The Toilet – Femdom erotica

 A femdom story about a human toilet. A hard-core story of female domination and the extremes to which it may lead.

Mistress Misery was not one generally for making physical contact with her slaves, preferring to make them suffer for her pleasure online, and certainly she never envisaged ever allowing one into her respectable and well-appointed domestic arrangements.

But when Kelvin Oliver fell for her when he came to fix a faulty lavatory, she found herself considering the impossible, the most extreme, the most degrading involvement that could ever be imagined.

If Mistress Misery was going to have an commitment at all, it would have to be all of that….and more.

Much, much, MUCH more…

Written by a practicing British Dominatrix, the author of the cult classic ‘Mistress Misery’.

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To have this FemDom classic on your Kindle (or other device) in under a minute click HERE.

February 24, 2014  Tags: , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Best Kindle Erotica – Daisy Boon

What I consider to be among the best kindle erotica is this new novel from Daisy Boon – author of the memorable: Descent into Servitude.

The path of true love is often never straight forward and so it is proving for Clark who loves his girlfriend, the young delectable Madeline, but finds it hard to wait for any intimacy with her, given her shyness and innocence. His impatience leads him to stray, not once but twice, and the results of his foolishness takes him swiftly to a point in his life, where he has to demonstrate repentance and to make and amends, or lose the love of his life forever. His punishment and subsequent burden is unique and extraordinary, and he is ultimately given a year to prove himself and show his worth and devotion to his Maddy under the guidance of Madeline’s mother and her insightful book and code of his coming service and lifestyle, entitled The Bible of Modern Love!
Daisy Boon details, in her inimitable, special style, Clark’s battle as he fights gallantly against his slide into inescapable, inevitable obedience and submission, demonstrating brilliantly how there is definitely more than one way to show your true love to your wife or female partner!

If you enjoyed Descent into Servitude from the bestselling Daisy Boon, then you will simply worship this book!

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A Year to Prove Myself on AMAZON

February 5, 2014  Tags: , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Date My Mom – Emilia Blythe

Date My Mom is a steamy tale of interracial passions where an apparently respectable married middle-aged woman becomes obsessively entwined with her daughter’s black boyfriend, and everybody’s lives are changed forever. A dark tale of erotically perverted passions!

Often things are never quite as they appear. A seemingly demure, pretty, contented housewife and a wonderful marriage is sometimes just a façade. So it is for Emmy, on the surface, the perfect wife to Bailey, her younger husband, and mother to teenage Summer. Emmy is apparently settled, domesticated and looks to the outside world as though butter would never melt in her innocent mouth. But it had, many times when she had been younger and wilder, and behind her everyday homeliness there is a suppressed sexual part of her that has lain dormant for far too long. It may have remained that way forever, but for a stupid, puerile suggestion from her husband, who seems to be increasingly and noticeably consumed by his own dark desires. The proposal he makes seems innocuous, but involves Summer’s new, strong, handsome, black boyfriend and from the first mention of the idea, all of their lives are rapidly changed almost without them realising what is happening.

Emilia Blythe is the new up and coming star in erotic fiction; her genre of middle aged women dealing with their lives and sexuality is becoming an unmissable, erotic event and treat. Take a step inside her perverted world and find out what really goes on behind closed doors!

Date my mom

EXTRACT:

 

I loved to brush my hair; especially in long, hard, firm strokes right before I went to bed at night.

It was blonde and straight but if I was honest, my adornment was not as natural and bright a colour as it appeared; it was in truth a little deeper and darker than that, just like I was I suppose!

I seemed as though I was the wholesome, perfect middle aged, happy wife and I supposed in many ways I was, but like most of the women I had known, I was not quite as I seemed.

I had a chequered, promiscuous past, a daughter out of wedlock when I had been, but a mere child myself.

From that point in my life it had been an ongoing struggle to keep my daughter, and then provide for her through unimaginable, hardship and poverty.

My own family was never that supportive.

When I first met my husband Bailey Nailson, I always knew from the beginning that he was never really my type; he was somewhat immature and over 5 years younger than I was.

He was eternally shy, somewhat insipid, with a thin, pale face and unspectacular, lean physique, but he had silky, black hair, sparkling brown eyes and was, in his own unique way, quite handsome.

The most irresistible part about Bailey, and I say this with some confessed shame, as I never set out in my life to be mercenary; the young man was spectacularly rich and fortunately for me, seemed to love me from almost the very first time we had met.

On that basis, and the fact I had a child in tow he adored immediately as well and was willing to take on with me, we became an item, got engaged quickly and wed soon afterwards.

I mean, given the dire straights I was in, how could I resist him or refuse his proposal of marriage!

From the moment we formally pledged our lives in the quaint, historic, white washed, local church, some 9 years ago, life for me and my lovely daughter, Summer, was transformed.

I therefore appreciated and treasured my husband every day for the privileged existence we now led and what he so generously and lovingly provided for us.

My pretty offspring, looked like me, but her hair was actually more spectacularly blonde than mine was; she had just turned 18 and was enrolled at the local High where she was in her final year before university.

Bailey doted on her as he did on me, and we had grown extremely close as a family over our time together, although my daughter sometimes became a little irritated and frustrated at some of my husband’s unique and somewhat ongoing, unusual habits and obsessions.

Thankfully she most certainly did not know them all!

Bailey to his credit and my eternal gratitude tried to become so involved in her life, always wanting to see her looking lovely and taking almost religious interests with her social development and early boyfriends.

I always enjoyed a very honest and intimate relationship with my daughter; in many ways we were more like sisters and I always encouraged her to have an open attitude to boys and sex, in particular.

I discussed everything with her and ensured that she was on the pill from the earliest stage of her teenage life.

She therefore spoke and confided to me about pretty much everything, as girls in general tend to do.

I was determined that there was no way she was going to make the same early, stupid mistakes in her life as I had!

I was therefore aware that she had lost her virginity some time ago and happily for me, now seemed confident, experienced, mature and eminently capable of looking after herself.

However, Bailey was somewhat of an innocent, did not have the inside track or privilege to my girl’s personal, sexual secrets and, bless him, still thought my darling daughter was an untouched virgin….

 

To continue reading this interracial tale or perverted need click on the link below.

‘Date My Mom’ on AMAZO

October 24, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Story: Sexual Blackmail – Extract

I love writing stuff that really turns me on. I love communicating with my audience in the best possible way. I have just reviewed all my stories using  Grammarly for proofreading because I like to wage the War on Error and present my stuff the best that it can be,

‘Sexual Blackmail’ is the title of my short story new short story which (though I do say so myself) has become something of a classic. It is the character study of a very bad man indeed. I had such fun creating such a vile and despicable character… The story centres on a senior prison officer who uses his position to sexually exploit the female relatives of the prisoners he has in his care. Through a mixture of subtle and not-so-subtle threats and promises he uses them for his own gratification. because he has this position he is able to gain power over these women. The story is about how far a human being will go when he has abosolute power over another. Joe Harrison, is not a nice man, he is not meant to be a nice man. Quite the opposite he is as corrupt as a person can me. Personally corrupt, professionally corrupt and proud of it. But in the end does he have it all his own way, perhaps there is a twist…and not the obvious one either…..

 

The extract below is the beginning of ‘Sexual Blackmail.

***

Sunday

Joe Harrison forked another piece of the beef into his mouth. It was just as he liked it, pleasingly pink in the middle and mouth-wateringly tender. ‘Lovely piece of beef, Joy’, he said as he dug on into a crispy roast potato. In fact the whole thing was perfect. The garlic roasted potatoes, the mustard mash, the glazed carrots, minted petit pois, and of
course the bloated Yorkshire pudding; and all slavered in thick rich brown gravy. It was Sunday lunch time and he was here for his weekly perk. And all the trimmings.

He looked at the woman sitting opposite him. She wasn’t eating, didn’t have anything on the table in front of her. She would eat later she had told him. She was just sitting there staring down at the table while he ate. He knew she wished him gone.

She was in her mid-forties, blond and slim. Her skin was tanned but looked like it had endured a few too many expensive beach holidays. But other than that she was attractive looking in that older woman sort some men liked. Well, in the way he liked. Especially on a Sunday.

Her clothes, like the room itself, were understated, reeked of class. Made a nice change he thought. He liked coming here. It was a big house and he liked to feel all of it around him. His for a day. Too big for a woman on her own, he thought. His eyes never left her as he ate. He liked to savour this part.

‘Take your top off Joy’, he said. Give me something to look at.’ The woman looked up at him, looked at him for what seemed like a long time but was in fact only a couple of seconds. She was wearing a mango-coloured top which she proceeded to lift up and over her head. Then she sat back, eyes cast down staring into her lap.

Jim leaned back in his chair. ‘Joy’, he said. ‘When I said “get your top off’ didn’t you think it’s because I want to see your tits? The bra as well…off.’ The woman looked down as if she hadn’t heard his words.

‘Please…??’ She looked up at him.

‘Off.’ She looked back into her lap and bent forward to unhook the white silk bra, and lowered it onto her knees.

‘Now that’s better’, Mr Harrison said, chewing. He looked from her face to her tits. In truth they weren’t that great, she was slim-bordering on scrawny and what she had was sagging anyway. But really, as he well knew, it wasn’t just about him having a look, it wasn’t about the actually quality of her tits; it was about him making her feel exposed, uncomfortable.

No point in being in control if you didn’t use it was there? And he, as they both knew, was in control here. ‘Don’t be rude Joy; look at me when I am talking to you. Look at me.’

He idly chased the last few peas around his plate, and made sure she saw his staring. His eyes flicked from her eyes down to her tits and back again. She was insecure about her breasts he could see that all over her body language. He knew which buttons to press.

He pushed his clean plate away, and sat back. ‘Lovely’, he said licking his lips. ‘Perfect. You know what time it is now don’t you Joy?’

She stared back with a blank expression. Yes she knew what time it was. Every Sunday was the same.

‘It’s time to get under the table Joy; time to show me your gratitude.’

Joy stood up very slowly, her face set in a resigned mask. She smoothed her hands on her skirt, and bent down and crawled under the table. He sat back and waited for her fingers to start fumbling around his zip.  When it came he could tell she was tentative, it took her what seemed like an age to free his prick. He was already hard. Already he was needing her mouth around it. And when it came it felt good. She was a bit of a faded beauty to look at, but she had a practiced mouth and that was more important than looks.

‘God’, he thought as he sat back and gave himself to it.
‘I so fucking love my job.’

Monday

There was no doubt about It, Joe Harrison was corrupt. The thing was he didn’t mind being corrupt. He actually enjoyed it, loved it; it was part of the way he thought about himself. It was what he was. Knowing he was corrupt, and yet maintaining an unblemished professional persona for his superiors put a spring in his step. He always knew more than them. It didn’t just give him a sense of importance; it gave him a sense of supremacy.

He stared into the bathroom mirror. He was 50, but looked older. Too much smoking, too much drinking, and too little proper exercise had given him a blubbery haggard look. But he had got to the point of being past caring. His looks had never been an asset. He was resigned to his face and reconciled to his ballooning body. He enjoyed the effect it had on women…

 ***

My stories are available to download in for any device and in any format from both Amazon UK and USA.

