Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The two ideas I had I worked into a series I am working on. In book two of my series there is a candy shop that the hero and heroine of the book frequent. They both have a sweet tooth. The candy shop owner will eventually have his own story and get to fulfill the idea spark I had from craving candy.
In the series I will use the fro idea for a supper club where the main characters go to. The owner of the super club will be getting her own book. I will be writing in a sixties theme night using my afro idea spark. :)
Inspirations for ideas are all around. Taking something that happens in the everyday life then using it create a concept is a fun thing to do. The unexpected can lead to so much more. Any little thing can give you an idea spark, which will be your concept for the next book.
…increasing the sizzle factor
Chat Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/crenshawcafe
Free Reads Site: http://www.satinnotes.com/
Wilde Rapture - When a woman ducks into an alcove at a wedding she meets the man who is intriguing and will tempt her.
Buy here at Total-E-Bound.
Monday, January 30, 2012
In the case of my first trio of stories, While the Wife’s Away, I must confess that I really do have a favourite, perhaps because it was the one I nurtured, developed and saw take on a life of its own over the greatest period of time.
I first had the idea for what was to become The Sin of Father Anthony – a deliciously naughty title I hope you’d agree – around 20 years ago, though at that point it was going to be the story of a middle aged woman seducing a young priest.
It was only many years later as I started to concentrate more of my time on writing adult fiction that I realized the story would work just as well in a gay setting – in fact, it works even better.
At its heart, of course, is the concept of the celibacy of the Catholic Priesthood and although I’m sure there are many priests who follow their vows of chastity scrupulously there must be just as many more who succumb to the natural urges that every man experiences – and that was the starting point for my young hero and his sexual adventures.
It’s the classic story of forbidden fruit, the desire for the thing we know we shouldn’t have but which we cannot resist and will do anything to attain.
But the thing that surprised me the most was the way that, as I started to write, I discovered a story that really did have a life of its own.
The old priest’s relationship with his lusty housekeeper and the narrator’s nights with a busty choir mistress just seemed to develop naturally as the original simple narrative – no more than just one sex scene and no back story – began to develop.
The greatest shock though came when my young storyteller decided to hitch hike to Scotland – not something I’d ever considered for him in the first outline - and was picked up by a tattooed trucker.
I still don’t really understand where the image of a big butch, hairy chested bloke emerging from a bathroom in nothing but stocking and suspenders came from but it’s one that turned me on and I hope it will do the same for you too.
The image of St Sebastian, punctured by arrows as he smiles down on the act of love below him is, I admit, my little tribute to the great Derek Jarman and his classic film Sebastiane.
I have had one complaint that The Sin of Father Anthony is blasphemous and should never have been written.
It came from somebody who claims to be a devout Christian and church goer – at which point I felt obliged to inquire why somebody of such strong convictions and faith was reading adult fiction in the first place!
I suspect his outrage was fuelled by the fact that he actually found the story extremely stimulating and sexually provoking…and I hope you will too.
Masters and Servants: It's hard losing your job - and even harder looking for something new. But just how far will one man go to impress the boss? From steamy encounters in the office to passion in a scenic lift and shower room to lust in the potting shed, this is one job search that proves especially stimulating!
The Sin of Father Anthony: When a new priest arrives in town, one lapsed Catholic decides it's time to start attending Mass again - but he has more than absolution on his mind as he uses his girlfriend to get closer to the true object of his desire and give him a night he’ll never forget. From lusty housekeepers and choir mistresses to a hairy trucker with a taste for stockings and suspenders, this is a story packed with sexual thrills for a young man on a personal mission to satisfy his gay passions.
About Kris: Kris Andersson is an award-winning writer - and occasional actor - who specialises in gay erotica. His work has been described as both pacy and steamy. His current titles include While The Wife’s Away – a collection of three stories - Acts of Passion and A Special Gift. A fourth title is expected to be published very soon and will take Kris in a very different direction, a gay love story set against the horrors of the First World War and its aftermath.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
From SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS ~
Sunday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
When I learned it was the Chinese Year of the Dragon, and not just any dragon, but what some are calling the Blue Water Dragon, I entered a slight state of shock. Why, you might ask... then again, it may be of no particular interest to you.
