with mine as our teeth clashed.  At the same time his hands were pulling at the front of my blouse, ripping it open and wrenching it out from the top of my skirt.  As he pushed up my bra to release my breasts, I stepped back so I could lean against his desk for support.  His mouth pulled away from mine and trailed kisses down my throat as his hands kneaded my chest.

I gasped.  I was so turned on and I needed to get him inside me fast.  My hands were on his belt buckle but he pulled away.

‘Lie back,’ he commanded, sweeping papers, files and stationery off his desk and onto the floor.

I lay back on the cold, hard surface and felt Jack pushing up my skirt.

‘Stockings, Dana!  You have no idea what they do to me.’ I could feel his warm breath on my belly as he said this and then, as he yanked off my panties, lower down.

‘Spread ‘em,’ he said, and I opened my legs as wide as I could, letting them hang over the edge of the desk.

So Jack Brent liked to be in charge, in control.  I raised my hips to offer myself to him and felt his mouth take possession of my cunt.  First, he kissed it gently, like he’d kissed my mouth; running his tongue up one side and down the other, tasting my juices, learning my shape.  Then he pushed his tongue deep inside me, sweeping it around and around, scratching the tender area outside with his stubble, stretching inside to reach high up to my g-spot.  I bent my knees and brought my feet up onto the edge of the desk, pushing my thighs still further apart as my hips reared upwards.

At the same time Jack’s hands were working magic on the tender buds of my breasts, pinching and squeezing my nipples till they burned.  I writhed beneath his touch, groaning and gasping, as he pushed me closer and closer to the brink of orgasm.

‘Please…’ I moaned and he knew immediately what I wanted. 


Available 6th March.

Pre-order now from Xcite Books for only 49p!

Superotica Valentine – Day 13



Back with my old friends, the zombies. Here’s a piece taken from the story that got me into trouble with Amazon – I Was a Teenage Zombie Virgin! (But don’t worry, he’s over 18!)

Like I said, every zombie has the vestige of the human he once was flickering inside him, and at that moment, I forgot our differences.  I forgot that I was zombie and she was a healthy girl.  I forgot that all I wanted to do was fuck her and then eat her and I caught her up in my arms and held her tight against my chest.

Great sobs pulsed through her for a couple of minutes, then she sniffed loudly.

“So you see, I couldn’t let them take another boy away from his family.”

She looked up at me, her dark hair curling in sweaty tendrils round her forehead, her liquid brown eyes full of trust.  I bent my head and I kissed her.  I kissed her in a way that I’d never kissed a girl before I was a zombie.  Our lips met, hers so soft compared with mine, rough and chaffed and scabby.  Her mouth opened and her tongue glided against my mouth, applying a gentle pressure until I let it slip inside.  I can’t say how it must have compared with her other experiences of kissing, though it was obvious she’d had some, but for me it was sublime.  Fireworks and flares went off in my gut and a burning sensation made my cock surge forward against my cut-offs.  I heard a low, guttural moaning, like an animal in pain, and took a moment to realize that it was me.  I held her close against my chest and through the thin fabric of our T-shirts, her nipples felt like rough pebbles.

Her arms slipped round behind me and started pulling up my shirt and I followed her lead, drawing her tank up to reveal the soft curve of her belly.  It made me catch my breath and I felt suddenly dizzy.

“Eve,” I managed to grunt, not knowing where to put my hands—onto the soft flesh now revealed or to carry on pulling the garment off her.

“Shhhh,” she whispered in my ear.  “Come.”

She stood up and tossed her top to one side.  Then, as I gawped, open-mouthed, at her small, perfect breasts, she grabbed my hand and led me up the stairs to her bedroom.  This room was junk food free but there were clothes all over the floor and the bed sheets were tangled and grimy.  Did I give a shit?  It was literally months, probably more than a year, since I’d been in a bed and here I was, diving into the softness with the most divine, half-naked angel.

I lay down on my back and Eve lay on top of me and started kissing me again, running her hands through the tangled mat of my hair, making little sighing noises that completely melted me inside.  I took my time to explore her mouth with my tongue—I was in no hurry for this to be over—it was the moment I’d been dreaming of for so long.  Her teeth were smooth as porcelain, hard and sharp in contrast to the soft swirl of her tongue against mine.  Her saliva tasted sweet to me and the warmth of her breath on my face was like an additional caress.

