Put the X back in Xmas!

Hey, what would you really like in your stocking? A bold hand running slowly up your leg?

I happen to have just the item for you. Several to choose from, actually. All available in beautiful ebooks from Amazon, the eXtasy Books site, or other major online outlets. 

Mandi. Her desire for success burns too hot with the potency of a secret sex pill. Buy here!

Clytie. Their beauty, grace, and courage are rewarded, but their love is forbidden. Buy here!

The Fair Warrior Chronicles
 

Book One: Minotaur. His dark magic drives women wild. Buy here!

Book Two: Huntress. The virgin huntress stalks her prey. Buy here!

Book Three: Midas. His power over gold draws women. Buy here!

Book Four: Cassandra. The prophetess of passion. Buy here!
 

Book Five: Morpheus. The soldier battles his past.  Buy here!

Book Six: Circe. Her past erupts into her future. Buy here!
 

The Glass Room Adventures

Book One: Night Wild. Running from love.  Buy here!

 Have a happy, happy Xmas!

Log Line Blog

He can make gold, but can he understand women?

That's the log line for Midas, the third book of my Fair Warrior Chronicles series. The log line is featured this week on the lively Log Line Blog, a great site where readers can comment on log lines.

A log line is a short (twenty-five word max) description intended to create interest in a book at the start. The term "log line" comes from the one-line descriptions of television programs in the viewer guides published in the newspaper.

The Log Line Blog is a great place to get a quick look at a lot of good books. If you are a writer, it's an excellent place to study how to write a good log line.

Hot Night Wild Excerpt

Night Wild, book one of my new series, The Glass Room Adventures, publishes today from eXtasy Books. Here's the log line:

All the love life Laurie Deloit has left is a delicious, forbidden fantasy, until the madam of an exclusive whorehouse offers to make it real.

 And here's a hot excerpt:

 Wally’s finger gets more active inside my cunt. Good. I unbutton his shirt and unbuckle his pants. His body isn’t the flabby sack I expected. I press my boobs into his solid chest, and reach inside his jockey shorts. Damn. Still nothing growing. I say, “I’ll hide your cock.” I keep my hand over his soft worm while he undresses.

In the next room, Wally’s boss has Desiree on her hands and knees. He kneels on pillows to bring his crotch even with her cunt, and shoves he cock in her. She closes her eyes and rocks with his plunges. The cooing shape of her lips makes me think she’s telling him what a horse he is. She looks up at the mirror as if she’s worshipping the reflection of the two of them going at it.

 

Skin on skin

Erotic fiction lives in a world of touches, kisses, and the penetration of bodies and hearts. But any fiction benefits from a change of perspective. A story with no break from up-close sex can feel too strained, like a sweaty fuck when neither partner can come.

I try to shift perspective without thinking too much about it. Here's a passage from an up-close scene I worked on today:

We take the position, side by side on our hands and knees. He's behind us. He rubs my cunt. I squirm and moan. Denise does a more convincing act. He's fingering us both. She shoots me a glance from a half-closed eye. We're in a contest to see who gets the cock. I buck hard against the probing finger and beg, "Please, please."

From the same story, here's a passage with a broader perspective:

The two women from the other table nod at us as they pass by on the way to the powder room. They're pretty and nicely dressed in thin, flowing skirts and blouses and bits of jewelry. Under their cordiality their eyes register me as a threat, as if I might wiggle over and steal their men while they're peeing.

From later in the story, this passage starts with a panoramic perspective, then shifts quickly to the personal:

The helicopter descends toward sparkling Mediterranean waters and hovers over a helipad at the stern of an oceangoing yacht. The big boat and every visible accessory are white, including the aircraft I'm sitting in, the uniform of the pilot, the rubber rafts that circle at a distance, bouncing over light waves, and the guards riding in them. Only their rifles are black.

My left leg is shaking. I guess that's where I put my fear. The shakiness rises through me. Why am I doing this? The brothel, for all its air of wildness, is really pretty secure. People are always watching.

These shifts make a story more like the way we see life. One minute you're watching your navel, the next you're watching your neighbor. But in an erotic story, sex can never be far away.

Story enlargement

No, I'm not talking about a formula to grow a story big enough to make a woman scream. But my subject is similar. Erotic stories are necessarily concerned with intimate encounters—what happens between two people, or three or four, when their clothes are off and their bodies are touching. Yet story lines have a tendency to unfold. Plots reach out and involved more characters.

Over the past week, I've been working to finish the first draft of the third story of my Glass Rooms series. Altogether there will be four episodes of about twenty thousand words apiece. The first, Night Wild publishes December 1. I have once a month publication dates for the next four months. This week I was working from fifty to sixty thousand words deep in the series that will total eighty thousand or so.

The tendency of stories to unfold got out of hand. Whole groups of new characters came on stage, springing from my imagination in the midst of scenes I thought were headed elsewhere. I liked where the story was going, but it kept getting bigger and bigger. Pretty soon, I was the one screaming. (Exaggeration.) By this afternoon, when I finished the draft, my plot line reached literally worldwide. Now I have twenty thousand words left to bring it down to a more personal level and sort out the main character's erotic life in a way a reader might find satisfying. Should be fun.

Four women, one man

This ménage scene from my novel Clytie is one of my favorites:

The water near the spring is hot enough to sting. Semele's look is hotter. Her arms reach for me like hungry creatures. Her body folds into mine. Her knee travels my hip.

