October 31, 2014

Happy Halloween from A.M. Hartnett



Today I am delighted to have A.M. Hartnett visiting with a decadent post sure to delight your sweet tooth—and other portions of your anatomy. She has gone to town—or rather, the candy store—with her photos and write-ups for the characters in her trilogy of sultry novels. But before we get there, here is a bit of information about each title:


Mr. Taureau, is there anything I can do for you?
For years, the Taureau-Werner building has been Grace's playground. Hot men in suits have provided her with one sinful diversion after another without ever having to leave the thirteenth floor.

Grace thinks her secret indulgences are safe, until one late night alone in the office, a call comes through from billionaire recluse: Jacques Alain Taureau. And in Taureau's lonely world, Grace meets a prince with no intention of escaping his secretive retreat by the sea.

Readers say: "I stayed up all night reading this book." And "This is one sizzling hot read."

*****

Its a skill not every man possesses, and it cant be taught. Thats why Im good at what I do.

For half his life Quinn has been making his living as a professional Casanova. Challenged by Molly to take his business elsewhere, he strikes a bargain with her: give him until New Years Eve and shell never see him again, and in the meantime hell make it worth her while.

As their arrangement becomes a passionate affair, theres no denying that Mollys been waiting for him to come into her life for a very long time. She never imagined that a man like Quinn would be the one.

Readers say: "If you want a novel filled with hot sweaty wall to wall sex then this one will be right up your alley."

*****

Breaking Through

I'm not your type. I should leave, but if I do that I'll drive myself crazy wondering how good to me you can be.

Simon Reeve is charming, sly, and a man who can make things happen. But a foray into the dirty world of politics has left him with a tarnished reputation.

Sharing the responsibility for her orphaned nephew with a feckless sister and putting her own ambitions on hold, Miranda is barely keeping her head above water. She's never taken a man home before, but there's something about Simon's haunted eyes and easy smile that's irresistible, and once in bed he opens her up to heart-pounding heights she never imagined she'd experience.

As they grow closer, two people who thought they knew who they were and where they were going learn to see themselves in each other. For Simon, it means becoming the man Miranda needs him to be. For Miranda, it means realizing she's more woman than her crushing little world has allowed her to be.

*****
Now, here is Ms. Hartnett with her Halloween greetings....



Oh heavens, how ever will I survive? I've committed myself to buying goody bags for the characters from my Carried Away series (Mischief, 2014) and now I need to go out and buy all sorts of delicious things, all of which will probably be left behind by my guests. Then who will eat all these tasty morsels?

So Grace & Jacques aren't really fun "let's get one another cute gifts" kind of couple. The truth is that Grace would probably put together both gift bags - Jacques would never admit it, but she kind of runs the show. Then This is why for herself she'd chose something that makes you lose your breath -- something she aspires to do to Jacques every time: a bit of Goldschlager and some hot tamales.

As the voices coming from the computer speakers droned on, it became more of a challenge to keep the giggles in. Taureau in the hall trying to catch his breath; Grace strapped to a chair with a pearl necklace; and Caroway, Patton and Stewart spouting off survey results in their respective offices.

Taureau returned, light on his feet, naked from the waist down, and tapped the keyboard to render the other men deaf to their activities once more.

‘All right, smart mouth, if thats how you want it.He came to her front once more and lifted her head. He was anything but gentle as he scrubbed her with the warm washrag hed brought with him, then circled around to her rear.

Grace cackled. ‘Youre just pissed because you wrote a cheque you couldnt cash.

He loosened her in an instant but didnt free her. Instead he dragged her and the chair into the hall.

‘How many times do you need to be fucked in the run of a day before youre satisfied, Miss Neely?he asked as he shoved her down.

‘Are you keeping score?she called to him, and dissolved into giggles as he returned with his bag. He looked stern as he drew out a second hank of rope. Sore loser.

‘You say that like were playing a game. I dont play games, Miss Neely. I dont know what else I can do to impress that upon you, but Ill sure as hell try.


By the time the third book comes around, they've been together long enough to have an established a healthy level of affectionate sarcasm between them. Jacques' goodybag would include a packet of poutine mix, a wink to his French Canadian background. A bit of rich, dark chocolate that reminds her of what it's like to be in the dark with him. Oh, and she'd throw in a Coffee Crisp bar as a nod to my friend, Jess, whose constant poking spurred me to write the first book in the series to begin with.