When she let her mouth drop from mine and down onto my chest, I buried my face in her hair.  Even unwashed and unkempt as she was, she smelled unbelievably good—human sweat is a million times less acrid than zombie sweat, which was all I’d caught a whiff of in months.  She sucked tantalizingly on my nipples, sparking new sensations that rippled through me like electric current, and she twisted them until I grunted with the pleasure of the pain.

Her hips were grinding against mine, building friction at the front of my pants and my cock felt like the incredible hulk, about to burst its way out through the threadbare fabric.  Luckily, she thrust a hand down between us and released it, eliciting a deep growl from me as her fingers grazed against it.

“Better,” she whispered, turning her attention to below my waist.

She drew off my shorts and then stood back to strip off her own.  My cock reared and bucked as I saw her emerge fully naked and my hand went instantaneously to my rod to start jerking off.  Smiling, she pulled my hand away and replaced it with her own, with a caress so soft I could hardly feel it even though it sent an intense shiver up my spine.

And as I lay there panting, hauling in great gulps of air as my hips jerked out of control, she slowly straddled me and then leant back so that I could see what lay between her legs.  Glistening folds, deep pink, and nestled in the centre, a dark bud pushing its way out between the lips of her pussy.  She traced a path down the cleft with one finger, opening herself up to my gaze, and then she slid gently forward to position herself just above my cock.

She gave me a questioning look, as if to seek my permission to go ahead with what she was about to do, and I gurgled my assent.  Her hand, which had never left my shaft, guided me into position and angled me for entry.  Then she allowed herself to plunge down, impaling herself on me with a sharp, sweet cry that will ring in my ears till the day I die.  I reached up to touch her breasts and she dropped forward so that one of them brushed against my lips.  My tongue swirled the areola and I sucked on the protruding nub till she gasped and replaced it with the other one.

She ground her hips forward and back as she worked up and down, changing the angle, building the friction and slowly working me up towards the point of no return.  It was a long climb and with each thrust she allowed herself to drop lower, for me to push up further inside her.  Her pussy was indescribably soft, slippery with her juices, but tight nevertheless, as if a hand was gripping me and pulling, tugging, milking my cock till we reached the summit and I was ready to plunge down the other side.

And how I came.  With a roar, I felt my balls pull tight and then my hot cum surged out of me and pumped into her.  She came with a cry, clamping her teeth down on her lower lip as her back arched and her muscles gripped me tighter than ever, drawing out my pleasure to match her own.


Amazon UK


Barnes & Noble


Superotica Valentine – Day 12



Doing it for the Coach is my hot-as-hell new m/m novella – available from Totally Bound on 28 February! Here’s a taster:

So, like I said, my dreams that night were of Virgil Perry.  That moment in the locker room, when he’d been staring at me stripping off.  But in my dream, when I got down to my briefs and reached for the boxing trunks, he stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

“All the way, soldier.  Show me what you got.  I need to see the whole package.”

Trembling, I pulled down my briefs and kick them away across the floor.  As I stand naked in front of him, I can feel the stirrings of a blood rush in my cock.  My cheeks flush and I move my hands to hide myself.  The Coach shakes his head and I let my arms drop to my sides.  He goes on studying me for what must be a full minute before he speaks.

“Turn the fuck around,” he says.  “I need to see your back as well.”

I’m relieved to be able to turn away from the spotlight glare of his stare but it makes me nervous to know that he’s standing somewhere just behind me.  My cock on the other hand now thinks it’s got a free pass to get up to no good and I feel the familiar heat of a rising erection, the tugging and the dull ache and the burn in my balls.  My mouth is dry but there’s a beading of sweat breaking out across my top lip.

I hardly hear him coming up behind me until I feel his breath on my neck.

“You got a fine fucking ass there, boy.  Mind if I…?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.  His hand cups the curve of my buttock possessively, eliciting a grunt from deep in my throat.  I lean forward and put my hands up high on the wall to brace myself.  He spreads my legs with a kick of his booted foot and I feel his other hand alight on my other buttock.  I gasp for air and my cock twitches against my stomach.  Oh God, I don’t mind at all.  I push my hips back in an open offer.