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October 14, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Interracial sexual horror story by Cruella Pain

A dark and disturbing interracial erotic horror story of interracial eroticism, domination and…unspeakable evil…
Everyone wanted to find out about Earl. He wasn’t like the rest, he was reclusive withdrawn, somehow different. He seemed set himself apart. But the crew wanted to know more, to find out what lay beneath the surface of the self-effacing Third Officer…

erotic-horrorSo they took him to downtown New Orleans; they found him a woman; they paid to find out, to satisfy their curiosity. But in the most notorious voodoo club in New Orleans, Les Fleurs du Mal – everything was to change.

The crew never did find out. Earl was strange when he came back, somehow altered. Different. Tainted. And it frightened them.

Something fundamental had been done to him. It had started as a joke, but now nobody was laughing.

And not a single one among them ever suspected the truth…

Over 18 only. Word count 6,766

***

EXTRACT:

The taxi picked up the English crew at Westwego, on the south bank of the Mississippi. They were full of the prospect spending some time ashore in New Orleans. As the car rolled away from the Grain Terminal and left the ship behind, the taxi driver gave them some ideas in the sleepy, dangerous local drawl, though they hardly needed the pointers. The captain, particularly, had been running into New Orleans and enjoying the famous nightlife for years. There was only one among them who could really be described as a complete greenhorn; the reclusive third officer, Earl.

Earl contributed nothing to the excited discussion about what might lay in store that night. He sat in determined silence behind the driver, watching the light of the bungalows flash by along the main road. His face was not handsome, but there was an engaging honesty and his delicate features as the light washed over them, and it was all too plain that he was very ill-at-ease.

It was Earl’s birthday, his twenty-fifth, and his shipmates had made him come. He never took the opportunity to go ashore with the crew and they all felt that it was high time he did. The captain particularly wanted to ‘blood’ him, as he called it, and took it upon himself as a duty to bring the young man out of his shell. He did not much like Earl, actually, and they all took the captain’s lead in the car when he began to make lewd suggestions and bait him with questions about his virility. Underneath all the laughter was a hard edge and Earl felt it keenly. They were not sure about his sexual credentials, and he knew that they were resolved to find out.

As they went up onto the three-lane, elevated section through Marrero and Harvey he found that he was beginning to sweat, even in the air conditioned cab. He knew in his bones that he would not be able to satisfy the macho requirements of his shipmates, nor perform adequately for the paid girl that they would no doubt be setting him up with. He kept his face turned to the streetlights leading away south over the bungalows, out to the far darkness of the bayous and the Gulf of Mexico beyond, and tried to think of a way out.

By the time they reached the twin bridges and sped across the great, languid stream of the Mississippi, Earl had thought of nothing more subtle and effective but trying to get drunk as quickly as possible and getting out of it as being obviously inebriated beyond the point of being capable of sex.

To continue reading this interracial erotic horror story click on the link below:

The Flowers of Evil on AMAZON

 

August 22, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

A True Story of Forced Prostitution

A true story forced prostitution – Miner’s Wife, Police Whore is an unflinching piece of writing which tells an untold story from the Great Strike of 1984; a story of the hidden abuse of a community, and of one woman in particular. Ruthie Tudor was a miner’s wife – fully loyal to the strike – who was forced through poverty and circumstance to become a ‘collaborator’ with the oppressors. From going topless in a ‘police’ pub after hours, to selling herself for sex, the story illustrates well the desperation, and the lasting repercussions of a bleak period in our history.
The story is told with candour and spirit; a testament to a sorrowful time, and a form of exploitation that was never properly reported, if it was reported at all. A true journey into a sexual hell told by the woman who lived it.

EXTRACT:

I looked across the bar, at all the red angry faces. Many of them had been drinking all day. But this is what they had come for. This is what they had come to see; a miner’s wife forced to take her top off for the enemy. A wife forced to degrade herself to feed her family. That Inspector’s voice rang in my head, his words harsh but not without truth; ‘we’re the fucking Masters now.’

I looked at them and wondered how we had all come to this. Was it for this that we had worked and struggled all our lives, to be driven to this kind of desperation? I left the bar and moved into the back. The pub doors were locked, it was nearly midnight. I could hear them singing that ‘get your tits out’ song.

I looked at Jimmy; he didn’t like it any more than I did. I was embarrassed that a friend should have to see me doing this.  To give him his due, he looked away while I removed my top and bra. Phil, my husband, just thought I was doing my usual bar job with a bit of after-hours overtime. He’d go insane if he knew. But I couldn’t think of him right then. Too upsetting. I listened to them singing. It was getting louder. Some were starting to chant. ‘Tits out, tits out, tits out…’

Jimmy whispers, ‘Best get in there Ruthie, don’t worry pet.’ He gave me a tight little smile. He hated this, but the police have him over a barrel as well . I took a deep breath and walked into the light.

I felt like I was trapped in a zoo, with all the animals on the outside looking in.

***

To continue reading this much acclaimed true account please click on the links below:

AMAZON UK

AMAZON USA

 

July 4, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

The Campus WHORE by Joanne Weston

An unflinchingly honest account of a descent into sexual addiction told by a woman who went to university at the age of thirty-nine, and shed her previous life to embrace the temptations of campus life – a story of liberated need and despairing craving.

Before Joanne attended the University of York, she was a ‘not-unhappy’ wife and mother to two teenagers. As an insecure mature student she soon discovers the many and diverse opportunities that university can offer, and realises that the person she thought she was didn’t really exist anymore. Slowly the layers are peeled away to reveal a women whose compelling need for sexual contact and attention gained her a reputation on campus, a reputation which sucked her into a shadowy world of exploitation and squalor.

This is a story of an addiction, an addiction not just to sex, but to being randomly promiscuous, being available, being…’Anybody’s’

4346366_lsssssssWord count: 15,547
Some explicit content.

EXTRACT:

Prologue

I sit here typing. It is late afternoon and the clock is ticking. I decided right after waking this morning that I would stay in tonight. I always think that. But I know the clock is ticking. And those ticks are getting louder and louder as the afternoon starts to move towards evening. They are starting to sound like a giant’s footsteps in the distance. And they are getting louder; coming closer…soon they will be upon me, in my head. Soon.

I try to shut them out, think of other things; writing this, tomorrow, other things. But deep inside myself I know that I will be going out again. Sooner or later my mind will just flip from that determination to have at least one night ‘in’ to; what does it matter? Suddenly I will convince myself that while I am still in control I am somehow choosing to go. I could stay in tonight, but no, I’ll go out. Stay in tomorrow. My mind will start to roam through my wardrobe, selecting this, rejecting that; trying on various ‘looks’, imagining the effect they will have…on others…on me.

And where will I go? Which day is it? Which place will offer me what I want? I do complex calculations, working out the best combination of dress, location and night to find what I need. And as I do them I start to feel my skin itch. Like insects running all over me. They will give me no peace, won’t let me rest. I need to shower, need fresh clothes… I can’t just sit here typing can I?

I think back to last night, and know that I really shouldn’t go out again. I never feel good in the mornings. Not because of the alcohol, I rarely drink enough; but because of the remorse. If I had a man back I will feel cheap and somewhat ashamed, if I didn’t I will feel inadequate and insecure. Rejected.

Last night, as more often than not, I did. But already it is difficult to bring him to mind. I have to make a real conscious effort to remember anything about him, where we met, what we did. Even the memory of the sex is faded, shrouded by the veil of regret. But the details are less important to me than the fact of it. Whoever or whatever he was he was better than no-one, better than staying in. Better than denial. Better than sitting here typing.

As I feel I shouldn’t, as I know I will regret it, as I understand that I while I can resist I no longer want to, I decide. I click on save, I shut down the computer and I stand up.

The footsteps are banging in my head; the insects are crawling over my skin.

Such is my life.

*

‘So how did I go from Mrs Boring-Bland of Scarborough, wife, mother and lady who lunched to what I am today; a barfly who spends her free time sitting in bars with a skirt too short for her age and too many buttons undone to be accidental?’

‘I had become a sex addict. I was (and am) a sex addict, I was known on campus as a sex addict and targeted by some because I was a sex addict. I was burning my life bridge by bridge. And somehow I managed the feat of not caring and despairing all in one. And that’s the point where I always wanted them gone; the point where I wanted to be alone. I knew the tears would come, my tears, my business. My life.’

***

If you want to read on, please use the link below.

‘Anybody’s’ on AMAZON

 

June 28, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Flash Fiction – The Brick Wall of Submission

I was living in London the first time I experienced a submissive encounter.

I had just started dating this man. He was a little bit older than me, had a few more tattoos than I was accustomed to and was surprisingly well-travelled for twenty-none. There weren’t many places he hadn’t been. At first we didn’t seem to have a lot in common, but there was something about the way he touched me and the physical chemistry we had. The first night I met him, the first night we made out, he slammed me   -and I mean really slammed me – up against a wall. He took my breath away. That’s not something I’m usually into, you know – the rough stuff. strange walls; I usually like it slow and gentle. But with him, it was different. There was electricity there. It was so strong that it was palpable; it radiated between us and electrified the room. It set my body on fire.

iStock_000009791545XSmallIt had been a few weeks, we had done the dinners and even had sex a few times. A few sober, a few drunk. You know how it goes.

But then that night came. He rang the bell to my apartment. I went down to let him in and in the instant I could tell something was different, almost like he was carrying a secret I didn’t know about. He told me he was taking me to dinner and as the words left his mouth, he formed a devilish grin.

He took me down the street to his favourite Thai restaurant and announced that he would be ordering for me. I was caught off guard, but assumed it was because it was his favourite restaurant, surely he knew the menu better than I did.

As our dishes arrived, he told me I had to wait until he was ready for me to eat. Once again my naivety got the best of me and I proceeded to wait. I grabbed my fork after a few minutes, as he ate in silence and moved it towards my plate. He eyed me. “What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m going to eat. My food is getting cold.” “I didn’t say you could,” he retorted. I could tell he mean it. I mean really meant it. He was suddenly very serious

The look in his eyes was fueled with anger. I put the fork down.

The night continued on this way. Part of me was confused, part of me was angry and a bigger part of me was getting turned on. There was something to the control aspect that was suddenly incredibly appealing. I could tell that he sensed my cocktail of emotions and played into them further, but it wasn’t until we left the restaurant and caught a cab back to his house that I knew something was about to go down. Something I had never experienced before.

He paid for the cab and we hoped out, me following him, but he didn’t go to his door. I didn’t wonder and didn’t stop. He led me down the brick alleyway near his apartment and pushed me up against the wall in the same way he did the first night I met him. There was that electricity again.

He pulled me in close and said, “You didn’t listen to me at dinner. You need to be punished. Are you ready for your punishment?” Once again, I was hit with shock, confusion and excitement. I didn’t have time to stop myself before I said, “Yes.”

He quickly turned me around, placed my hands high upon the brick wall and lifted my dress.   “You will be spanked  now,” he said and moved down my thin barely there panties. I held my breath, my heart stopped and I could hear the wind up. My fingers gripped into the brick as the smack came down. I couldn’t help but yelp out.

“Stop holding your breath,” he said, and with that another smack rained down and another and another. Each building in force, but lessening in pain. The excitement within me grew as I gripped tighter to the brick.