Still... here it is. In my 2012 erotic romance fantasy, WHEN A GOOD ANGEL FALLS, published on August 13, 2008, there is a secondary character, Dragon Leader, Xanuvvi, who is a blue water dragon.
If you interested in an excerpt from the book that stars Xanuvvi, click on over to TITLE MAGIC.
For today's flash scene, of course, I couldn't resist letting you meet Xanuvvi, Blue Water Dragon Leader, prior to his appearance in When a Good Angel Falls.
"Why must you leave our realm?"
Queen Crysuthess spoke in her feminine pouty voice. However, Xanuvvi heard her true concern over his leaving, and her wish they remain lovers.
"You know of my alliance with Earth's angelic guardians, my sweetling." Xanuvvi used the power of his voice to stroke her. "The one called Zerr Dann has contacted recently. His mission is crucial to saving us from the dark siders as well as bringing about the salvation of humanity and Earth."
"It is true those of evil intent have already damaged the dimensional wall between our worlds with their use of death-wave weaponry. The fools," she contemptuously added with a dismissive lift of her shoulder. "And yet, how will you fare? There a few dragonkind remaining."
Xanuvvi caressed a strand of her hair, then twined it around his finger-claw, well knowing his touch would soothe the Queen. "Thessi," he addressed her with his pet name for her, "the gathering has begun. There are already ten Rainbow Dragonicas residing at the great caldera -- singing to alleviate Mother Gai's pain, and balance her forthcoming land changes. They are welcoming my presence."
Her sigh could have caused a path through the sea, it burst out with such keening force. "I know it is a matter of positive fate, Nuvvi. Yet... I depend upon your constant strength and wisdom."
Even though, they were alone, she left unsaid what they'd both come to crave, the impassioned strength of their lust-rolling together. He knew why. Their feelings for each other could never be fulfilled.
She would mature and desire only one of her kind for a mate. While he, having glimpsed his far future, being the magickal beast he was, knew another was destined to be his loving mate.
"If you wish for the force we call Good to ascend, and bring the harmonics of benevolence to our realm, then I must leave, my Thessi. I must use my powers to assist humankind, to assist Zerr Dann in his divine mission."
She didn't speak, and he felt her deep contemplations. Her small hand stroked the clawed hand he'd placed on her lovely little shoulder. "One more night... my Nuvvi. Is that too great a wish?"
His answer was to stroke the back of his claw along the sensitive skin of her neck, as she carnal-adored.
Spiraling furiously while also whirling the leviathan-sized length of his body, Xanuvvi pierced the dimensional fabric. Since he could not afford to enter the realm of Earth at the thinnest point, the Great Pyramid as it was known in Egypt -- oh, sweet memories of Queen Cleopatra and the grace of her hands upon his scales -- because of what he called the robot-zombie guards of the Illuminatti.
Instead, Xanuvvi penetrated as close to his dragon allies as possible. Forced to hold his breath because of the slime-heavy, sulfurous water of the Yellowstone caldera, he pumped his tail like a rising Loch Ness monster.
Once he finally speared through the boiling nastiness that passed for a form of water, he continued his momentum. Xanuvvi prepared to summon his magick. It had taken the remainder of his physical strength to remain airborne in the dusk, overcast sky.
Even so, he refused to gasp in draughts of the wintry air for two reasons. One, a dragon leader had his pride. Two, despite the utterly ridiculous connection between sulfur and dragons on Earth, he despised the taste of the odiferous mineral, and the thick muck still clung to his muzzle.
Unfurling his wings, Xanuvvi spread them wide to dry the webbing rapidly. A snort of fire from his nostrils would do the job, but that would foil his plan to stay as inconspicuous as possible.
To keep himself aloft, he cast forth a matrix bubble to float within. Getting his bearings, even if he was spotted, was crucial. He wanted to wing with all due haste to the Rainbow's stronghold once he discovered the location.
What, hey! Xanuvvi closed his eyes inhaling wave after delicious wave of the most seductive female scents. Trapped in the heavy moist air, the potent, in-heat perfume responsible for stiffening his breeding staff was being carried on the rising night wind.