Coach Perry drops to his knees.  Fingers part my cheeks and then I feel – what fucking bliss – a hot tongue running slowly down the crack between them.  My hips jerk but the Coach holds me firm and works his tongue deeper into my slit.  I can feel it pushing against the sides and then circling the tight puckered hole at the center.  My hands claw at the wall as the Coach lubes me up with his hot spit and when the tip of his tongue pushes into my hole, I’m whimpering like a kitten.  He uses his hands to prize my cheeks even further apart and the soft tongue is replaced by a hard finger. 

He works my hole like a pro, gradually stretching it wider, adding another finger, spitting more lube into my crack to make it easier.  Three fingers pull and tug and stroke, cajoling the ring of muscles to relax. I’m writhing against the wall, biting my bottom lip to keep my moans under control.  Jesus, he could get me off like this in a second but I want to hold out for the main event.  I want something wider and longer than a finger thrusting up inside me, taking me all the way, pushing me to my limits.

Finally he decides I’m ready for him and when he pulls his fingers out I almost sob with the anticipation.  God, I need this.  The tip of his cock strokes slowly down my crack and I buck against the wall.

“Steady, boy,” whispers the Coach, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I try to relax again, feeling the cold tiles pressing up against the raging fire in my cock.  I soften my hips and push them out against him, my breathing coming hard and fast as I wait for him to enter me.

“Please…” I moan.

doingitforthecoach_800Available from Totally Bound from 28th February.

Superotica Valentine – Day 11



Today, I’m hosting another blog tour stop – this time it’s for Kristina Wright’s gorgeous XOXO, a wonderful anthology full of sweet erotic romance published by Cleis Press. The excerpt I’ve chose is from Christine D’Abo’s delicious story, Night Moves.

The ceiling fan had begun to lull me back to sleep when he shifted in my arms. The press of his cock against my stomach wasn’t much of a surprise. I was practically naked. To hell with the time, that was pretty much the unwritten invitation to hisbody to wake up and take notice. Hello, horny man!

He shifted back trying to put some distance between us. I could almost hear him justifying the move. It’s the middle of the night. She has to be up early for work. The dog might wake up and freak out. She won’t be into it.

I’m not sure if it was my need to finally chase the nightmare away, or simply the appeal of sleepy sex that had me reaching for his cock. God, I loved that he slept naked.

“Sorry.” He kissed the top of my head. “You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

“Hon, you have work—”

I tugged on his shaft, which shut him up instantly. My fingers were sticky from dried sweat, making it difficult for me to stroke him. I wasn’t in the mood for a blow job, but a little oral lubrication would go a long way to making this pleasant for both of us. Pushing the sheet down the rest of the way, I shifted so I could suck his head into my mouth. The fingers still in my hair clenched as I bobbed slowly up and down his cock.

The taste of sweat and precome filled my mouth, making it water. There was no pressure to go fast, no worries of being interrupted. I took my time, savoring the sensations and enjoying his quiet groans and gasps.

He tugged lightly on my hair. “C’mere.”

I let his shaft go with a soft pop and climbed on top of him. As much as I normally loved the feeling of his body pressing mine into the mattress, tonight I needed to be the one in control. I pulled off my T-shirt, thankful for my lack of panties. Guiding his tip to my pussy, I sunk down onto his shaft in an easy move. The feeling of being filled comforted me in a way that had nothing to do with the act and everything to do with the man below me. This was real. This connection, the two of us making love in the dark.

With his hands on my hips, he let me set the pace. I hadn’t been aroused until I felt him squeeze me and mutter encouragement, then my body ignited. I needed to come, wanted to share the pleasure with him in this stolen moment.

“Grind down on me. Yeah, like that. You’re so fucking hot.”

He slid one hand from my hip to my breast, pinching and teasing my nipple. With each tweak it felt like a shot straight to my clit. The pressure built, but my sleepy body didn’t want to cooperate. Frustration was my old enemy, one I couldn’t easily do battle with tired.

“Can’t.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Relax.” He shifted his other hand between my legs to press his thumb to my clit. “There’s no rush. That’s it.”

My body did as he said, and the lingering blackness of my dreams finally dissipated. Keeping me in place, he sat up and latched on to my breast, his tongue picking up where his fingers left off. He kept the pace steady but slow, stoking my pleasure higher with every gentle swipe. He knew me and my body so well that even in the grip of sleep he could coax a response from me like a beloved instrument.