He turned me around, my face red, my body weightless. I stared back at him in a delirious state as he asked me if I liked it. I knew it wasn’t a question requiring an answer. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out an condom, unzipped his pants and rolled it down his rock hard cock.

He told I needed to turn around again. At this point, I didn’t know where he was going with this. We had had the usual sex and messed around with a few Adam & Eve anal toys, but we had never truly taken the plunge, but after the spanking, I felt like it was the only place to go.

He quickly shoved a finger in my mouth, pulled it out and placed it near my backside. He worked it around, poking in and out of my already sensitive ass and then slowly added another finger. My body was explosive from the mix of the brick, the spanking and the unexpectedness of it all and he could tell. He took out his fingers, positioned himself right behind me and I resumed my grip on the brick as I spread my legs a little further.

I prepared myself for the plunge, the bounty plundering, but he missed it and went unexpectedly and amazingly to the front. He was pleasantly surprised by my wetness and furiously pumped away. His excitement built as mine did and we exploded in a few short seconds, sweating and panting against the brick wall.

He flung the condom off into the alley, zipped up his pants, picked up my panties and said, “You were good, but you have to go home now. I’ll call you when I want to see you again.”

I was instantly hooked.

***

 

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June 24, 2013   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Mother / Daughter Sex Story…

A classic mother daughter sex story.

The searing tale of a mother who forces herself to tread the same sordid path as her daughter…
‘Six months to the day after finding her only daughter had hanged herself, Nina Parker sat down and in between sips of the extra-large gin and tonic at her elbow pecked out the following on her brand new laptop.
‘The girl in the picture is my daughter, Leanne. She is nineteen years old and my only child. I am desperate to find her. Following a stupid argument she left and I have not seen or heard from her since.’
She then selected a revealing pic of her daughter, and posted both on some of the internet’s most ‘dubious’ sites. The internet’s dangerous underbelly. There she is contacted by a man known only as ‘The-Bastard’, and so her journey in the footsteps of her daughter begins…
A journey of humiliation and despair, guilt and degradation. Literary erotica of the highest order. A cult classic.

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Extract:

Look at Leanne’s mum today. That’s her standing on the corner. She stands there every night now in all weathers. She knows the skirt is too short for somebody her age, and she knows her blouse has way too many buttons undone. She knows she looks cheap and available. That’s because she is cheap and available. Very cheap, and very available.  But does she give a shit?

Everybody knows she will never say no. She can’t. She is desperate for your attention. She is the go-to bitch when you want something extra, that something a bit extreme that a normal girl will say no to. And she accepts peanuts, mention her daughter and she will even give you a discount.

She is a pervert magnet. She knows it. This is how is has to be. The guys who want the most extreme for the least money…and if it turns her stomach…so what? Just adds to their fun. And if she hates it…even better.

Doesn’t she just deserve it?

But it wasn’t always like that…

 

***

Six months to the day after her only daughter killed herself Nina Parker sat down and in between sips of the extra-large gin and tonic at her elbow pecked out the following on her brand new laptop.

The girl in the picture is my daughter, Leanne. She is nineteen years old and my only child. I am desperate to find her. Following a stupid argument she left and I have not seen or heard from her since.

I found this site in the ‘favourites’ of her laptop. I don’t know her username or any of her activity here. I am seeking any information that might help me to find her. This is a very urgent and heartfelt plea. My daughter is naïve and trusting. Vulnerable. I really do need to make contact as soon as possible.

I feel so alone without her, especially as I have also broken up with my boyfriend.

Please help me reunite with my daughter. Yorkshire, UK-based.

Reward offered for information leading to our reunion. Thank you.’

Of course at the heart of it was a lie. But the roots of the lie grew from a truth she was unable to face in any other way. The websites where she intended posting her plea were not in Leanne’s favourites at all; she herself had unearthed them after researching those places where this particular appeal was most likely to fall on dubious ground.

Finding them hadn’t been easy. It had taken weeks of trawling and lurking around some of the internet’s most repellent and distasteful sites. Not just sex but perverted sex, sadistic sex, non-consensual or forced sex; the kind of sex which hid itself away in the darkest of corners.

This posting had to go on those places where the most vicious of predators lurked, the shadiest and most squalid part of the internet’s underbelly. She knew that only such men could provide the answers she needed; only they could bring her the redress she had to have, no matter what the cost.

It was no longer a choice that she had. It was a compulsion. However much she feared it; and she did fear it, she knew it had to be. Just had to be.

She read her words through three times. It would be like blood in the water to a shark, but then that came with the territory. She had to do what she had to do; come what may. The time for thinking and drinking was over. Now was the time to do it.

She selected a picture of Leanne from around two years ago. One taken before the bad times had taken hold. She was on a beach in Brighton on her birthday, smiling at the camera. It was a favourite, one she had also framed in her bedroom. It showed Leanne’s happy smiling face and slim but well-developed figure in a red bikini.

It was a very scanty bikini, the most revealing one she had. It didn’t hide very much. But then she didn’t want the picture to hide much did she? Wasn’t that the point? Didn’t she need to parade her daughter to these men? Didn’t all fishing start with bait?

Why was she doing this? Why would she post such a picture to such places? Why would she expose Leanne to the kind of men on those sites? Because she had to. She couldn’t not do it and still live with herself. The course of her life was set now. All she had to do was go with it. Now that she had prepared it, and it was in her power to put it out there into the darkness she felt her breathing tighten. Would a normal mother do this? She glanced across the room and saw herself in the dressing table mirror. To some, perhaps most it would be a pretty face, but to her it was a face she hated; a face that lurked in all reflections; in her house, in her mind, in her life. It was true; no normal mother would do this. But then these days she was no normal mother. And hadn’t been for some time.

***

To continue reading…please click on the link below.

Like Daughter…Like Mother… on AMAZON

June 18, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Classic interracial sex story – Sibling Rivalry

Anyone who has read this blog knows that I am a Big Fan of author Tiggy Mills. And this is certainly the case after reading her latest offering ‘Sibling Rivalry.’ This story takes the ‘interracial sex story’ to new levels of erotic delight. Who else can write so compellingly about the ‘darker’ side of interracial sex, degradation, humiliation and domination than the diving Miss Mills? Highly recommended, a long, powerful, stimulating and ‘meaty’ read…

12386757_mlsss

 

 

A lurid tale of interracial lust and how a single dynamic black man can take sexual control of a whole family in an unbelievably warped way. If you like your sex, as you like your coffee, strong black with a delicious twist of white, then this is definitely the story for you! A tale that could only be born through the bestselling mind of Tiggy Mills.

This is a most lurid tale of interracial lust and how a single dynamic black man can take sexual control of a whole family in an unbelievably perverted way. This story extends the boundaries of interracial domination, humiliation and control…

Living things always have to be true to their nature. Scorpions sting and Roosters have to dominate and spread their seed regardless of any morality. Celia and Anna are young and rich sisters sent by their Member of Parliament father to explore an inner city, sink estate for political information and experience. Two, young, innocent, plump chick lets that somehow naively, meet and become involved with the biggest, darkest Cock who captivates them and who’s sexual power proves irresistible. But it was only for few days and what can happen in a week or so? But it was long enough to change everything – not only for the chick lets but for their whole family. The dangerous black Rooster acquires a control, and his sense of perversion knows no bounds!

 

Click for Sibling Rivalry on Amazon

 

 

 

 

June 10, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

A Mummy Who Flashes Her Tits…

I have finally plucked-up courage to be who I know I really am. To be what I really am. It is around 10.00pm, the darkness of the evening is settling in. Lights are coming on in the houses and flats opposite, and I can see people through windows. People are going about their everyday lives, people who are mostly oblivious of being observed in those tiny squares of distant light.

I stand concealed in the darkness of my hotel room; the double doors leading out onto the balcony are fully open. I am breathing very heavily. Gulping for air. I am almost passing out from excitement; from fear. I am afraid of my needs. They scare me. I scare me. I have a lovely settled comfortable life. Why am I doing this?

15I can feel the chilling night breeze passing over my body. I am wearing panties and shoes only. My nipples are hard and I wonder if I can do it. I wonder if I can make timid, fearful me actually do it.

But deep inside I know that I will, I will have to; because if I don’t do it now then I never will. Ever. Opportunities like this are rare for me, too rare; to be away from home, alone in a hotel for the night. I have wanted this moment for so long, fantasised about it; pined for it. I know if I wimp out now I won’t be able to live with myself. I have to. It is the point of no return.

And as intimidated as I am, as frightened as I am my feet move me forward. Gingerly I step, one foot in front of the other until I am at the very front of the balcony. My hands grip onto the front bar. I want to do stay out there no matter what happens until I count to a hundred.

My body feels alive, touched by the night. Like being caressed by a ghost. My nipples are tingling, and my breasts beginning to throb, I count…

One…two…three……too fast, you’re wimping… slow down. One-elephants-two-elephants-three-elephants-four-elephants…

My mouth is dry and excitement makes it hard – well impossible – to swallow. I look at the windows opposite me. I can’t see anyone looking. That’s the point though, I never expected to. But at the same time anyone could be looking at me, sets of hidden furtive eyes seeing me topless. Anyone. Anonymous. Strangers.

I try and swallow but can’t. Fifty-elephants-fifty-one-elephants….

I look down to the street four floors below. Will anyone look up? Do I want them to? Really want them to? Yes I do. Yes I do. I want to be seen. Just like I want someone in the dark squares opposite to be looking right now, perhaps they are even hard for me, maybe even wanking off while they look. I hope so.

Please God.

Seventy-five-elephants-seventy-six-elephants….

Have a good look I think, embracing the moment. I take a deep breath, I thrust my chest out. Have a fucking good look I am thinking. Anybody at all.

Look. Look!

My elephants pass a hundred and still I stand there. I am more relaxed now. Comfortable. Still excited but not caring who sees, the more the merrier really. I light a cigarette and I stand there smoking, hoping the smoke might draw extra eyes.

I am aware that I have crossed a threshold tonight; the line between fantasy and reality. I know it is just the start. I can feel that this will be a long journey for me. I can feel it will become my life; or at least a life.

I have given up control of who might or can see me naked. From now on my body is no longer confined to my husband. My nakedness is anybody’s.

And I can feel my juices escaping my thin panties and running down my leg.

I am alive at last.

April 22, 2013  Tags: , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Recommendation: My Sexual Peak – Emilia Blythe

If there is a category ‘best Kindle Erotica’ then this new book by new author Emilia Blythe must surely be in it.

There is a fact that women reach their sexual peak at around 40 and men at 19, or is it a myth? It certainly seemed like that to Evelyn Graham! She was now 40, on the cusp of middle age, recently divorced and when she looked in the mirror she no longer relished her reflection. She was still attractive, with a pretty face, and fine lustrous brunette hair but the flush of youth had long left her. She had always been a good girl; that’s how she had been brought up. She’d followed the moral path, married young, had a daughter, been faithful, even though her husband had not been, and was no great shakes in bed!

She’d been hard-working and now, as she reached the tipping point of middle-age, she suddenly had nothing.