Keep quiet, she thought, the noise is how he knows youre close.

And so she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing in and out. It seemed to be working. The fluctuation of power became less chaotic.

All she needed was a minute, just one minute with a bit of juice

‘Youre awfully quiet out there,he called to her, and killed the vibe.

She looked up at him. One hand on the computer, one on the remote, and his eyes still looking forward.

‘Are we getting the gist of things, Miss Neely? I would have thought youd know by now that no matter how far away I am, youre all mine.

Oh, nothing but the best for Molly. A premium chocolate to melt on her tongue. She likes a classic vodka over ice after a long day, and she likes her vodka Russian. Quinn knows this, and as much as he likes watching her try new things, he couldn't convince her to give up her Smirnoff for something in a fancier bottle.

Her impatience was bubbling over, but there was something hypnotic about his storytellers voice. She nodded and was met with a smile. He beckoned her again and, once she was before him, he gestured at the floor.

‘You want me on my knees?

‘Dont get too excited. Ill tell you why once youre down there.

Down she went and sat back on her calves, when what she really wanted was to pull out his cock and disturb his unflappability.

He leaned forward and went on. ‘First, she wanted me to give her a stern talking-to. She wanted me to grill her about her business dealings, her personal life, how often she cancels her appointments with her personal trainer, how much of a credit-card balance she keeps, and so on. Once her failings were laid out before her, it was time to get physical.He leaned forward and cocked his head. ‘Have you ever had a good hard spanking, Molly Archer?

She shook her head. She would have answered, but her tongue had gone useless on her while her body was struck with a charge.

A good hard spanking? Not only had she never had one, but shed never really wanted one. Shed always found the fantasy off-putting, but as soon as the question had left Quinns mouth she ached to reach down and give herself a bit of a rub.


Not that he can say much about her tastes, given that he likes his rum cheap and straight. Even if he’s particular about how he’s presented, he’s down to earth. He usually goes for the rum with the most interesting label, like Kraken, but his go-by is Captain Morgan. He's been keeping himself fit for 18 years -- not many women want to pay to fuck a pot-belly -- but he has his cheat days, and Molly knows his penchant for a big bag of miniature chocolate bars.

‘I have to say that youre a lovely hostess,he said softly. ‘So accommodating to my every whim whenever I visit, and I always leave feeling satisfied. As a houseguest, on the other hand, youre terribly shameless.

He drew out ‘shamelessand let it slither into her ear and down her body to warm like a kiss between her legs. She tilted her head slightly, but his fingertips pressed into flesh, leaving their impression like she was made of clay.

‘Youre a selfish, spoiled girl,he went on in that wonderful drawl. ‘And after I was so good to you. Wasnt I good to you?

You were,she crooned back at him. ‘Youre always so good to me.

He released her. Free from his clutches, Molly turned around and watched, expectant, as he collected one of the chairs around that monstrosity of a table and brought it towards her.

‘I am, arent I?He dropped the chair in front of her, back to the window, and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘See the upholstery? Thats hand made with real leather. Its easy on the ass, but, for you, easy on the knees. Kneel.
  
Starting on what I suppose would count as their first date, Simon wins over a rain-soaked Miranda by taking her to a toasty cafe for hot chocolate and scones. Now, the hot chocolate she gets at that cafe is the real stuff, rich with a heaping head of real cream and drizzled with chocolate syrup. But as he hands over his stash he'd tease that she's a cheap date and a couple of fifty-cent chocolate packets would get her panties around her knees. And if she put up an argument, he's instantly disarm it with a selection of Jolly Ranchers to evoke the memory of their adventure sampling flavoured lube.

‘Im curious about the pomegranate, but I have a point to make,she told him as she withdrew the blue packet.

She straddled Simons waist and wriggled so that his cock nestled between her nether lips, and grinned as the shaft gave an insistent throb.

She snagged the cap between her teeth and as soon as it opened, she squirted a dollop on her fingertip.

‘Here,she purred, and smeared the lube over his mouth. ‘Raspberry.