But not merely female, no, these mating fragrances belonged to shapeshifter women, most of them wolven. If his nostrils were to be trusted, a whole thriving colony of shapeshifters lived nearby. If his magickal senses were to be believed, there were also many breeds of supernaturals living among them.
Stunned to his fiery watery core, Xanuvvi snapped his eyes open, and stared in that direction. The Rainbows did not expect his immediate presence, and he could mentally commune with their priest -- offer an explanation.
The lure impossible to resist, he aimed his conjured bubble and soon rode a wind-stream toward the colony. Both good and evil, the hero and villain, the drama of the colony played out in the energies he witnessed before his mind's eye.
To his great joy, Xanuvvi also heard the rippling music of a pristine lake, rare on Earth. He could cleanse himself, make a decent appearance, introduce himself to one of his stature. With that end in mind, he sent forth a seeking fire, a frequency that would find the leader, one of the highest nature.
Seized with the yen to view the night sky, to howl and speak his secrets to the moon, Dante bounded up the spiral staircase that led from the top floor of his new supperclub, the Midnight Stardust, to the small hidden gazebo atop his subterranean club. He'd recently created the romantic setting for him and his beloved Kitty.
She had adored it, and they'd spent precious time together smooching in each other arms, and gazing at the starry midnight sky through the lacing of branches above them. Now, he needed alone moments -- time to let his fur down, or out.
The supperclub had steadily gained in patrons, and the dance lessons were especially popular. Satisfied that all was going smoothly with his customers and crew, Dante stepped outside, and drew in a lungfuls of the cold crisp air.
The next instant, he spun around, his neck hair bristling, sprouting. Dante growled, the warning from the pit of his belly.
The huge dragon standing about thirty feet away smiled benignly, and didn't move. "Shall we introduce ourselves? I am Dragon Leader, Xanuvvi, of the Blue Water species."
His voice boomed yet somehow the timbre matched the sound of the wind.
With his instincts giving quarter, and sensing no immediate danger, Dante eased his stance. "Dante, werewolf. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Perhaps, shapeshifting lessons are in order. Gaining a human form would be of benefit to my mission on Earth. Perhaps also, you can explain why there is such an abundance of delightful feminine fragrances here."
Dante grinned, his confidence returning. "Tell you what, Dragon Leader, if you can reduce your size I'll give you the grand tour."
"Splendid. That I can achieve. Xanuvvi will do as a form of address. May I call you Dante?"
"Yeah, sure thing." Dante watched as Xanuvvi slowly morphed to a far less imposing height. "Hey, how about this Year of the Dragon," he bantered. "Want to fill me in on all the details?"
~ Have a Magickal and Miraculous New Year of the Dragon ~
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
There are many reasons to read Romance, but here are thirteen I think you'll enjoy.
|I read for the heroes.|
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Invite your girlfriends over for an evening of papering and homemade facials.
Relax in comfy-cozies.
Offer red wine and chocolate.
Prepare for some serious gossip.
Here are the simple recipes from my grandmother who stopped aging at 60.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Elizabeth Kyne has created a brilliant romantic comedy in the tradition of Bridget Jones.
Rachel re-invents herself when she moves back to her home town of Aylesbury; with a new job, a new house and a new haircut. But people’s eyes glaze over when she tells them about her life as a forty-something singleton who works in accounts. So why not spice things up a bit? Why not tell her new hairdresser and her new friends about her fantastic husband? Everyone wants to hear about Darren, the man who cooks her amazing meals, cleans the house and takes her to bed for orgasmic sex three times a night! What a shame he doesn't exist…
…Until she comes home one night and finds Darren sitting in her lounge. And everything she said becomes true: from his sensuous food to his skill in bed. So real, that she believes it.
Not as if living with a perfect is man is… well, perfect…
She can’t find anything because every time she puts something down, he tidies it away. Then there’s the shock of the credit card bill from buying all that gourmet food. Not to mention the sex! Three times a night is great at first, but sometimes all she wants at the end of the day is a sandwich and some sleep.
Then Rachel decides that Darren has to go - and that’s when her troubles really begin.
Elizabeth Kyne takes the absurdities of the modern woman's quest for love and turns them into an enjoyable romp. She finds the comic in everyday situations, from buying a dress to experimenting with hair dye at home. While, underneath, she comments on the pressure to find the perfect husband and how that quest is doomed for us all.
This is a full-length novel which comes in at 340 pages in trade paperback (84,000 words approx.).
I turned the handle of the door and entered.
The glow wasn't coming from the table lamp, but from a collection of candles on the coffee table. I froze. I would never risk burning down my new house by leaving lit candles unattended - not as if I'd lit them in the first place.
I tensed at the sound of creaking upholstery. A man's head poked up from the sofa. "Hello Rachel," he said. "Had a nice time?"
Fear, anger and panic inside of me all at once, scrambling my ability to think straight. I turned left and right and left again like a trapped wild animal, searching for something - anything - I could use as a weapon. I grabbed the tiffany lamp from the phone table next to the radiator and held it to my chest - a barrier between me and him.
"Whatever's the matter?" He got up from the sofa and approached me.
My heart racing, my breath panting; I backed off and bumped up against the lounge door I'd just closed behind me. The cord of the lamp snagged tight at the socket. I was ready to yank it free from the plug and beat him to death with it if I had to. "Who are you?"
He took another step. I flinched.
Whirls of confusion made me dizzy. "No." I shook my head. "No, no, no, no, no, no."
"Are you all right, darling?"
"You're not real." I said it more to convince myself.
"Rachel, what are you talking about?" He smiled - an amused smile. "Of course I'm real - look at me."
He stood with his arms out wide. He was handsome and slim with a full head of black hair swept across his forehead and a toned body beneath his clothes. He was tall enough to be manly - almost six foot - but not too tall as to dominate me. He was the type of man my fantasy Darren might be - if he were real.
"How did you get in here?"
"I live here," he said.
"No. This is my house. I paid for it. My name's on the deeds."
"Rachel darling, it's our house. We bought it, remember? Are you feeling all right?"
He moved as if to get closer, but I lifted the lamp higher, ready to take a swing at him. It tugged at the flex again.
Stuck between the need to protect myself and my instinct to run, I tried to think. He'd got into my house somehow, he knew my name and knew about Darren somehow. No ordinary burglar could do that - surely? A conman could go through my rubbish and find out stuff about me, but only a few people knew about Darren.
It was a wind up. It had to be a wind up. God, let him be a wind up, and not some mad psycho rapist.
"Did someone put you up to this?" I said.
"Rachel, what are you talking about?"
He wasn't going to admit to it. Fine. But this prank had gone beyond the point where it was funny; not that it had been funny in the first place.
"Don't move." I threatened him with the tiffany lamp again.
Keeping the lamp in one hand, I used the other to delve into my handbag. I rifled past hairbrush, purse, petrol receipts, half-used tissues, until I found my phone. With hands shaking and heart pumping - not taking my eye off the stranger for a moment - I called Sheila.
It rang. Good, her mobile was still on. It kept ringing. I willed her to pick it up.
At last she answered. "Yeah?" A sleepy voice down the phone line.
"Sheila? It's Rachel." My voice trembling. "I don't know how you did it - ha ha, very funny - but you can tell him to leave now."
"Wwwhat?" she slurred. "Rachel? What're you talking about?"
"The man you snuck in pretending to be Darren."
"What? Rach, Darren's not real." A heavy sigh. "I'm tired, hon. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
"Sheila, don't--" I shouted.
The line went dead. I hit re-dial. It went straight to voicemail.
The Darren-man was still looking at me. Like a dog looks at his master when it can't understand why the human is behaving strangely. "Why don't you come and sit on the sofa," he said in a soothing voice. "I can pour you a glass of wine and then we can make love."
"No!" I screamed, loud enough to wake the neighbours.
He was larger than me, stronger than me. If he attacked me, I could fight back, but he would win. I started to wheeze. I put my hand out to the doorframe, leaned against it, trying to slow my breath. It brought back playground memories of childhood asthma. I hadn't had an episode for years and I wasn't going to be flawed by it as an adult. I willed my breathing to slow.
I told myself he wasn't going to attack me because it was just a joke. Some male escort Sheila had booked while we were at the pub and given my spare key to during one of her many supposed trips to the toilet.
"Look," I said, gathering myself together. "I know you've gone to a lot of trouble, and you're really impressive, but I haven't got time for this now. You can tell Sheila you got me and we can have a laugh about it down the pub another time. But right now, I'm tired and I need some sleep because I'm starting a new job tomorrow. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to go to bed now and you're going to leave."
I left the sanctity of the doorframe and placed the lamp back on the phone table, keeping my eye on him all the time. Without my weapon, I was even more vulnerable, but he didn't make a move. If he'd been a burglar or a rapist, he would have taken his opportunity there and then. With relief, I knew at that moment, he was part of a practical joke. The man - whoever he really was - was a damn good actor, and that's all.
With added confidence, I walked right by him like I owned the place.
Damn it - I did own the place. Minus a £100,000 debt to the bank.
I caught a whiff of his cologne as I went past, mixed with his manly scent.
If I hadn't needed a decent night's sleep, I might've taken advantage of the practical joker to see how far he was prepared to take his little act. I kept on walking, through to the kitchen, where I ran myself a cool refreshing glass of water. When I returned moments later, I found him gone. Thank goodness. Boy was I going to have words with Sheila when I next saw her.
In some ways, though, it was too bad. It was about time I gave my libido a workout. But - hey! - easy come, easy go.
I went upstairs to bed.
Monday, January 23, 2012
When I start a new book, all my heroes are named John, and my heroines are Jane (my obsession with names beginning with J is a whole 'nother post as well) This is because my characters start talking, then I can figure out their names as I go. This particular book is book two of a sequel, so I already have hero #1 picked out. His name is Dean, and while I don't remember the process of picking out his name, the name evokes a certain image in my mind. Someone preppy. Neat, clean cut, organized and picky. Which is exactly how this character grew on the pages.
So this new wip hero tells me suddenly that his name is going to be Jay. I told him in no uncertain terms that this wouldn't work (his sister was already named in the previous book Falling Star as Jade, and what parents would name their kids Jay and Jade? Don't answer that.) But I liked the image that the name Jay evoked in my mind. A bit tough, a bit vulnerable.
Then it hit me that my sister's husband's name is Jay. And his middle name is Dean. So that's out (Hah! I win this round, unnamed hero!)
So he's back to John. Did I mention my obsession with J names?
I wrote my book Fine Print entirely, and even submitted it to a publisher back in 2009. To celebrate the completion of the novel, I bought my favorite author Sandra Brown's latest book and lo and behold, her MCs had the same names as mine. I couldn't bring myself to change Derek's name, so Julie became Kara. It took me a while to see her as Kara since I'd just spent months getting to know her as Julie.
Yes. A "J" name.
Maybe I think about this stuff too much, but each name means something to me. For example, I had a babysitter named Tori (Victoria). She was awful. I have horrible stories which I won't relate here, mostly because my mind has probably "enhanced" the memory and made her worse than she actually was. This is why I'll never have a heroine named Vicki, Victoria, Tori, or anything related. I did have an irritating woman named Victoria in my book PreView. I think she fills out that name perfectly.
My apologies to any Victoria who reads this. I'm sure you're all lovely women. Be nice to children.
So back to my hero. I'm so picky with this name thing, I might have half the book written before I name the poor guy. I need a name that goes well with his last name (Graham) and one that embodies his personality as I know it so far (ex-cop, oldest brother, protective, private).
~ Alanna Coca
Sunday, January 22, 2012
He began unbuttoning his shirt but she stopped him, stepped closer and took the buttons in her fingers. Working slowly, she admired every inch of skin revealed with her movements before caressing the smooth, tanned skin warm under her palm. His eyes never left the floor as she slid his shirt off broad shoulders. No scars, no tattoos, only perfection spread taut over impressive muscles.
Stephanie "Stiff" Johnson, is a tough Las Vegas cop who many men find too intimidating to date. Steph begins to wonder if something is wrong with her so she turns to Madame Eve to find a man who could be the yin to her yang, even if it's just for one night.BUY NOW
Hunter Morgan left behind years of living as a sub to a female Domme in New York. Upon return to his hometown, he questions whether he wants to continue with the "lifestyle" or find something different. Turning to 1 Night Stand, he hopes to sample his options.
A simple one-night stand opens a whole new sensuous world to both.
Genre: Contemporary romance, erotic romance, BDSM
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
In the internet age, it should be easy for like-minded fetishists to find and connect with each other. Or so Cherry thought. Her decision to enter the wild and wonderful world of BDSM leads her to some interesting and unexpected places. She soon finds herself on 'the scene' and her insatiable curiosity takes her to orgies, slave auctions and mansion houses full of trainee submissives, but where will she find her perfect dom? Will Cherry ever meet her match?
He stood, gesturing me up, and I followed him to the bar, where he bought me – without asking what I would like – a mineral water, plus a whisky for himself.
‘I don’t want to be accused of taking advantage of tipsiness,’ he told me, nudging the water glass down the polished bar top. ‘Now, let’s sort a few things out. You strike me as curious about certain aspects of human sexuality, am I right?’
I coughed into my glass, feeling as transparent as the crystal waters within.
‘Is it obvious?’
‘To me it is. Probably not to the world in general. How curious are you?’
‘There’s nothing moderate about what I do … What’s your name?’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Well, Cherry, I like to be master in my own bedroom, if you catch my drift. Does that interest you?’
I gulped. What should I say? I rather thought the fiery spreading blush on my face was saying it for me.
‘It might,’ I muttered.
‘Does it or doesn’t it? I don’t have time to waste.’
His stern tone caught me right between the thighs.
‘Yeah. I suppose it does,’ I admitted, a mite sulkily.
‘Good. Though I think we’ll need to discuss your tone, young lady.’
Oh my God, he was killing me. “Young lady”. I was positively pre-orgasmic, especially when he raised an eyebrow in a way that couldn’t say “you’re getting spanked” any louder or clearer.
‘Drink up,’ he ordered. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘No, with a friend.’
‘Good. You can tell her you’re going home with me, and that you’ll call her by eleven so that she knows you’re safe.’
‘I’ll … tell her that.’ I looked around the bar for her, finally locating her in a darkened alcove, snogging some guy with a beard like a King of Leon. Sex on fire indeed.
I passed on the message, slipping it between her and the hairy one like a credit card of information. Her reply was a swallowed grunt.
‘I’ll be at home then,’ I reminded her brightly, feeling a broad hand descend on my shoulder. SM Stuart was not about to let me get away. I had been hooked like an unsuspecting fish, and now I was in the net I wouldn’t get out until I was being sizzled over the flames of his fire.
‘Where do you live?’ he asked, yanking me backwards, away from the bar.
‘Near South Parade Pier.’
‘Good. Not too far.’
It wasn’t until we were in the taxi that the insane foolishness of the idea hit home. Taking a strange man home for kinky sex – how on earth would that stack up on the risk assessment form? Not well at all, I realised with a sickening lurch of the stomach.
But then he pulled me towards him and into a long, hard kiss, and the lurching became something else, something much sweeter and less easily dismissed, something that squeezed all of my good sense into a tiny ball and batted it down between my legs, which were trembling.
It was mad and it was stupid, but I wanted sex – real, good sex – so much that I was prepared to follow my cunt wherever it led me that night.
Stuart’s mouth was firm and hungry, and his hand landed with a wondrous heaviness on my thigh, edging up the hem of my skirt, kneading its way to heaven, regardless of the taxi driver.
Luckily, the ride was not long enough for him to reach my stocking tops. The skirt was mid-thigh when he paid the fare, helped me out of the cab, and escorted me, hand on elbow, up the path to my apartment block.
Once inside the door, he held me out at arm’s length and said, ‘You’re wearing stockings and suspenders, aren’t you?’
‘Sounds to me like you were out looking for somebody to take you home and fuck you. You don’t wear stockings if you don’t think they’ll be seen.’
‘They make me feel sexy,’ I defended myself.
‘You want to feel sexy because you want a good seeing-to, Cherry. Am I right?’
I chewed my lip, avoiding his eye.
‘I’m right. And what kind of girl wants a good seeing-to, hmm?’
He pulled me closer, sliding one hand down my hip and around to pat a bum cheek. Oh, I could see where this was heading. And I liked it very, very much.
‘A bad girl,’ I said softly.
His lips quirked, and his hand fell a little harder on my quivering bottom.
‘That’s right, Cherry. A bad girl. And what do bad girls get?’
‘They get punished?’
‘Try adding a “sir” to that.’
‘They get punished, sir.’
‘Nice. And true. They do get punished. But first, since you’re dying to show off your naughty underwear, I want you to stand over by that chair and lift your skirt for me.’
He dropped my arm and nudged me back a couple of feet, so that I was in a good position for him to rake his eyes from my bob-cut hair to my strappy sandals. Standing with his arms folded and his brows gathered, he waited for me to follow the instruction.
I felt like laughing and shivering at the same time, but I did as I was told, turned up the hem of my skirt and lifted it coyly to my waist.
‘Oh yes, I see,’ he said. ‘Very nice. And do you call those knickers?’
I stared down at my shaking hands on the fabric. They weren’t exactly substantial, it was true. I was glad I hadn’t opted for the Spanx tonight after all – though, on second thoughts, they would at least have been appropriate.
The knickers I was wearing were tiny breaths of lacy air, patterned with glittery starbursts. I only knew they were there at all because they were soaking wet at the crotch. I wondered if the damp patch was visible. If not, it was certainly sniffable. I could smell myself all right.
‘Turn around,’ he said, and I was grateful to remove myself from the intense scrutiny and present my back view instead. The knickers weren’t thong-backed, but they stretched tightly across my rear, almost transparent, so that he would be able to follow each curve to its conclusion.
‘That’s a lovely bottom you have there,’ he commented, moving up behind me. ‘No, don’t let go of the skirt.’ He put a hand on my lacy cheeks and rubbed them slowly up and down. I let out a tiny moan, bending my spine infinitesimally forward to give him optimum access, hoping for a quick dip between my legs. ‘And one that needs a lot of attention, I think.’
He removed his hands and sat down in my armchair.
‘Now put your lovely bottom over my knee, Cherry, where it belongs.’
Christ, I was more turned on than I’d ever expected to be outside my horniest fantasies. For a dizzying moment, I thought this was worth any risk, even though my rational mind knew that only a brain-dead, sex-crazed zombie would entertain that thought.
I drooped over his lap, trying to work out how to get over it in the most dignified manner, though God knows what any remnants of dignity were doing in my fevered brain at that point. Unable to compute logistics, I kind of threw myself across the middle section of his thighs, kicking my legs in the air until he smacked them down so my toes brushed the carpet.
‘Now, think about where you are,’ he said softly, his hand renewing its hypnotic circular pattern across my exposed bum cheeks. ‘Take a moment for the full humiliating reality of your position to sink in. Where are you, Cherry?’
I clenched my thighs, his low, authoritative voice tickling the space between them like a sonic vibrator. I wished I’d had more to drink. It would have made the verbal aspect of this scenario so much easier.
‘I’m over your knee.’
‘That’s right. But you missed a bit, Cherry. An important little word.’ His palm hovered dangerously over my rear curves.
‘I’m over your damn knee?’ I hazarded, with an irrepressible snort. Oh dear. It seemed I was discovering a hitherto-unknown minxy side of myself.
The smack was swift and remorseless. I yelped, quivering beneath his hand.
‘I’m surprised at you, young lady,’ he told me. ‘I see I’m going to have to deal with you quite thoroughly. No, the missing word you are looking for is “sir”. Now, repeat the sentence for me, Cherry.’
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
I'm open to suggestions and ideas! Here's a link for your own research, and a cool image of samples I came across on a site.
Adam and Eve
Below is a scene from At the Mercy of Her Pleasure in which the heroine is using a sex toy that has some futuristic connotations. If you can think of new ideas for this... I'm interested.
|At the Mercy of Her Pleasure.|
Kayelle Allen is the founder of The Author's Secret, a company that coaches authors in building their brand names and helps them learn how to promote their work. She is also an award-winning, multi-published author who writes immortal characters, and is the creator of the Kin -- warriors who purr. She is known for unstoppable heroes, uncompromising love, and unforgettable passion. You will find her on the web in these places:
Romance Lives Forever Blog http://romancelivesforever.blogspot.com/
Romance Lives Forever Group http://groups.yahoo.com/group/romancelivesforever
The Edge of Peril - World of the Immortals http://groups.yahoo.com/group/edgeofperil/