It was my turn to cling to him, digging my nails into his back as my orgasm burst from me. Pleasure rolled through my body, each wave growing stronger, until it finally stopped with a shudder.

Releasing my breast, he grabbed my hips once more and pounded up into me. I reached behind him to grab the headboard, needing the leverage to keep my body where he wanted it. My mouth was aligned with his ear, and I leaned in to suck on his lobe. I loved the sounds he made when I did that.

“Fuck,” he muttered and dropped his forehead to my shoulder. Heat from his body made mine slick with sweat. Not that I cared.

He latched on to my shoulder and groaned into my skin as he pumped his release into me. I held on as long as I could until I knew he was done and we could both fall back onto the mattress. We were sticky with sweat and come, our bodies glued together and to the sheets. It was wonderful.


Cleis Press

Superotica Valentine – Day 10



Today the Superotica Valentine countdown is playing host to Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Best Bondage Erotica 2014 blog tour – and I’ve chosen an excerpt of Annabeth Leong’s wonderful story, Eel.

Before she could get away, I dove for her, trapping her with my weight again. Alicia yelped in surprise. The sweaty, sweet smell of her slippery skin threatened to distract me. I wanted to lick her. Everywhere.

I still hadn’t earned it.

This time, I started with the fifty, winding it around her torso as rapidly as I could. “Kristi, what the hell? I already proved your knots can’t hold me.”

I grinned down at her. “Honey, did you think I was only good for one shot? Those boys you’re choosing must not have much stamina. I’m here all night.” This, in fact, was my plan. If the sweat on her skin was any indication, she’d had to struggle to release herself, no matter how simple the challenge. Alicia might be more experienced at this game than I am, more flexible than I am and better at martial arts, but I had the rope on my side. I’d get rests, no matter how short. She wouldn’t. At some point, I calculated, she’d be tired enough that I could lay down a good set of ties without having to fight her too hard. And I had some nasty tricks up my sleeve for when that moment came.

Her eyes widened with understanding. I’d shown my cards, but at this point I didn’t think it would hurt my chances. “That’s not fair!”

“Is that against the rules, sweetheart? I didn’t know.” I waited a beat, then continued. “You can safeword out if you don’t like it. Otherwise, I’ll tie you up over and over again until I teach you some respect.” I punctuated the statement with an emphatic tug of the rope that made her sigh. Her body relaxed in my arms for just a second, and I caught a glimpse of the state Alicia craved but could not allow herself. The power of the vision made my hands tremble with desire.

I wound the rope around her chest a few more times, well aware that the more loops I added, the tighter my harness would feel. I couldn’t help brushing her nipples in the process. I wanted to squeeze and suckle them. To concentrate on the task at hand, I promised myself that I could spend as long as I wanted on them once I took Alicia to the point of delicious surrender—a place I wasn’t sure she’d actually been before. The idea of being the first top to take her there appealed to me with a fierce, primal tug. I guess everyone likes to pop a cherry.

This time, I tied her in the “damsel in distress” style, wrapping her in coils of rope from her upper arms down to her ankles. I hoped she’d have a slow, exhausting time ahead of her.

When I finished, I positioned her carefully on the floor. A lot of girls bliss out when they’re lying inside a tight, restrictive tie.Not Alicia. The moment I released her, she started moving and twisting inside the coil, a small, determined smile playing over her lips.

This time I made no secret of watching her. The more I handled her, the hotter I got. I wanted to see her cute little body writhing on the floor at my feet. Besides, I needed to be responsible anyway and supervise her—might as well do that in a way I’d enjoy.

The rope undulated in response to Alicia’s body. She stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, seemingly oblivious to everything except the challenge at hand. I didn’t take this personally. It was my rope that held her, after all. My ties. By focusing on that, she effectively focused on me.

I’d tied her as tightly as I could, and for several minutes she struggled without finding an opening. I couldn’t help wondering what was going on inside the rope. Was her pussy juicing up in there? Was she getting off on the burn of the rope across her mostly naked body?

Alicia panted and threw her head back, her eyelids most of the way down. She certainly seemed to be having a sensual experience inside that coil. Again, I had to resist touching her. Even if I were willing to bend the rules of the game to my advantage, I wouldn’t violate the sacred code underlying our contest. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t grant respect until I proved I could hold her. And I wasn’t about to ask for any favors until I had her respect.