I know the feel of a woman who denies her needs. Mistress Dalia will spend months in the big world, ordering people around instead of fucking them. When she comes to the Island, she takes me to bed before the servants finish unloading her luggage.

Semele is too proud to voice her craving. I take her ass and lift her. Eros does me proud. My erection is waiting. I ease her down. Her hand guides my knob to her cunt. She shudders and hugs me tight.

Clytie leaps on my back, chews my ear, and kisses my neck. The two women cling to me. Their bodies twist and strive. I stand still and keep my grip on Semele's writhing ass. Waters hot and cold swirl around my legs.

The tall reeds rustle, part, and reveal the redheaded sisters. Their green eyes devour the scene. They take off their too-short tunics. Underneath they are naked. Freckles cover their legs and arms. Their torsos are creamy white. Their cunts are a darker red than their long hair. They step into the pool.

I tell myself I absolutely will not deflower these two. Consorts-in-training are forbidden sex until the day they are sold. Virginity on the auction block can be the difference between sharing a rich bed or scrubbing a kitchen.

Semele's eyes are shut. She makes no sign of noticing the girls. Clytie wraps her legs around my chest and reaches an arm toward each redhead. Their tender bodies press on either side of me. Their lips explore my shoulders. Clytie gives my neck a sharp nip with her teeth. Semele yields a guttural cry and rams her cunt deeper onto my cock.

Clytie rubs her cunt against my spine. I think she means to bring herself off. The girls find ways to cradle more of their flesh against mine. Semele pulls my head toward her breasts.

I'm accustomed to contorting myself to please women. I train for it. Keeping my balance and finding Semele's dark nipple with my lips is a trick I can manage.

Tentative hands reach between my legs from behind. How the girls find room to grope me with Semele and Clytie wrapped close is more than I can figure. Fingertips explore my balls and the base of my erection.

Semele gives another animal cry. Her body shudders with her coming. Clytie's cry is sharper. Her grip is stronger. Her body is hotter. Yesterday she was a virgin. Today she is an expert at frottage, able to rub herself to orgasm on my spine.

Semele grabs my hair, pulls my mouth from her tit, and shoves her tongue past my teeth. Clytie licks my ear and pinches my nipples. The sisters melt away. When I manage to look, they are gone.

 

Ménage à trois

Two men and one woman, I read recently, is the multi-partner sex pairing that appeals most to female readers of erotic fiction. I can see the point. Does sound like fun, doesn't it? Sloppy seconds and all. Two dicks, no waiting.

But for some reason, the ménage pairings in my stories seldom seem to hit that balance. Usually it's a larger group, or two women on one man. My new Glass Rooms series, the first story of which is scheduled to publish December 1, takes a different angle. Couples are paired mostly one on one, but the fun happens among twenty or so other couples in a warren of glass-walled bedrooms where everyone can see what everyone else is doing. 

Here's the first draft of a variation on this idea, with two women and one man in one glass room, and a female-male couple in the other:

            The men join us in the glass room. To my eye, Ilya looks unsettled by his talk with Charlie. But he's man enough to put business aside when it's time for three naked ladies. Kate and Julia drape arms around him, their manner showing him Julio is forgotten. Charlie hugs my shoulders, but he looks at the Russian women.

            Give the man what he wants. I don't have my face painted, but I'm Raven, world class whore. I reach through the clinging bodies of Kate and Julia, find the strong Russian hand I shook earlier, scratch the palm with my fingernail, and roll my eyes in the direction of the other glass room.

            Ilya shrugs Kate and Julia off his shoulders and sweeps me into his arms. He's as strong as his handshake promised. His arms hold me as if I'm weightless. I'm close enough to his face to see the creases of a man older than fifty. I start kissing them, and keep kissing while he carries me to the other glass room.           

            He drops me on my bed. I lie with my legs spread and my arms above my head, and watch him undress. His chest is broad, solid, pale, and lightly haired. When he looks down to take off his expensive Italian shoes, I glance over to see how Charlie's doing.

            Julia has his pants unbuckled and her hand in his silk boxers. Kate is working on the buttons of his stiff white shirt. They're kissing and rubbing with as much skill as I've seen from any whore. But Charlie has time to return my glance and give me a moment of his smile.

            Ilya pauses in his undressing to watch his women service another man. I wait for his eyes to return their attention to me. When they do, I arch my back, shift my hips, and open my arms.

            Ilya drops his skivvies and climbs on me. His cock is at my cunt right away, finds me wet, and slides on in. It's medium sized but energetic, a pecker that knows what it wants.

            I give it. There's a kind of hotshot who only wants a missionary fuck, but wants it hard and humpy. I throw all my energy into riding with Ilya's strong bounces, and use my legs, arms, and breathless squeals to beg for more.

            His lips find mine and let my tongue get into the act. His eyes close. His hips move harder. His cock hits enough of the right places to make my screeches genuine.

            Next door, Charlie is showing me he knows what to do with two women. He's on his hand and knees, with Kate splayed on her back, with his head in her crotch, while Julia lies between his legs and suck his cock.

            He flips to his back, settles Kate on his cock, and works Julia's tits with his tongue.

            I look up at Ilya's face. His eyes have followed mine to the next room. I wrap my hands in his slick hair and kiss him harder. He responds with a wild spree of humping.

            He doesn't feel like a man who'll be ready to come anytime soon. I'm in for a long, sweaty ride. I more or less put Charlie out of my mind, and give the guy all I've got.