17052939_lHer daughter Isabella was at university, leading a full educational and sexual life, a life that made Evelyn irrationally confused and envious and now her husband was off with some juvenile, stupid bimbo!

At 40, she didn’t feel needed or wanted or sexual at all; she just felt lost!

But sometimes the hour of greatest darkness comes just before the dawn and a new sexual day and adventure was arising for her, all she needed to do was reach bottom and suddenly there was only one way to go. Could she let go of her sexual repression and deep set childhood morality that seemed no longer relevant in this strange new modern world. Did she have the courage to grasp the raw, physical, nettle of life?

All she needed was to take that first step, that first venture into a new dark sexuality and sensuality that would take her permanently away from the tepid shore of existence she had lived on for so long.

This is an unforgettable debut novel from new author Emilia Blythe that finally lays bare the truth about a mature, but somehow naïve and inexperienced woman, coming to terms with getting, just that bit older, and rectifying her mistakes whilst she still could.  The story is insightful and poignant and shows what can be achieved when events and circumstances force a woman to look at herself and make changes, decisions and sexual choices that seemed but a fantasy just a short while before. Sometimes, success and personal development is driven by nothing more than necessity and survival.

An emotional tale bristling with debased sexual discovery, energy and realisation that will make you believe that the old wives tale of a sexual peak at 40 and beyond, for a woman, is in fact…definitely true!

EXTRACT:

I was still pretty, shiny dark hair, with good skin and bone structure but the lines and the tired grey and green eyes showed that recent life had not been kind.

Charles left me about three years ago; we hadn’t been happy for a long time, if we ever had? But it still came out of the blue.

He told me he needed a break, some space, a little time but it was lies; he went straight to his young mistress who welcomed him and his cheque book with open arms, and open legs probably!

Was I bitter?

I suppose I was!

Not for the loss of Charles, although the new loneliness and solitude didn’t much suit me; nor the love that had disappeared long ago, or even the irregular and laborious sex some time before that!

If I could remember that far back; the copulation and intimacy was pretty awful even when it had been at its’ best!

But I was bitter for my loss.

My loss of my life that was!

It seemed to have drifted by me as if I had been a spectator.

My only speck of comfort was my dear sweet daughter Isabella, who I loved and adored.

Thankfully she had been a grown up 17 year old when her father and I were divorced and now she was 20, at university studying law.

She was now fully confidently independent and no longer in need of her mummy anymore.

At least when she was young and needy I felt there was a purpose to my life and I strangely missed her reliance and dependence on me but, those Halcyon days were passed and now there was only me to think about.

The sad truth was that no-one needed me anymore!

I looked at myself again, at my lined face and tight eyes and thought that I seemed so fatigued and lacking in energy.

I turned to the side to see if my figure was still svelte, and it was, but I held my large breasts and they were saggier than I recalled and it only reinforced my lack of confidence in my appearance.

I sat and made some tea and just decided that my life depressed me!

All I had to show for my 40 years was my small two-bedroom flat at the side of the park; Charles had hidden all his money in the wrangle of the divorce, as he had his own business and was something of a charlatan!

I knew from hard experience that my ex-husband was a selfish bastard!

I could say, as all men were but the truth was I had little experience to know such a thing.

I had boyfriends before Charles and was much sought after when I had been younger but my husband was the first real man that I had physical relations with and somehow, back in those innocent days, I had been brought up to believe that once you had sex with a man, then you were married.

And we soon were wed; I was a mere slip of a girl at 21, with Isabella growing inside me, and just a few weeks after qualifying in accountancy from university, my life seemed to be set out and completed before it had hardly started.

I knew it was my own fault, it was somehow all of my own choices, but why was I in such a moronic rush to be settled and have a family?

It was a lot to do with my own mother, my upbringing; always being taught to do the right thing, be nice and moral and kind and… frightened?

Was I frightened of life?

I suppose I was and always had been and look where playing it safe had got me?

I was proverbially up the creek without a paddle.

I was old, poor and had virtually the same job with the multinational financial firm I had joined just after Isabella had been born.

I had received zero settlement from my former husband, other than a deposit for the flat, and seemed to now just scrape by financially from week to week

The company I worked for were nice enough, they had always held my position open for me while I had to work part time throughout my daughter’s childhood.

But the sacrifices I made meant the promotions and elevations were for less qualified, able and deserving others, mainly men that didn’t have to carry the burden of a vagina around with them!

It seemed that to get on in life you needed to have a dick!

I sipped my tea and felt myself pulsing in anger at the sheer hopelessness of it all, life was so unfair, especially to me!

The one small ray of comfort was that Isabella was coming home this evening to stay overnight with me and I was looking forward to seeing her pretty face and listening to her outlandish tales from university.

My daughter was not like me at all!

She was wild, courageous, clever and adventurous and seemed to take life head on at all times.

She would tell me intimately about boys she was involved with and it constantly shocked me that she appeared to be so sexually daring and promiscuous and unashamedly proud to be so!

*

To continue reading please use the link below…

My Sexual Peak On Amazon

March 23, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Sex Puppets – A Mother & Daughter Blackmailed…

Another horny milf humiliation story from the dark imagination of Cherry Wild.

Janet Lennon was a jealous mummy; a very jealous and frustrated mummy.
She was jealous of her nubile nineteen year old daughter Martha. More specifically she was jealous of her hot young boyfriend Roddy. One night she is kept awake by the sounds of their sex in the room next door. She is filled with shame but aware of her own needs. Driven mad she resolves to do something about it.

She makes a decision which will change her life. She is compelled by her need for him, compelled by her jealousy of her young daughter. She is determined to have Roddy at ANY cost.

But is Roddy all that he seems? Does he have a hidden agenda of his own even beyond having both mother and daughter? Will getting him be the fulfillment of her desires or the beginning of her nightmare?

Word count, 7,194

EXTRACT:

 

It has just happened again; that ‘I have to fuck her’ moment. The moment when I am somewhere and I never know exactly where or when, but something in my head makes me look at somebody and think ‘It’s You.’

Today it took me by surprise. It is only five weeks since the last one. This one has been sitting up there in the public gallery every day of the trial so far. She is the only women up there. I think she is the victim’s mother. I hope so.

She is looking especially nervous today. So she should be if she is the mother, her little darling is on the stand today and she is going to get a fucking rough ride. Maybe that’s what brought my moment on…the prospect of watching the mother seeing the daughter put through the mincer. Enough to make any man hard.

She keeps looking down at me, probably wondering what I’m thinking. If only she knew. I was surprised to find myself on a jury in a case like this, especially with my past record. Still I’m not complaining, it has all been very entertaining, and should be a good show today once the little tramp takes the stand.

She is looking at me now; there is no more appealing expression on a woman’s face than anxiety. Well apart from fear. I can see she is uneasy. Well she will be a lot more uneasy when this day is through.

I have a plan. Once I have had the ‘I have to fuck her’ moment, a plan always springs to mind. She looks too good to miss really, and vulnerability always entices …I will find a way.

One way or another I have to fuck her. Just have to.

And I will.

***

Susan Berry watched from the packed public gallery in Leeds Crown Court as her eighteen year-old daughter Natalie gave evidence against the man who seven months before had viciously raped and beaten her. Every eye in the courtroom was fixed on her as the female prosecutor took her steadily and gently through her evidence.

Despite the obvious sympathy shown the questions were detailed and intimate. Natalie had been taken through them in preparation, but Susan could see she was starting to wilt a little; starting to hesitate and falter in her answers. Starting to fracture; starting to splinter. She glanced down at the bully-boy defence barrister ostentatiously awaiting his turn; glancing through his notes, scribbling a couple of words here and there. He was making a great show of being unconcerned and repeatedly glancing at his watch to emphasis the time taken by the prosecution.

Susan thought that his performance was pure theatre, designed to unsettle and to threaten. Everyone knew George Land Q.C by repute; a heavyweight in every sense with the reputation of a bruising streetfighter on behalf of his somewhat dubious array of clients. Defence of rapists his ‘obnoxious speciality’, the prosecutor had told her before the trial started. In truth Susan feared what was to come. She feared it because it might hurt her daughter all over again, and also because if Natalie did break down, it could mean her assailant might go free.

The prosecution team had warned both mother and daughter to expect a stormy and belligerent cross-examination. The best form of defence, given the circumstances would be attack. What was true or false wouldn’t matter, only what could be smeared, undermined, insinuated.  It was all down to the issue of consent, her word against his; the hardest of all rapes to prove. The easiest to discredit.

Even though Susan knew what was coming she was helpless. All she could do was sit and watch and hope. She was lost in her thoughts, lost in the sorry memory of that night when she abruptly realised that the moment she had dreaded had arrived. The prosecutor had primly taken her seat and an expectant hush settled upon the courtroom.

The man sitting next to her whispered to the man on his right hand side. ‘Showtime.’

 

If you wish to continue reading this highly erotic story, please click on the links below:

AMAZON USA

AMAZON UK

 

February 22, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Recommended: The Headmaster and Mrs Jones

Forced sex crime story.

10906153_xxlA meeting with her young son’s Headmaster begins a nightmare of blackmail, humiliation and non-consensual sex for Mrs Debbie Jones.

Her son is to be ‘permanently excluded’ from the ‘good’ school he attends and the only alternative is the notorious Hesketh Grange, a rough slum school on a crime-ridden estate. Mr Whittaker the Headmaster is consumed by dark and deeply-rooted sexual needs He is fully prepared to achieve his corrupt ends by ‘any means necessary.’ He holds her son’s fate in his hands. What he wants to know is whether Debbie is prepared to be a ‘good mummy’ to save her son from the bullies, the druggies, and the delinquency of the other school.

But is it enough just to be ‘good’? When does such power go too far? Ask too much? Can even a ‘good’ mummy go bad? And what then? Sometimes even a seemingly cut and dried ‘deal’ can spin out of control

A story which is both powerfully erotic and psychologically insightful, dealing with the abuse of power, forced-sex, sexual sadism, the craving to humiliate and the instinct and satisfactions of revenge.

10906153_xxlAn erotic debut crime novella-with-a-twist from new talent Zoe Thorn.

Strictly adults only. Explicit content. Word count: 18,765

EXTRACT:

Mrs Jones stared across the desk at the man speaking to her. From the sour expression on his face she didn’t doubt for a single moment that this was serious. Unlike the series of ‘warning’ letters she had received over the past two months, this time it seemed some action was to be taken. This time, she was sure; her son was to be suspended.

‘You see, Mrs Jones, this kind of behaviour is quite simply unacceptable; we just cannot continue this way. I have to think of the standards of the school and the proper education of the other pupils…’

Suspension she knew would be a blow, Adam could be a little headstrong and boisterous but he wasn’t a bad kid. Since his father had left he had blown off a little but nothing that warranted this. She looked across at the man tormenting her and knew he was everything she despised.

In his expensive suit and gold-rimmed glasses, his well-cared for skin and thin, high-pitched voice she knew he had come from money, and coming from money he had education and power as a bonus. He had never had to struggle, never had to worry about putting food on the table, he had never had to hunt bargains or cut corners. And there he was sitting across from her, sitting in judgment and about to tell her that her son was to be suspended from school…there he was about to threaten what little she had…her hopes for her son’s betterment.

She just wished he would get to the point and get it over with. Even if it was a week she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging. She would accept it, keep her dignity and self-respect.

And then he came to the point; suddenly and directly to it. And the words hit her like a fist.

‘Permanently? What do you mean, permanently?’ Permanently? What the….’

‘Well what I say Mrs Jones, we simply cannot tolerate Adam in this school environment anymore. I have taken a decision, which will be ratified by the School Governors to exclude Adam permanently.’

‘But…’

‘There is a perfectly adequate school at Hesketh Grange which will perhaps…..suit his…temperament better.’

Hesketh Grange? Everyone in the area knew what Hesketh was. It was a slum school on a slum estate. It had windows they had stopped repairing they had been broken so often; it had dubious young men always hanging around the school gates, it had a record of bullying and crime that was always in the local newspaper.

Hesketh Grange. Please God no.

Her mouth felt dry. Her heart was beating hard. She wanted to cry, run away. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to say something. ‘Please’, she began. ‘Please no.’

‘He looked at her and smiled the thinnest of smiles, one that didn’t show his teeth. ‘I am sorry Mrs Jones. I have my job to do and leaving your son in this school wouldn’t be doing it. I am sure he will find Hesketh more to his…liking.’

It was a calculated insult and found its mark. ‘But he’s…he’s just not…’

‘Well, I am afraid to say Mrs Jones that he is, he simply does not meet the standard of behaviour that we require, and so, ispo facto he must therefore be transported to a place where his behaviour is more suited to his surroundings.’

It sounded brutal he knew. He meant it to. He enjoyed making it so nasty. He could feel himself hardening at her obvious distress, could feel his cock itching for his touch or…more preferably, hers. Soon he thought. Soon.

‘…so there is nothing more to be said, you will be getting the requisite documents in the post when I have ratified them tomorrow. Thank you for coming Mrs Jones.’ He smiled at her. It was a smile of dismissal.

Go now it said, you don’t belong here. You are nothing.

She walked out feeling like a ghost; invisible.

When she had gone he replayed the scene over in his mind several times. Permanent Exclusion was a potent weapon with such women, the ones who had enough decency to be distressed at the thought of their little bastards having to go to Hesketh Grange. He had used it a number of times before with great success. He knew all the moves; Mrs Jones didn’t stand a chance. He loved this job.

Gloried in it.

The next move was the phone call. But not too soon, let it all boil up inside her, let the desperation build…

***

To continue reading this gripping story of blackmailed sex please click on the link below.

 AMAZON USA
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January 20, 2013  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Milf Humiliation Story: Interrogating Mummy

MY new story – another milf humiliation story is now available on AMAZON. ‘Interrogating Mummy’ is the title.

‘Lillian Richards’ home is invaded early one morning. She is told that her son is a hostage, and that the only thing that can cause him harm is her non-cooperation. The invader is a young man who seems to know a lot about her, and who subjects her to an intimate and humiliating interrogation about her sex life and attitudes. He is ruthless and aggressive as he twists and turns her answers in ways that she could never imagine. Twists them, perhaps into the truth?

So begins her descent into a hell of sexual degradation and revelation. Although submitting to him fully, in ‘buying’ her son’s freedom with money and sex, when the ordeal is over she finally realises that it is only just beginning…

A story as cold and chilling as it is hot and sexy. Another humiliation masterpiece from That-Woman!’

EXTRACT:

Her son’s words hit her like a speeding bullet hits a watermelon.

‘Mother…mum… just do as they say, just do it…plea—–‘

The dead line tone replaced the desperate, frightened voice. She knew she would always remember the instant as the moment her life shattered. When nothing would ever be the same again.

She looked at the man standing on her doorstep, the one who had just handed her the phone. His eyes were burning into her. Challenging her. ‘We have your son, Jordan. You are going to co-operate yes?’ It wasn’t a question that needed an answer.

Her mind felt frozen, paralysed. All she could see in front of her was a mouth moving, saying things her mind would not let her understand; a mouth moving faster; more urgently; a mouth twisted with threat. A face contorted with animosity.

All she could hear was Jordan’s voice. Just do as they say. She couldn’t find any words, her mouth seemed to open and close without sound. There was no sound apart from the sound in her head. The shouting, the screaming inside…

Mother…mum…

‘We will go indoors’, he said grabbing her wrist and pushing past her, pulling her along with him, and closing the door behind them. He stared straight into her face as he clicked the lock; trapping her in her own home. Shutting out the world; enforcing a barrier. Making her a prisoner.

Who was he? This man who was now in her home? Lillian stood there unable to move, unable to speak. Unable to think. Helpless.

She swallowed hard, her mind trying desperately to fathom the situation. ’Wha…’, she was trying to speak. Trying to say something; trying to break out of the bubble of her silence. She was looking at him, directly into his face. But she couldn’t see him.

All she saw was her son. It was as if her eyes had reversed and all she could see was inside her own head. The image of Jordan, somewhere at the mercy of…of…something…

‘Go into the living room Mrs. Richards’, he said, ushering her along. His voice seemed very even, his manner polite. Only his appearance made him seem less than respectable. He was perhaps mid-twenties with long straggly dark hair and an advanced state of lighter stubble. His clothes were old but clean, threadbare knees in the denims and a very faded cotton shirt.

He motioned for her to sit, and as if hypnotized she did so in her usual chair. He sat down opposite on the sofa. The thing that stuck her were his eyes, they were unreadable dark stones, emanating something she couldn’t decipher. And when he looked at her he didn’t blink.

She stared back at him and waited for him to speak. The silence seemed to occupy the room. She needed it to end; she needed to know what this was all about.

She tried to say something…anything…but her voice was not available to her. It seemed suspended like the rest of her. Disabled. Deserted. AWOL.

‘Well Mrs. Richards, it is important that you listen very carefully to what I have to say now…very carefully indeed. I am expecting you to cooperate with me. Cooperate fully. I am not here to harm you, or to harm your son. But it is all in your hands. Do you understand me so far? The only person who can cause harm to come to him is you.’

She nodded. She managed to find a voice. ‘What do you want? Wh-who are you?’

‘Your name is Lillian isn’t it?’ It was obviously a rhetorical question. He seemed confident in his words; his knowledge. ‘Forty-two years old, divorced, just the one son. You work at home illustrating children’s books. Correct?’

Gathering herself she managed to say, ‘Yes.’ Later she would wonder where his information came from. Later still she would know…

***

To continue reading please click on the links below, and thank you.

AMAZON UK

AMAZON USA

December 10, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Exposing My Breasts to Strangers

Flashing or exposing my breasts to strangers has always been an inclination of mine. Since my interview with Pippa (the pussy flasher) I have thought about the subject and have decided to set down a few of my own thoughts/exploits in that regard. For a very long time, I have gained a genuine sexual satisfaction from exposing my breasts to strangers. I would not quite call it an obsession, but it is certainly a recurring theme in my life. My ‘flashings’ seem to go in cycles, where I am quite ‘active’ for a time, and then it can lie dormant for a while. Of course opportunity is the key!

My earliest awareness that I enjoyed exposing my breasts was when I was around 15. A friend and I would stand just outside the local railway station and wait for trains to come by. They would just be pulling out and so going quite slow, and we would lift up our tops, exposing our breasts and hiding out faces up to our eyes. It was fun watching the faces going by, watching the guys swivelling their necks to see more, other guys being ‘cool’ about it and the women looking daggers! Thinking back, what I enjoyed most was the disapproval of those staid-looking middle-aged women. They seemed not only to disapprove in principle, they also seemed to look quite threatened, and stop any man they were with from having a good look.

Of course for a true public exhibitionist, holidays offer many opportunities of baring my breasts. Aside from the obvious topless around the pool or on the beach or balcony, the hotel room itself offers many secret pleasures. Many, many times I have turned on the light, left the curtains blind wide e and simple wandered around the room taking my clothes off. I have no idea if anyone or no-one is watching me, seeing me in my intimate state. It could be no-one or indeed many. That is where my excitement lies. The next morning I will pass men in the lobby, bar, dining room, and never know who has seen me who hasn’t. It is fun trying to interpret the good mornings and the smiles as indicators, but you never know. Such flashing, like the beach or pool is actually giving up control of who sees you naked or topless. Of course, you have to pretend to be oblivious. but that seems to make them look all the more obviously. :)

Very low-cut tops in bars and supermarkets also give off the signal to ‘have a free look’, and the more I sense a look, the more bending forward I do. Without a bra and the right top it is easily possible to expose your nipples to strangers even in the most staid of environments. My last one only the other day - was in a hospital waiting room…

And once you have given up control of that, they you feel yourself becoming public property, your tits cease to be ‘your’ tits, they become public property, anyone can have a look. Their age, personal qualities of physical characteristics don’t could. ANYONE can have a look, it is their right, you don’t have control, you can’t stop it. Then again, you don’t want control, you want to be controlled. Flashing your tits in public is giving over control to strangers, and surely that – for a woman like me is the greatest thrill and satisfaction of them all.

So getting my tits out in public IS a turn on, but the real turn on is giving up control, giving it to others, allowing strangers to have that power to look and invade your body with their eyes. But the real truth is that flashing my tits in public makes me horny!

 

 

 

December 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

The Landlady Stories – Milf humiliation

Two bestselling stories together one volume for the first time. ‘The Landlady’s Humiliation and ‘Landlady in the Gutter’, tell the story of the downfall of Joanne Maxwell. From being the successful Landlady of a popular pub, to selling her body cheap to the scum of society. Two stories exposing the underbelly of urban life and the cruelty of sexual humiliation.

The landlady’s Humiliation. A hard-hitting story which centers on the interwoven themes of humiliation and sexual revenge. Set in the Northern part of the UK, the story depicts a period in the life of Joanne Maxwell, a 43 year old pub landlady, who left her husband and children to live with a much younger man, who quickly proceeded to use and dump her. When she goes ‘crawling’ back to her husband he makes her pay a very high price…a story of brutal sexual degradation and public revenge.

Landlady in the Gutter’, picks up her story two years later. Each night Joanne Maxwell submits her body to the humiliations and degradations of strangers in order obtain the money she needs. She lives with her drug-addicted son in a high-crime slum estate. She gets the money her way, to protect him from going back to prison by getting it his way. Her whole life is dominated by his needs. Or is it? Is this really helping him?

Does her son see her nightly outings in the same way? How does he really feel about what she does? When a figure from his murky past re-appears in their lives, Joanne realises that she has an addiction of her own, and things and much more complicated than she thought.

In this story we are taken by the hand and lead into the darkest corners of sexuality with an honesty that is rare. But That-Woman! Always lets the readers see and judge the situation for themselves.

From the author: ‘I have explored the themes of the compulsive allure of sexual cruelty, and the nature of humiliation. I have depicted the abuse in extreme and graphic terms. If we are to fully comprehend the brutal nature of behaviour which is not balanced by consequences. They are harsh and in places harrowing stories. I intended them to be. Sometimes reality – like a fist – can’t be avoided..’

Total word count.  13,739

 

To obtain and read a sample of these acclaimed stories visit:

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November 8, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Three Stories of Female Domination

Among the best kindle erotica this week are three really excellent stories of female domination. All are highly recommended reads for anyone who likes the serious end of female domination erotica.