The point of her knee emerged from between two loops of rope. She gave her right leg a funny wiggle, then drew her foot up inside the coil of rope. The toes of her right foot emerged a moment later, working at the tie around her left foot, loosening it steadily. They moved with the sort of subtlety and dexterity that most people have trouble achieving with their fingers. In another part of the coil, I caught a flash of Alicia’s elbows, then the heels of her palms.

Like a butterfly, she wriggled and climbed her way out of my rope, slowly emerging in all her flushed, slick, beautiful glory. I couldn’t have taken my eyes off her if I’d wanted to.



Cleis Press

Superotica Valentine – Day 9



Today I’m welcoming my dear friend, Jade A Waters, back to Superotica with a fabulous short that she’s written just for us. Wow! Thanks, Jade!



Jade A. Waters

One hour, thirty-four minutes, twenty-seven seconds and two shots of gin. That’s exactly what it took him to get me off the dance floor and into the room.

The dancing was lusty. He bent me this way and that, one hand clutched against my back and the other on my chest, his fingers spread wide as they raked along my sternum. His breath smelled of gin and his cock nudged against my thigh.

Normally, I wouldn’t have said yes to this. I’d have made him dance with me for hours, more hours, than just one hour and a couple of measly minutes. But he was slick and suave, his dark hair thick around his face and his smile so out of this world I could see the stars shining in his teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, “and damn, you can move.”

He could, too—straight against my back. His hands were tight on my hips as he steered me out of the club and up the elevator to a room at the end of the seventh floor. He slammed me against the door, my head banging on the copper number 52 before he grabbed my chin in his hand.


My answer was a wide-eyed pant, and he took my mouth in a long, deep kiss before popping open the door.

He guided me backward by a hand on my groin, then brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen into my face. My heart thundered in my chest. When the back of my legs hit the bed, he spun me around.

“Strip,” he said. He sat on the mattress, unfastening his tie. Watching. He had black eyes that commanded my movements. I should have been stubborn. I should have drawn it out.

Aloof was never my forte.

I was naked in forty-three seconds.

“Gorgeous.” He lifted his fingers to the drenched crevice between my thighs, testing me. Approval flickered across his face and he tipped his fingertips to penetrate me. I moaned. “Spread your legs.”

Impossible. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Two shots of gin and already he had me here, naked and spreading my thighs?

I separated my feet. His fingers snuck all the way in, searching inside me. When I pitched forward to cup his face, he shook his head.

“This is how you’ll come. Put up your hands.”

I reached them for the sky and he pressed his mouth against my navel, tonguing it instead of my throbbing clit. Such a tease. His fingers glided and stroked, rubbing skillfully against my ridges.

He drew almost all the way out, cocking his head to listen to my whimpers. He took a few more laps at my belly button and then shoved his fingers in again. His thumb was quick to my swollen nub, massaging me so fast, so easily, into a series of heated cries. I came, my walls shuddering around his fingers, my belly tightening beneath his tongue. It was the wail I released that brought him up to a stand, his face lighting in a smile as I trembled under his gaze.

He came around behind me and pushed me forward. I caught myself as I landed on the bed, my legs wide while Arthur unzipped his fly and guided his crown against me.

“Two shots of gin and my wife comes in under three minutes.”

He thrust deep, both of us moaning. I grasped the comforter and arched up my ass.

“Again, Arthur,” I said.

His hands were on my hips, his breath ragged as he dragged himself slowly back out. He drove forward with a curse and groaned my two favorite words.

“Gladly, beautiful.”

It was two minutes, seventeen seconds, and the memory of two shots of gin before I came again.

Superotica Valentine – Day 8



This is an excerpt from one of my very earliest stories, I Am.


I am a dominatrix.  Yes, I thought your eyes would light up when you heard me say that.  My name is Belladonna and tonight you will be my slave.  You will obey my every command and if you don’t, you will feel the pain of my anger and the sting of my hand.  Do you understand?

Of course you do.

I am a dominatrix and I am in command.  Now you may come into my room.  Stand here in the light so I can get a good look at you.  I must judge whether you have the potential to satisfy me; my standards are high and I doubt whether you will be able to quench the fires that burn within me.  Your looks are nothing remarkable.  Your face won’t sear itself into my memory and torment my sleep in the way that my face will torment yours.  That’s right – take a good look at my features because you will never want to forget them by the time I’ve finished with you.

