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Love Slave Part 3 (18+ only)

There’s Mike, already at the restaurant as I suspected he would be, pacing up and down in front of the bar. I wave through the window and he waves back and goes to sit down at a table against the wall. I am just about to push open the door, when my phone makes that sound:

“You realise you haven’t sent me a picture of your little vibrator. I will have to punish you if you don’t send it NOW.”

Crap, I forgot about it. It’s still on the bed. There’s nothing I can do except tell the truth. Well, most of it:

“I can’t send it now. I’m in a meeting with a client.”

Immediately there’s a reply: “Oh dear, my little love slave. Then you will be punished.” And then—nothing. I breathe in deeply, watching Mike, smiling and flapping his hand to hurry me in. I drag a smile from the depths of my professionalism, put my phone away, and wave back.

I get my two-cheeked kiss, as always. And, as always, the second one lingers just a little longer, his lips brushing my cheek a little closer than strictly necessary to my mouth as he pulls away.

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Ready For Me…?

Well, it’s still Sunday in the UK (just), so here is my Sunday Story. I have had various technical hitches this week, not to mention(read more…)

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Where’s the love slave gone…?

This post comes by way of an apology to those following my Love Slave story. Due to circumstances beyond my control, the next instalment is(read more…)

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Seven Seconds (18+ only)

Apparently, I read, people should trust their instincts. They should do this, the article says, because instinct tells us what we desire. And desire takes(read more…)

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Think You Couldn’t Possibly Lose Your Amazon Publishing Account? Think Again.

Indie authors, I would urge you to read this post, particularly if you have books in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program. I was considering pulling out(read more…)

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Love Slave Part 2 (18+ only)

Why’s he sending me kisses? This is a game, surely, this Master-slave idea about us that he’s got in his head. Do all would-be Masters send kisses to their would-be subs, or slaves, or—I don’t even know what the hell I’m talking about, do I? What are they called? How should I know what they do? And kisses. He remembers, doesn’t he, what they used to do to me? I feel it now—that throb between my legs, the tingling on my skin, the way my insides tumbled over. I remember, even if he doesn’t, the touch of his lips on mine. The way they butterflied down my neck and over my shoulder. How on that one single morning he opened my dressing gown, damp and sticking to my freshly showered nakedness, and laid it open on the bed as his lips journeyed down my body until my moans met his kisses.

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Erotic Tales of Voyeurism: teaser story

My Sunday Story this week is one which I have written as part of my forthcoming collection: Can You See Me?: Erotic Tales of Voyeurism.(read more…)

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Love Slave Part 1 (18+ only)

Almost immediately, there’s a return message: “I knew you would be. And that you would answer.”

After almost ten years he can still raise my blood pressure. I ought to just ignore him. How can he still be as arrogant as that with me, assuming that I would still care, even a tiny bit? Maybe I’m just curious. It’s true, I am. But I’m irritated in equal part now.

“What do you want?”

I flick back to my document, add a few words, then a few more. All of them awful. There it is: the bing of the email on my phone:

“You. Be my love slave.”

The laptop screen is close to wearing my coffee. I drink it, eventually, but it does no good; my mouth is completely dry. What the hell am I supposed to do? If I’d just ignored it… My chest is banging, and there’s a feeling that’s travelling repeatedly from my navel and down between my thighs, gathering there. It’s beginning to hurt, to throb. I slide my hand into the waistband of my jeans, put my hand on it, tease it gently with my finger through my panties, just to ease the feeling a bit. It feels nice, a bit like having an ally against this message, and I type with one hand as I open my legs a bit wider and slip my finger under the lace edge to touch my skin. It’s wet, and my clit is hardening against my fingertip. It takes me all my willpower to get my hand back on the keyboard. I’m about to reply, not really knowing what to type, when another one comes through.

“I mean it. I haven’t mastered you yet. And I want to.”

I send one back, an instinctive response: “Cheeky! Don’t be bloody ridiculous.”

Return: “I’m deadly serious.”

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The Invisible Lover (18+ only)

I have become extremely interested in the long-distance erotic and ethereal erotic relationships recently, and today’s short story is a product of some of that(read more…)