She crooked her finger into his mouth, and as he curled his tongue around she thrilled with the reminder of what he had done with his tongue moments ago.

Relinquishing her finger with a pop, Simon ran his tongue between his lips. ‘I think Id prefer the cherry.
  
Simon is known for being sly, but Miranda is pretty sly herself, which is why she filled his goody bag with green tea. She's noticed him remarking about how his weight gain in the last couple of years has started to bother him. He likes green tea, and a little googling tells her that it's good for weight loss. But Simon deserves his treat -- some raspberry hard candy, her own little nod to their lube sampler.
 
‘So you think youre paddle is better than mine, do you?he asked close to her ear.

It wasnt a question seeking an answer, she recognized immediately. This was that mindfucking she had asked for back when she first rejected his paddle.

‘Granted, Ive had a lot of these in my hand, and just as many walloping my ass. I wouldnt have gone for purple. I prefer simple black leather or PVC, or maybe even a bit of wood. I like my splashes of colour to be just that, like the plug youre trying not to think too much about or that pink rope youve been avoiding looking at.

He was right. Shed been avoiding everything on the table, mainly the paddle he now held, but the rope was just as intimidating. Unlike the scarves shed tied him down with, his rope had a one occupation, and combined with the paddle and the plug, it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.


And what about me? I think that I deserve a bit of a treat. After all, I had no intentions of writing a series but here I am three books later. Even if I do get leftovers I'm happy -- but what's this?

 A bit of wine for my troubles? Awwww, you guys. And I didn't even have to dress up like a slutty nun to get it! And books! I get to read some great books by some of my favourite writers once this whole series thing is over!  Don't worry ladies, I'll *hiccup* share the wine.

I wish I could share the candy and booze with everyone, but instead I’m going to give away books! One winner gets al three Carried Away books, and all you need to do is tell me your dirtiest secret — yup, I want to know the candy you buy for Halloween but is actually the stash you give out last so you can have it all to yourself. Or, if you’re a better person than the rest of us, tell me your favourite Halloween candy.

Happy Halloween to Alison, and to all her evil minions!



A.M. Hartnett began writing erotica upon receiving what, at the time, she considered very bad advice from a career counselor. Since 2006, her short stories have appeared on the web and in various anthologies, including Alison Tyler’s Nine-to-Five Fantasies : Tales of Sex on the Job, Kristina Wright's Best Erotic Romance series and Rachel Kramer Bussel's Curvy Girls. Visit www.amhartnett.com for more information.

*****
Happy Halloween from your favorite trollop, too!

XXX,
Alison

October 30, 2014

Penthouse Variations on Oral


I am thrilled to reveal the brand-new cover for Penthouse Variations on Oral: Erotic Stories of Going Down. This book is beyond gorgeous, from cover to font to layout. I'm honored to have a story within the collection and excited that the book has already racked up a stellar review.

I am a long-time fan of Variations—and I've been published by the magazine over the years. In 2011, I was hired as a contributing editor to Variations—which may have been one of the very proudest days of my career.

Barbara Pizio, the editor in chief, knows erotica intimately. (I interviewed her for the Trollop Salon in 2008.) She has penned several forewords to my Pretty Things Press collections, and edited 15 collections for Hachette, and her way with words is magnificent. Cleis Press is lucky to have such an expert editor and wordsmith to work with.

But more than that, Barbara Pizio is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I am trying to remember exactly when I first met her—and I have to say that my hair was jet black and I was knock-kneed with nerves at being in the Penthouse offices. We're talking more than two decades now. I chat with her several times a week and email her several times a day.

She is my go-to friend for her always rock-steady advice. She is the person I call when I have something funny to share. She gets my humor,  my addiction to lipstick, and my brand of snark.

More than being lucky and grateful to work for PH—I am beyond lucky and grateful to have a friend like her. So this is a huge congratulations on her beautiful first collection and collaboration with Cleis Press. Champagne all around.

XXX,
Alison

October 29, 2014

Sex in the Real World




I always say that I see sex everywhere I go. I believe most people do. You simply can't help it. The difference with my brain is that I turn the sex I see into stories. But lately sex seems to be screaming from the stands. These are snips of four different magazine covers I spied on a rack this month.

I don't know if all of the magazines are now published by the same corporation. If so, you'd think the editors might purchase a thesaurus at some point: NEXT LEVEL SEXY! LOOK SEXY NOW! SLIM SEXY & STRONG! REAL SEX CONFESSIONS!

For some reason the punctuation also intrigued me. (Lots of exclamation points!)

I tend to finish the sentences in my head. "Look sexy now, or else!" "Next level sexy! Quick! Everyone you know has already reached the pinnacle! You're lagging behind, you loser!" "Real Sex Confessions—as opposed to fake sex confessions, which we ran last month." "Slim Sexy & Strong—because slim and strong is just not enough."

I don't buy most women's magazines anymore. I like the ads, but I'm tired of the plastic surgery articles and depressing editorials. But here's my point—which I only now realized I have... even after 50 Shades, erotica still feels relegated to the dark corners. The books don't exist at most stores. Sometimes there's a shelf. Sometimes the titles are mixed in with relationship manuals. And yet people want sex. We crave sex. Sex not only sells, as they say—whoever they are—sex is important. Writers of erotica are tackling a topic that shouts from the stands. But we're still doing it from the back alleys. Behind the gym. In the corner booth. It's just the strangest thing to me.

So I thought I'd start snapping the pictures when I see "sex" and sharing the images here. Kind of a collage of sex in the real world. If you see the word and want to play along, send me your snapshots, too! (I had to use the exclamation point. I just had to.)

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Alison on the Rocks received its—I want to say "her"—first review! The review is super clever and hits all of the different stories in the book. Obsession Suite by Sommer Marsden also received a super review, which you can read here.

October 28, 2014

Tuesday Two-Fer Part Two: Tamsin Flowers


We're back—and by "we" I mean Tamsin Flowers and me—with the second portion of Two-Fer Tuesday. (I was actually out in the car today and heard a radio station proclaim it was Two-Fer Tuesday and thought that they were talking about my blog! Just for a second, you know. Just because of the insomnia.)

So this is what Tamsin has to say...
The following excerpt comes from Alchemy xii - New Year's Eve, which is the first episode of my upcoming serial, Alchemy xii. It won't be available until December 31 (unless you hit me up for an advance copy...) but I couldn't resist sharing this excerpt with you. (And it's a world exclusive - the first excerpt of Alchemy xii to go up anywhere, including on my own blog.)

Here's a little of the blurb, to set the scene:

No one could ever accuse Harry Lomax of being a Dom's Dom. Sometimes he even forgets to make his submissives call him "Sir". But he is the charismatic Prince of Kink at Chicago's most secretive and exclusive sex club, where he runs Alchemy xii, the club's prestigious year-long training program for would-be subs.

When Harry spots Olivia Roux across a crowded floor, he's under no illusions as to what she is and what she isn't. A blond, Amazonian goddess, Olivia's no ingénue. She's a woman of the world whom he suspects might have a thing for kink, if only she realized it. One thing is for certain—Olivia is nobody's bitch.

Harry knows that he wants her. For his Alchemy xii training program, that's for sure. But for himself? Harry will try anything once—and Olivia's a woman who's got his name written all over her!

Excerpt:

The girl draped over the spanking bench mewled like a kitten that had lost its mother. Her buttocks glowed with radioactive heat. Between them, soft folds shone with her own pungent dew. Harry Lomax drew a deep breath—the aroma was captivating. Reminding him of long Saturday nights followed by intimate dawns.
However, the girl on the bench wasn't really the focus of Harry's attention. His eyes were scanning the clusters of people who had gathered to watch the spanking scene play out. They exhibited, as one might expect, a preponderance for well-worn leather, black kohl, thigh-high boots and fishnets. Some of them he recognized in person, the rest by type. Doms with a surfeit of self-assurance. Subs quivering with excitement. Brats with a challenge in their eye. Fragile-looking femmes who could reduce grown men to tears with the flick of a whip or the curl of their lip. He'd been here before. He'd worn the gear. He'd played all the scenes from the bottom up and the top down.
But tonight he wasn't wearing his leather. This wasn't even his club. Master Blasters was the sort of club he'd stopped frequenting years ago. He'd favored a low profile in black jeans with a T-shirt, giving away nothing about him. Acting like a tourist lurking here for thrills and titillation. But he wasn't. On this particular evening, Harry had come here to play poacher. Looking for fresh-faced, corruptible ingénues upon whom he could work his considerable charms. Searching for someone who might intrigue him.
The girl on the spanking bench lost count, so her Dom started over. Harry went to the bar and ordered a vodka straight up from the barman. He dropped onto a stool while he waited for his drink. Always the same. Always vodka. Always neat. Harry could see no reason to complicate alcohol delivery with sugar-loaded additions. And as he had no intention of playing tonight, he could afford a little vodka buzz.
As he raised the shot glass to his mouth he saw her. Four girls were clustered together watching the spanking scene, open-mouthed. But one stood out, head and shoulders above the other three. Not only literally—she had to be six inches taller than any other woman in the club—but an aura came off her telling Harry he'd found what he'd come for. When the other girls blinked or looked away as the paddle made contact with raw, ruddy flesh, this girl leaned forward, her tongue darting out between her lips. Her eyes were bright with excitement. She whispered something to one of her friends, causing the friend's eyebrows to catapult up with shock. The girl threw her head back to laugh. Wiping her eyes, she turned her attention back to the spanking scene like a vicar confronting a plate of oysters. God, she was magnificent!
Harry Lomax drained his vodka, smiled to himself and left the club.

To find out more about the Alchemy xii series visit Tamsin's Superotica.

And there you have it... the end of another Two-Fer Tuesday. Thank you for playing—and reading—along!

XXX,
Alison

Two-Fer Tuesday: Tamsin Flowers


I'm here with Tamsin Flowers for my third installment of "Two-Fer Tuesdays." (Damn, that's starting to sound like a math problem. But have no fear. Math is not here.) Tamsin absolutely wowed me right from the get-go. She has a wicked way with words and a magician's way with a plot, leaving you breathless and surprised with her ability to paint a dirty picture.

She has ever so kindly allowed me to publish one of my favorite of her stories here in its entirety for your reading pleasure.


Tea or Coffee?
By Tamsin Flowers

So, hell, now I find myself hog tied, wrists bound to ankles with silky red rope, in the swanky riverside apartment of some guy that, until just over an hour ago, I’d never laid eyes on.  All I’ve got on is a pair of black lace panties and a pair of Rupert Sanderson stilettos, having left my dignity somewhere over by the door.  I’ve never been tied up before, I’ve never been spanked before, and I’ve certainly no idea what’s going to happen next. And I have to say, I think I’m enjoying myself.  But how the fuck did I get myself into this in the first place?
I think it was something I said.
Tonight was an evening that came with expectations built in.  An expectation of meeting someone, the anticipation of excitement or of disappointment, a feeling that one thing might lead to another.  Speed dating.  It wasn’t my first time but it’s definitely the first time that the one thing has actually led to another.  Previous outings on the speed dating merry-go-round had been underwhelming but, eternal optimist that I am, I couldn’t see any harm in giving it another go and – hey presto – it seems to have delivered.
This is how it went down.  The first two guys that sat in the hot seat opposite me were dull.  One was tongue-tied, while the other couldn’t stop talking.  About himself.  The third man was nice but ancient.  The fourth, good-looking but weird.  But the fifth was interesting.  Tall, I noticed as he approached my table.  Confident, authoritative, he had the air of someone used to being in control.  He sat down and gave me an appraising look; there was no trying to hide the fact that he was looking me over, checking me out.  I might not have liked a look like that in a different situation but I wasn’t gonna kid myself – this is what we were both here for, after all.
I looked him up and down, too, and he was some physical specimen.  Strong jaw, broad shoulders, beautiful hands and a luxuriant head of burnished copper hair.  His dark eyes held mine until I felt compelled to look away.
“What’s your name?”
“Vayle.  Yours?”
“Lucas.”
Our eyes met once again.  There was a certain intensity to his stare that made me want to find out more about him.  Made me want to touch him or see him without his clothes.
“What do you do?” I said.
“Tea or coffee?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you drink tea or coffee?”  His voice held a note of impatience.
“Coffee.”
“Whisky or gin?”
“Gin.”
“Chanel or Prada?”
“Prada.”
“Negligee or naked?”
“Naked.”
There was no pause between questions, no time for me to consider the answers I was giving.  It was like a game of word association and I was happy to play along.
“Oral or anal?”
I faltered for a second and then said “Both.”
“Top or bottom?”
“Bottom.”
Lucas suddenly stood up.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, holding out a hand to me.
I glanced around the room.  Everyone was busy talking as fast as they could to get in all they needed to say before their four minutes ran out.  The man at the table next to mine, my next prospect in other words, was ugly beyond ugly.  Lucas was good looking and unpredictable.
“I’m with you,” I said, pulling my coat off the back of my chair and grabbing my bag.
So that’s how it all started.  He took me to a bar and ordered me a gin and tonic.
“Drink it,” he said, already halfway through his.
He ordered us each another.  There was no doubt who was in control.  Lucas set the agenda and I was content to sit back and enjoy the ride.
“I’d like you to come back to my apartment,” he said.  “Would you consider it?”
I knew what that meant.  He wanted to have sex with me.  And after two gins and a month long sex drought, I wanted to have sex with him.  He seemed like someone who would know what he was doing.
Lucas did know what he was doing and now I’m lying on my back on his bed, tied up and virtually naked.  He walks across the room towards me, still fully dressed in a crisp white shirt and sharply tailored grey trousers.  He’s taken off his shoes and socks and his belt is undone, flapping around the waistband of his pants.  He has thoroughly kissed me and I have allowed him to undress me and tie me up.  I feel sexually charged, wet and ready for his pleasure and mine.
He stands over me, looking down, and I can read naked lust in his eyes.
“Safe word?” he says.
More word association?
“Firebreak.”
Then he flips me over, so now I’m half kneeling on the bed, with my face in the pillows and my arse in the air.  With a rip my panties are gone.  I feel his hands slowly caress my naked buttocks and a shiver of anticipation runs through me.
“God, you have a beautiful arse,” he says.
Warm juices are pooling high in my cunt and I know that if I shift my position, they’ll flood down my leg.  I hold as still as I can, relishing the thought of how that’s going to feel.  But then Lucas trails a finger down my arse crack and round to the soft folds of flesh between my legs.  He discovers the reservoir of my desire and I hear his breath hitching in his throat.
“You’re so ready to play, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say.  “So ready.”
And he uses his hand to spread my wetness, forward to my clit which hardens at his brief touch, and back between my buttocks, making me arch my back to push them higher in the air.
“There’s only one thing I can do to a beautiful arse like yours,” he whispers, his face close to my ear as one hand runs down my back in a long stroke.
“It’s all yours,” I say.  “Do what you need to.”
Lucas steps away from me and bends to open a drawer in the bedside cabinet.  I hear him rifling through stuff and wonder what he’s doing; looking for a condom, I hope, a little belatedly given my situation.  But when he straightens up, it’s not a condom that he has in his hand.  It’s a red leather paddle and he’s using his other hand to test its flexibility.  He slaps it against his palm a couple of times; the slapping noise has some weight behind it and deep inside me muscles clench.  Goosebumps rise and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.  But at the same time I’m excited, more excited and more turned on than I can ever remember being.
I shut my eyes and bite my lip, waiting for the first slap.  A soft caress of my left buttock takes me by surprise and relaxes me a split second before the paddle makes contact with my right.  I gasp as the sting radiates through my flesh, leaving a burn on the surface and a spasm deep within.  A cool hand assuages the burning sensation but then my left buttock falls victim to the paddle’s bite.  I shriek at the shock of it as it burns a path through me, waking up feelings and desires, making me shiver as I realise I want to feel it again.
And it comes again, on the other side once more, adding another layer of pain, building on the last one, and then again, like a series of seismic waves, shaking me to the core.  I’m breathing fast as a firestorm grows between my legs; each soft caress Lucas administers between the blows becomes torture in its own right as I push back against his hand, willing it to stay there, to press harder, to slide down between my cheeks, to press his way into me, into my arse, into my cunt, to fill me up as my muscles clench around him, as I reach that perfect moment... but he doesn’t do it.  He withdraws his hand and replaces it with the sting and bite of the paddle, making me cry out again or making me bite my lip.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispers in my ear at one point.
“Yes,” I hiss.
And I realise that he’s right.  I might not have known it before; it was beyond the realms of my experience.  But this is what I’ve needed all along.  This is what’s been missing so far.  The thoughts blur as the pain builds and the longing for fulfilment sweeps over me again and again.
Then I hear the paddle drop to the floor.  In the silence that follows, I can hear Lucas breathing heavily, either with the exertion or excitement.  Both I think.  He pulls something from the drawer.  A condom this time; I hear the rip of the package.  Seconds later, the soft firm nudge of his cock.  He guides it up and down between my buttocks and then lets it slide down and lie along the folds of my labia.  I push myself against it, moaning softly with my need to feel it plunging deep inside.
“Where would you like it, babe?” he says.
He teases me with a finger, first sliding it slickly into my cunt and then, once it’s wet and slippery, easing it into my butt, making me gasp loudly.  It feels so good both times I can’t decide.
“Wherever you like,” I say.
“Good answer,” he says.  “But first I’m going to untie you.”
Seconds later my wrists are free and Lucas places my hands gently on the top of the headboard.
“Hold tight,” he instructs.
I do as I’m bid, stretching my back up; I’m still kneeling on the bed, holding the bed head, awaiting his pleasure.  He’s kneeling on the bed behind me.  He uses a hand to spread my legs wide and I feel his fingers parting my labia.  Then, ever so slowly, he pushes the tip of his cock upwards into my cunt.  He’s large, one of the largest I’ve ever had, and it’s a good, tight fit.  With his hands on my shoulders, he rams it home, and then his hands slide round my sides to cup my breasts.  He pulls me back against him and starts rolling his hips to draw himself in and out.  Now my body’s arching against his as his big cock grazes its way up and down against the sweet spot inside.
An orgasm starts to bubble softly as he sweeps in and out.  Then suddenly he changes the game.  Lucas pushes me forward and his hands pull my buttocks wide apart.  From somewhere he grabs lube and I feel a shock of cold down the length of my crack; his fingers getting me ready.  Without a change in the rhythm, he pushes his cock into my yielding arse.  My orgasm explodes on the first stroke, making my muscles clench hard around him.  With a cry as load as my own, he comes, his cock surging and throbbing within me.   I can feel its heat and I can feel the pulse of his climax, the sensations stoking my own.  My body spasms again and then the heat starts to dissipate.
I feel limp and wrung out; and there’s a final bite of pain as he pulls out his cock.  We slump together on the bed, our bodies slick with sweat, awash with the smell of sex.  I wait for the pulses to subside and slowly my breathing returns to normal.  Lucas, still panting, peels off the rubber and drops it over the side of the bed.  Then he flips me onto my back and straddles me.  His face is serious as he looks down on me.
“You’d never been spanked before, had you?”
I shake my head, still not trusting myself to talk.
“You’d never been tied up?”
“No.”
“You’ve had no experience of domination and submission?”
“No.”
“Did you know you could have stopped me with your safe word?”
I swallow.
“I didn’t want you to stop.  I wanted it to go on.”
His eyes soften.
“When I asked you, ‘Top or bottom?’ what did you think I meant?”
“Top or bottom bunk.”
I feel stupid.
He climbs off me and off the bed, walking over to the window.  The lights of the city are spread out before him.
“Lucas?” I whisper. “Don’t send me away.”
He turns around and his eyes still have the soft expression.
“You’ll need to be trained.  I want a lover who’s willing to wear my collar.  Could you do that?”
I don’t know what he means but I want to find out.
“Yes, Lucas.  Please train me.”
So that’s how it went down on that evening of expectations.  It was all due to something I said.  I wonder what would have happened if I’d said ‘top’?

As a naughty girl on a journey of self-discovery as an erotic writer, Tamsin Flowers is as keen to entertain her readers as she is to explore every aspect of male and female erotica.  Find out more at www.tamsinflowers.com

Please stop by this afternoon for the second half of the Tuesday Two-Fer!

XXX,
Alison 

P.S. Many people have written to me to ask how we might support Sommer. The answer at the moment is that I honesty don't know. But I will post something as soon as I can.