Look at my long black hair, so shiny, falling nearly to my waist in a raven twist of tumbling curls caught up in a blood-red ribbon.  Look upon my porcelain white skin, nearly translucent, so soft and perfectly unmarked apart from the dark beauty spot by my mouth.  And then you discover the soft curve of my lips, dark red and wine-stained.  I am smiling at you now; you will come to fear these lips when they sneer at you in anger.  But the feature that will captivate you the most is my eyes.  Look hard into their pools of emerald green.  Deep and unknowable and swimming with secrets.  Sometimes they flash with anger or sparkle with laughter; sometimes they are swirling with mysteries that you can know nothing about.  They will drive you wild and you will be haunted by them for the rest of your life.

I can see that just looking at me makes your breath quicken.  I am slim and strong and my corset is tightly laced so it leaves nothing to the imagination.  But I keep most of my charms hidden under this black velvet cape so I can tease and tantalise you.  You will only be allowed to see what I want you to see even though you are desperate to see all of me.  I doubt whether that will be possible.  I can hardly be expected to reveal myself to a man like you.  But you can see how long and shapely my legs are.  And look at the arch of my foot, encased in soft red leather stilettos with the sharpest and highest of heels.  If you do not behave yourself, you might feel exactly how sharp those heels are, if I think it necessary to keep you under control.  Do not tempt me by disobeying my orders.  You will very quickly come to regret it if you do not do exactly as you are told.

I am a dominatrix and I am in total control.  The man who brought you to me told me that you had been bad and that you needed to be punished.  That you wanted to be punished.  Look around my room and I think you’ll agree that you have come to the right place.  See, over there, my collection of whips hanging on the wall.  Which one would you like to feel across your buttocks?  The long black bullwhip with the elegant braided handle?  My short suede flogger with more than thirty tails?  Or perhaps the golden studded paddle?  Imagine the marks that will make on your yielding white flesh.  But I will choose which one I use on you.  The choice will not be yours because you are here to be punished, not to enjoy.  See my rack of crops and canes.  Can you imagine the sound they will make as they whip through the air towards your flesh?  The pain I will be able to inflict as first you beg for more and then you beg me to stop?

But you will be powerless.  I have plenty of ways of restraining you and I can tell that you need to be restrained already.  You have seen what lies in store for you and you can hardly control your excitement, can you?  But you must or I will not be able to work with you.

So, it is time to begin.  Do exactly as I say or you will feel my anger rather than my playful side.  Do you understand?  Good.  Now take off your clothes.  All of them.  Don’t hesitate for you can hide nothing from me.  I deal with men like you every day – you’re nothing special to look at.  The only way you can awaken my interest is by obeying my commands.  Come here so I can put you into position for what I have planned.

These are the cuffs that I am going to attach to your wrists.  They are lined in red velvet and you might think that would make them soft.  But you will find that when you strain against them, the hard steel underneath the velvet will press into your flesh and bite into your wrists.  Their purpose is to control you, not to cosset you.  Give me your right hand.  There, wasn’t that a satisfying click as the cuff closed around your wrist.  I can see by the way you are biting your lip that this is just what you need.  Now, I will have your left hand, that’s a good boy.  Another small click and you are truly in my power.

The two cuffs are joined by a length of strong chain.  Step over here and raise your arms above your head.  Watch me as I climb onto this chair in front of you; it brings my mound of venus close to your face.  If you breathe in deeply you might smell my musky perfume.  But that isn’t why I’ve climbed up here.  No, from here I am able to clip the chain from your wrists onto this strong steel ring on my ceiling.  Now I have you chained up, ready for my pleasure.  Soon the blood will have left your arms, your muscles will burn and wrists will be agony.  But why should I care?  It is all part of your punishment and you came here to be punished, didn’t you?

So, you think you can lean forward to bring your face even closer to my most private and secret area.  How dare you!  Did that hurt?  That was my favourite crop.  I like to use it across the back of your knees, a small punishment for your little misdemeanour and a gentle taste of the pain that awaits you.  I heard your sharp little intake of breath and I know that was what you wanted to feel, what you’d been waiting all day to feel.  Well, we have hardly begun.  But because you were so naughty, I have another punishment to inflict upon you.  Yes, now I am blindfolding you with this dark, heavy blindfold.  You do not deserve to watch me go about my work.  You have lost that privilege and now you must prove to me that you can be good before I will let you look at me again.  You will not be able to see what I am about to do to you; you will only feel the pain as I inflict it upon you.  And I will be doing that without mercy until you beg me to stop.  Then, perhaps, I will let you see what you may never touch.

As you are restrained and blindfolded, I can take my time to look at you and I will use the sharp tip of my bamboo cane to trace the shape of your muscles and to test the firmness of your body.  I like the way you writhe under its touch as I trace the fine long curve of your back and let the tip of the cane rest on the rising curve of your buttock.  You are longing to feel its sting, aren’t you?  But first I must finish my inspection.

With a push of my satin-gloved hand I can twist you round on your chain, your bare feet stumbling on the floor as your tired arms are forced to bare your weight.  You have a broad, strong chest, narrowing down to a tense rigid six pack.  Small curls of dark hair lead my eyes downwards and I trace the path with the tip of my bamboo.  Down to your impressive manhood, though I won’t say that aloud for you to hear.  It is half erect but as I run the point along the shaft it bucks to life and surges upwards, straight and hard.  You are ready for me now.  You want my ministrations and I know that you will like them very much.

Superotica Valentine – Day 7



This is the first time I’ve welcomed Malin James to Superotica – but it definitely won’t be the last. I can’t believe how powerful her writing is in this amazing excerpt from her story, Resurrection, due to be published in Best Men’s Erotica 2014 from Burning Book Press.


The razor is cold against his feverish skin. One pass. Two. Three. Done. She retrieves the towel without getting up, twisting her hips and leaning in so her trim, narrow waist is pressed, briefly, against his thigh. She takes the towel and pats his skin, clearing off the lather with a quiet, fractured air.

She lingers on his neck, his jaw, his throat. She flushes a delicate pink, and her breath catches, he could swear. He presses his palm to his shoulder, to keep from reaching out. Then she looks away, and he is glad he didn’t move. Perhaps he’d been wrong. He is not above being wrong. She stands and retrieves the mirror.

“Done. What do you think?”

She holds up the mirror up so he can look at himself more closely.  She’s done a good job. No longer a prisoner of war, a captured spy, but a groomed and respectable man. Familiar. Normal, if one avoids looking at his eyes, or his shoulder, or his near-to-useless arm. He clears his throat and nods, unused to talking and unable to find the words.

Outside the window, behind the curtains, sirens begin to scream. He flinches. Appallingly, he flinches. She puts the mirror back and kneels in front of him again. In his mind, he sees a pilot, outlined in smoke. He sees the letter his friend had written to her, the letter he’d had to send.  Her hands, the hands that had opened the letter, drift up his torso now, as if to check his shoulder. It is scarred, deeply scarred, by a not-too-lovingly repaired wound. The flat of his palm is still pressed against the ugly mess, though a part of him wants her to see. She has, he knows, suffered damage of her own.

She places his hand on his leg, and he allows the manipulation, torn between the instinct to disconnect and the mounting need to feel her living warmth. She drifts closer, watching his eyes, gauging him, giving him time to withdraw. He knows he should, but he can’t. She smells like spring, like life, green and sweet, but her face is a woman’s face. They are not so young anymore. She is no longer his best friend’s girl. She is a woman of her own. And her waist is pressed against the rim of his chair – an inch from his hips and the erection that announces his return to the land of the living.

Her hands skim down to his scarred, naked ribs. She leans in and inhales his scent, her lips a whisper from his. His mouth goes dry and he angles his head, bringing his face close to hers. He can sees the world in her eyes. He sees the shadow of himself, and he knows he is going to kiss her. But she tilts her head and moves lower, past his mouth, until she finds his pulse.

She pauses there, at the hollow of his throat, and he savors the humid tension that has thickened the air between them. He hears her make a small noise in her throat. Then she licks his thudding pulse, running her hot, nimble tongue over his receptive, newly shaved skin. Decency, pain, and memory are crushed. This room is all there is, this room and this woman and the simple need to fuck her.

            He gathers her up with his good arm and roughly pulls her close, dragging her up off the floor. Her mouth crashes into his as they rock, precarious, in the chair. Then they are on the ground, their hands frantic, clutching and pulling, until her blouse rips and her buttons scatter. Tiny pearls on the floor.