Taking pride of place is ‘The Tutorial’ by the excellent Christina Marshall.

A highly charged story of erotic female domination.

When Louise West presents her dissertation plan to her university supervisor, he dismisses it with scorn. A study of sado-masochistic relations in literature just isn’t scholarly enough apparently. However, Louise is no ordinary student. Dr Graham Sheldon does not reckon on her sheer determination of his student or her ‘special’ powers of persuasion. When he visits her home to provide her with a tutorial he unwittingly enters a world of pain and fantasy from which he will never escape.

From the author: ‘When I was at university I had a relationship with one of my more senior lecturers. It was brief but very intense. It was a relationship in which I was completely in charge. I felt the wonderful juxtaposition of reversing the usual status of lecturer and student, of having him at my back and call, of teasing him and occasionally hurting him. In this story are two people who have a very unconventional need for each other. It also represents the fulfilment of a long held and frustrated fantasy on the part of the submissive.’

Work count: 9,185

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Following up her success with the story ‘Given to Miss Tate‘ come another ‘Slavehouse’ story from Charlotte Benning: ‘Miss Pearson’s Slavehouse.’

Reports of ‘goings on’ at her address brought two policemen and a woman from Social Services to Miss Pearson’s door. The three of them were relishing the prospect of seeing what exactly lay behind the imposing façade, and using the authority of the state to pick over someone else’s life.

But this call was to be different from their usual. Miss Pearson’s house is no ordinary dwelling, and what goes on there is no ordinary life.

It is a Slavehouse. And all those who enter are changed by the experience…their positions, their authority and their uniforms are no protection…

A highly-charged erotic tale of domination, power, control and enslavement from the author of the bestselling ‘Given to Miss Tate.’

Word count: 8,104

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Finally, and again from Charlotte Benning, we have a tale or true enslavement. ‘Nevermore to Sleep.’

A story of captivity and domination, power and enslavement…one small mistake and a life is gone…

He called at the house where the two girls lived on a thundery, summer’s evening. He intended no harm, and meant no offence but he touched something that is perilous to disturb, deadly to provoke, and utterly vain to resist. Soon he was trapped, his life no longer his own, his choices irrelevant.

He attempted to flee but it did him no good; he begged but it gained him nothing; he wept but only met bitterly scornful laughter: he was helpless before the Power which now held him – fierce and vengeful, beautiful and final.

He knew this was his life now, he knew it in his heart…nevermore to sleep.

Word count@: 8,546

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All three stories published by Tantalus-Press

 

 

October 12, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Pervert on Her Jury – A Blackmail & Humiliation Story

My new humiliation story ‘Pervert on Her Jury is now available to down load from Amazon.

‘Susan Berry sits in the public galley In Leeds Crown Court and watches the trial of the man who savagely raped her daughter. As Natalie gives evidence under a torrid cross-examination her mother notices one man in particular taking an unhealthy interest in her. A clear case of a ‘rape-case ghoul’ – perverts who attend rape cases for the seedy thrill of seeing the victim give evidence.

But this one is on the Jury!

Determined not to see him argue for the ‘wrong’ verdict she breaks all the rules and makes contact away from Court, and strikes a terrible bargain. It is only then she learns just how much or a pervert he really is…and what it will cost her.

An explicit and sometimes harrowing story of the sexual humiliations and degradations a mother will endure to prevent an injustice.

Word Count: 8,671′

EXTRACT:

 

It has just happened again; that ‘I have to fuck her’ moment. The moment when I am somewhere and I never know exactly where or when, but something in my head makes me look at somebody and think ‘It’s You.’

Today it took me by surprise. It is only five weeks since the last one. This one has been sitting up there in the public gallery every day of the trial so far. She is the only women up there. I think she is the victim’s mother. I hope so.

She is looking especially nervous today. So she should be if she is the mother, her little darling is on the stand today and she is going to get a fucking rough ride. Maybe that’s what brought my moment on…the prospect of watching the mother seeing the daughter put through the mincer. Enough to make any man hard.

She keeps looking down at me, probably wondering what I’m thinking. If only she knew. I was surprised to find myself on a jury in a case like this, especially with my past record. Still I’m not complaining, it has all been very entertaining, and should be a good show today once the little tramp takes the stand.

She is looking at me now; there is no more appealing expression on a woman’s face than anxiety. Well apart from fear. I can see she is uneasy. Well she will be a lot more uneasy when this day is through.

I have a plan. Once I have had the ‘I have to fuck her’ moment, a plan always springs to mind. She looks too good to miss really, and vulnerability always entices …I will find a way.

One way or another I have to fuck her. Just have to.

And I will.

***

Susan Berry watched from the packed public gallery in Leeds Crown Court as her eighteen year-old daughter Natalie gave evidence against the man who seven months before had viciously raped and beaten her. Every eye in the courtroom was fixed on her as the female prosecutor took her steadily and gently through her evidence.

Despite the obvious sympathy shown the questions were detailed and intimate. Natalie had been taken through them in preparation, but Susan could see she was starting to wilt a little; starting to hesitate and falter in her answers. Starting to fracture; starting to splinter. She glanced down at the bully-boy defence barrister ostentatiously awaiting his turn; glancing through his notes, scribbling a couple of words here and there. He was making a great show of being unconcerned and repeatedly glancing at his watch to emphasis the time taken by the prosecution.

Susan thought that his performance was pure theatre, designed to unsettle and to threaten. Everyone knew George Land Q.C by repute; a heavyweight in every sense with the reputation of a bruising streetfighter on behalf of his somewhat dubious array of clients. Defence of rapists his ‘obnoxious speciality’, the prosecutor had told her before the trial started. In truth Susan feared what was to come. She feared it because it might hurt her daughter all over again, and also because if Natalie did break down, it could mean her assailant might go free.

The prosecution team had warned both mother and daughter to expect a stormy and belligerent cross-examination. The best form of defence, given the circumstances would be attack. What was true or false wouldn’t matter, only what could be smeared, undermined, insinuated.  It was all down to the issue of consent, her word against his; the hardest of all rapes to prove. The easiest to discredit.

Even though Susan knew what was coming she was helpless. All she could do was sit and watch and hope. She was lost in her thoughts, lost in the sorry memory of that night when she abruptly realised that the moment she had dreaded had arrived. The prosecutor had primly taken her seat and an expectant hush settled upon the courtroom.

The man sitting next to her whispered to the man on his right hand side. ‘Showtime.’

***

The rest of this gripping story of blackmail and humiliation please visit the links below:

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August 25, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Recommendation: Given To Miss Tate – A Slavehouse Story

An atmospheric chilling story of a house where female domination is enforced, and enforced absolutely.

This was is a story I really enjoyed. A must for fans of serious femdom.

An atmospheric journey into the chilling dark heart of female domination…

It was their usual Friday night in rain-swept, safe suburbia. The boys were coming home from the pub, swaggering with the beer and high spirits. They were a little loud, a little drunk, and a little disorderly but meaning no harm. Carol singing out of season for a joke, a harmless prank performed many times before.

But that night, they called at the wrong house.

For every one of them, it was a house that they ran from, yelling and falling over themselves in their haste to get away. For every one of them, it turned into just another lark, something to laugh about. For every one of them except one.

One of them was caught, and kept, and given to Miss Tate…

Welcome to the world of the Divine Mistress; a slavehouse like no other.

 

***

EXTRACT!

It was late on a Friday night in April and all the usual elements were in place.

Firstly, it was raining, and secondly, there was a small crowd of rowdy, drunken lads coming back from the pub through the glistening, miserable streets. They were making a lot of noise, indifferent to the silent houses they passed.

The residents to each side cowered behind closed curtains as usual, too, looked nervously at the TV, or listened in bed with their heart thumping till the sounds of their raucous passage had faded away.

Presently, one of the group stopped by a double-gated entranceway, his attention caught by the notice affixed under a highly polished brass number plate. The property was set back somewhat from the road down a shadowy drive, with the acute, high angles of the house beyond framed by trees.

“Ha!” he said, pointing. The rest gathered round him to see. The sign said: NO HAWKERS NO CIRCULARS NO CHARITIES NO CAROL SINGERS.

They stood back and looked at each other and then broke out into a ragged laugh. It was too much of an invitation. Singing carols at odd times of the year was a much enjoyed game of theirs.

They fiddled with the latch of the gate for a while, which caused more merriment, and then swung one section back and walked through, laughing and shouting.

They walked in the shadow of the dripping trees up the gravel drive, right up to the extended porch of the door. It was an imposing building and there was something about the dark and angular lines and leaning, resinous trees that made them pause for a moment, but there were eight of them and they soon broke into an untidy rendition of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’.

However, as they began their ragged song, there came a terrific barking of a dog inside. They paused as the door was suddenly yanked back. A ferocious set of canine teeth seemed to lunge straight for them.

Everyone ran for it.

*                                                      *                                                           *

Miss Pearson looked up from her magazine, a slight frown creasing the smooth line of her brow. There came a long, despairing groan over her right shoulder but she was not listening to that. She was listening to muffled shouts, a dog barking, and the sounds of some sort of scuffle from somewhere above and beyond the cellar apartment where she was so comfortably and satisfactorily installed.

She sighed and turned a page of the magazine with a neat flick. Her fingers had gripped the glossy paper easily, for they were encased with leather; gloves that extended up her slender arms to above the elbow, gleaming in the light of two candles set on stands to each side of her ornate, high-backed chair.

The agonised doleful groan came again from the shadows in the corner of the room and her lips curved into a thin smile as she waited for a report on developments upstairs. The curving line of her lips did not soften the glittering intensity of her green eyes, nor alter the severe and cold demeanour of her pretty, but unwelcoming face. Her dark hair was pinned back in a forbidding bun, stretching her skin tight over prominent cheekbones.

There was nothing like the sound of male pain, she thought, savouring the echoes as they went round the stone walled cellar.

She had told herself that this was not really the room to be reading magazines in a hundred times, there were more comfortable apartments upstairs, and much better lit, but she did love her ‘Throne Room’, as she liked to call it, even if the ‘throne’ itself was made to make an impression rather than offer comfort to the occupant.

She allowed herself to gaze around the shadowy, candlelit space as she had done so many times before, drinking it all in, enjoying the scented, heavy air. She remembered how damp and empty the place had been at first, but slowly she had got it the way she wanted it. The walls were still the original stone, which was perfect for the effect, but they were decorated with a lifetime’s collection of wicked memorabilia, centred and inspired by Goddess Worship of the most extreme and profound kind.

In the shadows to each side of her impressive chair were rows and rows of cruel implements, strange, silent contraptions, benches, stocks, and countless icons of Divine Femininity.

This is where she felt most at home, most powerful, and most complete. She always felt the need to dress appropriately here, too, even when there were no official functions for her to perform, and the candlelight spilled liquid gold patterns on her PVC corset and tight leather skirt, and rippled down thigh length boots that ended in wicked stilettos.

She looked up as there came a respectful knock on the door.

“Yes?” she said, peremptorily.

The stout wooden door swung back to reveal a shapely young lady in knee-high boots, black pencil skirt and tight-fitting while blouse.

“S-sorry, to disturb you, Ma’am,” she said, somewhat breathlessly, “but we have an intruder.”

***

If you want to continue deeper into this world, please click on the links below.

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August 16, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Recommendation: ‘The Den’ by Cherry Wild

I am pleased to highly recomend a brilliant story of sexual humiliation, compulsive need with ‘horror’ overtones is ‘The Den’ by Cherry Wild.

Diana leaves her comfortable home in an affluent suburb and ventures into the rough side of town. ‘The Den’ is a hidden place which offers for those willing to pay the price the fulfilment of the deep and dark desires. Against her will she is compelled by her needs to seek out this place and offer herself. She will be forty this year and it is now or never. Come what may.

But the price of admission is a high one, and at each stage the price gets higher still. But she is driven on by her desperate needs…but are her needs still darker then even she suspects? What will she find in the very heart of ‘The Den’?

This is a story which grips tightly; a journey through sexual humiliation and horror to one woman’s heart of darkness.

EXTRACT:

She followed the directions she had written down. She hoped no-one saw her in this part of town. Not when everyone knew Tony was overseas for the next six weeks. When she had first seen the address she had been hesitant; it was the bad side of town. The rough part. Even the police stayed inside their cars. No one from her suburb would ever come here

But she had come here because she had a compulsion. She had come here not because she wanted to. It was because she had to. She had no choice. As she stepped from her car she felt fear. A fear she had lived with for a long time; a fear of making her fantasy real. But now her needs were forcing her onwards.

Everything in her said get back into the car and back to the light and comfort of home; back to safety, back to security. But something deep inside wouldn’t let her. Even against her Will she locked the car and stepped into the almost total darkness of the alley.

The backstreet was littered with rubbish, fast food debris and the like. No sign of the red gate she was looking for. Maybe she had it all wrong, maybe she had been fooled. Perhaps she had even fooled herself into thinking that the place existed at all. Maybe that internet posting was a joke. Maybe the place didn’t exist. Maybe it was just an urban myth.

Maybe.

But if it did exist she was determined to find it if she could. It was too compelling an opportunity to miss. She might not get another chance. This was Tony’s last trip for some months. Who knows when she might get another opening? She felt the need move inside her and stepped down the alley and into the unknown.

The posting had said simply, ‘Entry by negotiation.’ It sounded a pretty exclusive place. Not for everyone that’s for sure. The idea of negotiation didn’t faze her. As a teen she had been well used to blagging her way into bars, getting served alcohol while still underage. She was a good talker and had a friendly face that people seemed to take to.

Tonight she had dressed for a smart place, an exclusive place. If she had to negotiate, she was wearing the right clothes to convince: Jimmy Choo high heels and her Vivienne Westwood scarlet silk dress. Something deep inside her wanted this place to be real. For too long now she had been living a lie.

She would be forty this year. She married almost twenty years ago, and had spent her life being a wife to Tony, and a mother to her daughter Martha. Now she was in university she had felt it was time to live her dreams. It was time for her to face the growing feelings that had been tormenting her the past few years.

It was time to face her darkest fantasies. Come what may…

****

To continue reading this gripping story, please click on the links below. Thank you.

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July 24, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Recommendation: Twisted Honeymoon – Tiggy Mills

Now and then you come across a book which just grabs you and keeps hold. This is a debut novel by new author Tiggy Mills. I was hooked grom the get-go. It is well written, well paced and pushed all my buttons.

Twisted Honeymoon. A dark and twisted story where a wife’s needs come in many forms.

Harry’s needs are simple and uncomplicated: he deeply loves his new bride and is devoted to her every happiness. What he doesn’t yet grasp is that for Juliet, her satisfactions are unusual and become darker and more dangerous as life provides new experiences. Juliet is used to being in control, getting exactly what she wants, when she wants and with who she wants.

But events take a turn, Juliet suddenly is not in control anymore, both she and Harry have to come to terms with the changes in their relationship and their unexpected feelings. Their real honeymoon is only just beginning but by the end… life for them both will never be the same again.

Told from both sides, from Harry and Juliet, this story shows that, as in every marriage, sometimes things are never quite as they appear.

Over 18 only. Features explicit sexual content. Cuckold Interracial. Word Count:  41,460

EXTRACT:

Harry

Boy was I a lucky guy! I had to pinch myself to ensure that I wasn’t dreaming. The beautiful girl sitting next to me was my wife and it just seemed to good to be true. We were flying first class-of course- to Jamaica, to stay for two weeks in the presidential suite at the famous Paradise Hotel; it was an idyllic place for our honeymoon. I gazed lovingly at my bride Juliet; she was staring blankly out of the small window at the stars twinkling brightly in the clear stratosphere. She was beautiful, elegant; slim, small breasted but curvaceous, her hazel eyes complimented her long brown hair and her open, friendly, pretty face always seemed to have a permanent smile. Her nose was small and her lips full and inviting; she was my dream girl; in fact as I looked at her sitting so demurely and innocently I realised that she was probably every-ones’ dream girl!

Juliet, as normal, was dressed impeccably, her soft hair was tied up exposing her defined neck and her short beige dress rode up her long legs exposing the very tip of her stocking and suspenders. She was not wearing a bra – indeed she never did – and when she moved I noticed every ones’ eyes follow my young 22 year old bride.

Juliet’s fault –her only fault as I could see- was that she was a tease; she had always been a tease even from the days we played together as kids. I was the rich kid and she the scruffy tomboy who came to play in my back yard, or in my case, on an acre of ground within our estate. I was a year older than she was but even then, as a ten year old I remember her bossing me about and calling me some name or other. I never really minded though and as we grew up we always seemed to spend time together to chat and generally mess about.

Our relationship was always platonic, that was until I was eighteen, I remember the day as if it was yesterday. Juliet came running around to my house bursting with something to tell me, it was late, 11 O’clock and I was in my pyjamas but Mum never objected to her visits at any hour, she was part of the family. I heard Mum let her in and the sounds on the stairs as her delicate feet jumped them two at a time, she burst into my room closed the door and red faced and breathless she threw herself onto my bed.

I can still see what she was wearing, it was summer and her white linen dress rose high on her thigh as she sat next to me exposing her agile and slender leg. Her long brown hair fell provocatively off her shoulder and for the first time I noticed that she was definitely not a tomboy any more. It was not that I was slow but we were primarily friends and up till that night I had just never looked at her in the light of the beautiful young woman that she had become in front of my eyes.

She looked at me intensely, “You know that boy I’ve been dating?” she said excitedly, “Well I pushed him to far tonight.”

 

****

To continue reading this gripping story, please click on the links below. Thank you.

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May 20, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Tiggy Mills – changing the face of erotica.

Tiggy Mills is an author with the world of kindle erotica at her feet! With her ninth novella due out on the 1st August, she has firmly established herself as the go-to writer for intelligent, literate, well-crafted stories which all have a very strong erotic content. The former Quaker who at 33 has worked variously as a researcher, barmaid, teaching assistant, photographer’s assistant and Civil Servant, is making a major contribution to the new revolution in erotic writing. She says ‘In the past erotica has been dominated by what we might call “wank-fodder”; that is monotonous and clinical descriptions of various sex acts glued onto a story which is too-often well-worn at best and totally irrelevant at worst. The straightjacket hasn’t been the content, but the formula that erotica imposes – limiting the creativity of the author, and the deeper satisfactions of the reader.’

But things are changing; now we have the ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ phenomena. While is often characterised as erotica’s breakthrough’ into the mainstream. But Tiggy has her doubts. ‘What we have with Fifty Shades is erotica moving too far away from its real roots. It seems that in that book erotica has been prettied up, the language sanitised and kinky-sex portrayed in soft-focus. Yes it has been widely-read but for me it is just too safe, too benign, too….bland. For me Erotica – good, quality erotica – should have an edge, it should feel dangerous, take the reader into new areas – challenge and stimulate, perhaps even unsettle and disturb.’

So challenging the reader is Tiggy’s aim? ‘No writer wants to bore the reader. It seems to me that in the wank-fodder-style erotica it is all description and little story, with the soft-focus brigade it is all about packaging sex without the sharp edges. In my writing I try to take the reader into places which might be unfamiliar, or if familiar give them a twist. It is all about keeping the reader engaged and entertained.’

‘Let us be clear’, Tiggy continues. ‘The traditional dominant model of erotica is targeted at men. The action starts when he gets into it and ends when he is done. That is no longer good enough; that is why FSoG sells in such truckloads. At least that book does focus on female desire and what is in sex for the women too.’

‘I like to think that if the story is strong enough, and the ideas behind it original enough the difference between the two formats can be broken down.’

So what Tiggy is aiming to do is to perhaps fuse them both, offer readers a kind of middle-way.’ She becomes animated ‘No, no, no. I think a fusion of those two extremes would be bland and boring, like erotica-by-numbers. What I am trying to do in my writing is offer the reader an altogether more inspiring reading experience. For me it at starts with the story and the character; done properly the erotic content can arise naturally from those and not need to be grafted on like some spare part. Sex yes, plenty of it, but as a part of the characters and plot.
‘After all the brain is the biggest sex-organ, stimulate that and the rest naturally follows… ‘ She smiles.

Tiggy’s first novel was Twisted Honeymoon,( ‘A Dark and Twisted Story Where a Wife’s Needs Come in Many Forms.)’ This is still to date her biggest seller, although she is at pains to point out that the others are not far behind. ‘It was pure word of mouth which gave it the sales it achieved and is still achieving.; people finding it, reading it and recommending it. It was a straightforward snowball effect.’ This was followed by Wife Switch (‘A marriage slides into depravity…’), Sin ‘n’ Sun Holidays Exposed ‘(Debauchery, Depravity and Total Excess’), Going through the Change (‘Alone, Exploited & Abused….but tables can turn…’), The Guru (‘Spiritual enlightenment or sexual domination?’), Double-D French Teacher (‘A blackmailed teacher story’), Just a Wager (Domination, sexual power, erotic discovery) and The Judgement ‘(A rape trial, injustice, sexual degradation and revenge’).

Her new novel ‘Mobile Seduction’ explores a very intense sexual relationship and asks the question where is the line drawn between deviant sex and love. Tiggy says, ‘This is the book I have been most pleased with, the one that perhaps best represents where I want to be as a writer, as well as being the one I had the most fun writing.’
Details of all Tiggy’s books, as well as links to download locations can be found HERE.

May 19, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Stripping the MILF by Helen Jones

This is another great story from the mind of Helen Jones, who wrote the excellent and bestselling ‘Humiliation of a Milf’.

Unmarried, 44 year old Elizabeth Thatcher spends her evenings living out her sexual fantasies in a variety of anonymous web-cam encounters. But when she finally meets one of her chat-room viewers, it is apparent she has a need to replace the virtual with the real, and she is sucked into a very different world; a harsh world, a dangerous world. A world where no desperate need goes unexploited.

Nick and his street-urchin girlfriend Kinky are ambitious and ruthless predators. Their aim is to exploit Elizabeth’s desperate needs for their own ends. Their intention is to ‘Strip the Bitch’ – strip her financially, sexually, of all her pride and self-esteem.

Is this Elizabeth’s most feared nightmare? Or the most secret of her secret fantasies?

Word Count 8,647. Explicit Content

EXTRACT!

There was no question that he was a bastard. He meant to be a bastard; he liked being a bastard; for him it was being a bastard that made life worth living. And this is the one he has been waiting for. The life changer; the one he has dreamed about for such a long time.

Who loves more fervently than the middle-aged and lonely? Who will do anything to make their dreams come true? Or to keep their most private secrets?

He suppresses a smile as he watches her dressing. It is a sight he enjoys. One that makes him feels good; in control. His eyes wander across her body. For forty-four she’s still in good shape. She’s obviously tried to look after herself. Okay she’s carrying an extra pound here and there, but no more than that. She is still attractive, still worth a fuck; but she doesn’t know it or can’t believe it. He loves insecurity in a woman. Eats them up nicely.

But to him right now, she is very much more than just a fuck. When he looks at her he sees beyond her full creamy big nippled tits and well-rounded arse to a new life; a life without worry or concerns; a life where he can indulge himself in his very darkest desires without fear or consequence.

The good life at last for him and Kinky.

He lies there still naked, basking in the warm glow that only gratitude can bestow. She is older than his mother, exactly twice his own age. She can’t believe her luck. He likes the power that gives him. The power to make sure she knows her place, knows she has to please, deny him nothing.

He knows he has her. She is dependent on him already; addicted. He knows he can do anything he wants. Anything. And he will. It won’t be long now. She won’t say no, she is too frightened of losing him; too insecure to resist.

Soon she will wish she had never met him. He can’t wait for that moment; the moment when realisation dawns. The sweetest part will be that by then it will be too late: well past the time when she might do anything about it. All she can do then is accept. And then they will pick her bare; leaving nothing but the bones.

His intention is to gut her like a fish. Leave her with nothing. But it’s not just about the money for him. He wants to take it all, her dignity, her pride, what little self-esteem she has. The thought of emotionally disemboweling her is starting to make his cock hard again.

She needs him, and no desperate need should go unexploited. He intends to strip the bitch bare…

***

 To continue reading please use the links below. Thank you. Enjoy!

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May 2, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Interview with Humiliation Story author Polly Thomas

It is fitting that I am in ‘The Bee Hive’ in Newcastle’s ‘Bigg Market’, to interview local author Polly Thomas.  Polly has just published ‘Scenes from an English Pub’, which contains her three stories, ‘Mutton Dressed as Lamb’, ‘Graduation Day’, and Lisa’s last Night’ all together in one volume for the first time.  She is prompt and immediately outgoing. Eager to talk about her life and work, and her relationship with her mother, Ruthie Tudor, whose own memoir ‘Miner’s Wife, Police Whore’ is included in the collection as a free bonus.

‘Can I just start by asking you about Ruthie, whose idea was it to include her story in your book?’

She smiles, ‘It just seemed obvious really. My stories all have various forms of humiliation as a central theme, and her story  was about her own actual experience of working topless after hours in some of the police pubs during the strike. It just seemed a natural fit really.’

‘In that story though, Ruthie goes a lot further than just being topless, she is engaged in actual prostitution. Is that something she has spoken to you about at all?’

‘Well she has never hidden it from me. Over the last few years she has come to terms with what she did, and some of the early guilt has left her. After all it wasn’t as if she chose to get involved or anything, it was forced on her really by a mixture of poverty and blackmail.’

Polly seemed a very mature twenty-four and had obviously seen quite a bit in her young life. I wanted to ask her more about what it is like for a mother and daughter to share such intimacies. ‘How does it feel to talk about such intimate experiences with your own mother?

‘Well to be fair, she has always been quite open about things. We have been out drinking together and discussed people and places, so it all been natural really. We tend to look at issues in similar ways. In her thirties she had a drink problem and turned to prostitution to fund that, so I have always seen that life at first hand.’

I want to ask why ‘humiliation’ is such a central theme. Is it just an interest or is there more to it than that? ‘Tell me about humiliation. Why is it such a feature of your stories? And indeed your mothers?’

She thinks for a few seconds. ‘I’m not really sure, what I write about seems to just flow from my moods, I don’t consciously ‘choose’ anything. So I suppose that deep down I must feel some affinity. I can see that for some women it is a kind of addiction; a basic need to seek it out. Others seem to have it thrust upon them, but they put themselves in situations where it can be.’

‘Your mother maybe?’

‘I am not sure. As I say her early experiences were to some extent forced on her, but since I feel she has had a pattern in her life where her relationships are all of a certain type.’

Interesting, I push a little harder. ‘Abusive you mean?’

She shakes her head. ‘I really don’t think I can add much to that really.’ I think she is being discreet. I decide to change tack and ask her about her stories.

‘All your stories so far have been set in and around pubs. I know you do bar work. So is the material gathered from both sides of the bar?’

She seems to shake off her sombre mood. ‘I love pubs, they are a great way to pass the time, or have a good time. Serving is different, can be very busy so not much time to spend people-watching. But it’s surprising how patterns of behaviour repeat themselves over and over. You see certain types and situations over and over. That’s where ‘Mutton Dressed as Lamb’ came from, seeing middle-aged women out on the pull.’

Yes I wanted to ask about that, based on one woman or a type?’

‘Definitely a type. Women who come into places wanting to hook up with a guy but the places they go tend to attract a younger crowd. So they try and show a bit more flesh in an effort to compensate. But what they end up with at the end of the night is the guys that haven’t pulled. You could see the desperation all over both sides really. The women knowing they were the last resort and they guys having to settle for older.

What about ‘Graduation Day’, it was it was based on a true incident.’

‘Yes it was. I was the girl in that story although I have jazzed her looks up a bit. But it wasn’t my graduation day, just a lazy afternoon where me and my half-brother drifted into the wrong pub, at the wrong time. It was my first view of what you might call fast violence. Pretty scary.’

‘Lisa’s Last Night’ is a pretty graphic story isn’t it. How much of that was fact and how much fiction?

‘You see girls in the Bigg Market, especially on the busy night obviously off their heads with drink, just trying to get as pissed as possible as fast as possible. The story starts from there and goes where it goes…I have actually seen things like that loads of time…but her motive is what I added really. To make a story of it.’

Will there be more ‘pub tales’ forthcoming?

‘I would think so, I love the writing and am always seeing things and people and thinking ‘that would make a good story.’

Just a last question about bar work ‘Would you ever go topless after hours?’

She smiles diplomatically. ‘Well, I’ve never been asked. But I have got them out a few times at parties when pissed. Just flashing you know…’  she laughs.

Polly Thomas. Thank you, and good luck with the book.

To read Polly’s Collection click on the following links:

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March 8, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

The Devil Inside Judge Nina

My new story ‘The Devil Inside Judge Nina’ is now available on Amazon….Judge Nina Bullock has a fascination with young sex-offenders. She is drawn to them like a moth to flame, she cannot help herself. She is known to be ‘soft’ in her treatment of them in court. But when these ‘sympathies’ push her into entering into a sexual ‘arrangement’ with one such offender, a young man with a record of sexual violence against women, she finds out just how deep her demons run.

He is not the figure she thought he was. He is altogether more a dangerous and threatening figure…her fantasy is about to become a nightmare…

Another step in my obsessive need to explore the world and characted of milf humiliation.

Strictly over 18s only Word count: 7,302

EXTRACT

Judge Nina Bullock stares into the mirror and carefully puts on the wig that denotes her office. It is a ritual she has repeated many, many times, but today has a special significance. Today is the case she had been waiting for. A case she has dreaded, and yet lobbied for. She has dreaded it because she knows herself, she is aware of her fatal weakness; the Achilles’ heel of desire that darkens her life. And despite knowing all the reasons why she shouldn’t have it, she has fought for it; horse-traded for it; swapped a high-profile murder case for it. She knows that her insistence had raised a few eyebrows with her more conservative colleagues.

But she has her needs. And when her needs come calling everything else goes out of the window. Pride, self-respect and most especially….the law…when her needs are upon her, Nina Bullock is prepared to crawl… NEEDS to crawl…

And right now they are on fire. She can feel her nipples braless and hard beneath the purple robes of the circuit judge. She cannot leave them alone this morning, she continually tweaks them as she prepares herself for the elaborate ritual that is the English legal system. She needs to feel like a slut in there. She wants to look over her jurisdiction and know she is the slut they never dream she could be. Hard nipples, no panties, and a mind full of perverse intent.

As it turns out today is only a sentencing and not a contested case. This is something of a relief as well as a disappointment. It does mean that the decision as to guilt is already made. No fingers can be pointed. But then it does deprive her of the exquisite entertainment of seeing the victim torn apart. But still she has another plan; she is working to an entirely different agenda today. One she has thoughts about and dreamed of for a very long time.

Aggravated sexual assault occasioning grievous bodily harm, has been bargained down to sexual assault with common assault in exchange for an immediate plea of guilty. Both sides seem happy, no ‘ordeal’ for the victim, no long custodial sentence for the perpetrator.

‘All rise…’ The Clerk’s sonorous tones echo through the courtroom as she enters from chambers, taking her appointed place on the bench. It was always a dramatic moment, when all eyes turn to her. There is the usual coughing and shuffling of feet as the assembled cast rise and wait for her nod signalling them to sit.

She surveys her domain with some satisfaction. She is excited, she is expectant….she is in charge. The courtroom officials, the prosecution and defence, the press and inevitably up there in the public gallery, the rape case ghouls. The usually middle-aged men who eagerly seek-out for rape cases to attend in the hope of seeing the victim having to recount in some detail what has happened to her. And then see her blasted and humiliated by some aggressive bastard bully-boy defender. They would be disappointed today…

***

To continue reading please use the links below. Thank you. Enjoy!

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March 5, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

New Story: Landlady in the Gutter

My new story is ‘Landlady in the Gutter. Just how far will a mother humiliate and degrade herself to protect her drug addict son from going back to prison.

This story can be read as an independent standalone story or as the sequel to the highly popular ‘The Landlady’s Humiliation’.

Following her late-night ordeal at the hands of her husband and his friends, Joanne Maxwell is now living with her drug-addicted son in a high-crime slum estate. Her life is dominated by her need to make sure he does not return to prison. To protect her son Joanne walks the dark streets in search of money for his habit. She submits her body to the humiliations and degradations of strangers in order to bring home the daily needs. But is this really helping him?

Does her son see it the same way? How does he really feel? When a figure from her son’s own murky past re-appears in her life, Joanne realises that combating addiction is not as easy as she thought. And that the price she must pay for self-deception is a high one.

A complex psychological web of motive, addiction and desire, this story is a feast of mind games; with various competing addictions and deceptions. We are taken by the hand and lead into the darkest corners of sexuality with an honesty that is rare.’

EXTRACT

The boy watches the woman pulling faces in the mirror, applying her lipstick. He looks her up and down even though he knows he shouldn’t. Not really.

He likes that red lipstick. He likes it a lot. She puts it on those full lips, puts it on heavy. It makes her look dirty. Sometimes he has fantasies about those lips wrapped around his cock. It is a thought he tries to banish but seeing her there, getting ready like that, brings it back. Why wouldn’t it? She does all she can to flaunt it.

She stands there practicing her pout. Kissing the air. Practicing. