Erotica Author
It was starting to become excruciating. The clock in the corner of the arrivals board told me I’d been sitting here for almost three hours – that was four minutes longer than the last time I checked. I just couldn’t stay in that room, waiting any longer. I wriggled on my chair and smiled. The love egg was nestled nicely inside. He promised to let me know he’d landed in his own special way.
“Good night, Sir.” Her voice uttered the words; her mind, however, was clinging onto the feeling of the Master’s hot, wet tongue around her(read more…)
I am delighted to release an extract from my latest novella, The Greenwood Goddess. The piece below is a complete and downright filthy little short story(read more…)
“I am Master. There’s nothing level about our time here in this hotel, unless I want there to be. You will do as you’re told. Beginning now.” He clamps his mouth over mine, his finger still in place, kisses hard as he slides his finger out of my mouth and down my neck. As one of the other men presses the button with a sense of urgency, and the lift clunks and rattles down towards us, he reaches to my collar and undoes his tie. Why has he taken me off the leash? Are each of the men wondering? Each of them is watching, and I know they’ve all heard what he said to me. The lift is nearly at the ground floor, and I turn to face the door, ready. He pulls my head back to face him.
“Look at me. Stay still.”
I look into his eyes, and they are smouldering grey-blue, and his cock is pushing at the zip on his trousers. He has his tie in his hand, and he slips it round my neck just above the collar and ties it in a slip knot.
“Be a good girl, or it will pull tight.”
I know the men are watching and I’m wet. I can feel it in the place where my knickers should be, as I stand there with my slave collar round my neck, and I find myself smirking. It’s a stupid thing to do, and I don’t know what possesses me. Maybe it’s because I know there are others there that I think I’m safe if I push at the boundaries.
“I may not be a good girl.” The men are all bulging in their trousers, even though two of them are pretending they’re not looking or taking any notice of what he’s done to me.
“I hate you calling me Kitten.” I have to say something, because otherwise, after what he’s just done to me, I would have bowed my head in supplication to his words. Because I’m an idiot. And those eyes—they get me every time.
“What’s wrong with it? It’s the name I’ve chosen for you as my sub.” I can’t tell if he’s more vexed that I haven’t answered his question, or that I’ve dared question his taste in names. His irises have gone dark and his stare engulfs me. For a moment I forget the strange, unfamiliar, full feeling caused by the butt plug as I wonder what he might do next. I have this dreadful feeling that he might grab my clothes, and bare my backside to every passing stranger. I’m not sure he cares about anything—being embarrassed, or arrested. Or me. Does he care about me?
“I just find it—a bit…”
His whisper is in my hair, permeating my memories. “Don’t you remember when you used to mew for me? I only had to touch you like this.” His fingertips slip across my shoulder blade and down my side until I writhe at his touch over my ribs. He is up close, so close that every part of him is touching me as his hand slides into my waistband and finds the elastic of my knickers. I let out the noise the moment his finger makes contact with my clit. “See, Kitten? That’s why. You’re going to mew for me.
My breath catches in my throat, and my face burns from the inside out. He detects it somehow—the heat coming out of my mouth and creating steam in the air, his palm not as hot as my cheek. His voice rasps in my ear: “You’ve never been fucked there, have you?”
I pause; the heat in my face oppresses me. I manage to shake my head—an almost imperceptible motion, but it rubs against the trace of stubble on his chin, and I know he can feel it. His shower gel fills my nose, the scent of sandalwood invades my head. He fills me. And my gaze pulls away, finding something very interesting in the old piece of chewing gum on the floor. He leads me to a shallow alcove, pushing me against the tiled wall. The ceramic feels ice cold on my back, in stark contrast with the heat of my skin.
“I own you.” His eyes stare into mine, hard and sparking with lust. “You chose to meet me—you didn’t have to come; I’m your Master.
My Sunday story is a long one, coming by way of apology for being so sporadic in my fiction posts over the last few weeks(read more…)
Today’s story is a bit different in a number of ways. It’s soulful, but it extends beyond the erotic only, touching on other themes. It(read more…)
This Sunday story is another little offering from the collection of voyeur tales that I am working on. Just another little teaser, but a little(read more…)
A photo comes through. The blood rushes to my ears, my heartbeat drowning out every other noise, and an unexpected pang between my thighs, at the sight of a pair of handcuffs. I massage the throb into submission as I read the message: “Do you have any of these?”
What does he think I am? I reply: “No.”
Bing: “Heeheehee! I didn’t think you would. I have had SUCH fun with this pair.”
There’s that pang again, this time shooting through my middle, lodging between my legs and throbbing there, uncomfortably. He wants me to ask, doesn’t he—who has he had fun with? How many women; what has he done with those cuffs? My hand roams to the inside of my thigh, an image of some unknown six foot, flaxen haired stunner with her hands over her head, chained to the bed while he pushes open her knees, lifting her feet onto his shoulders while he grins at her and says, “I’m going to take you.
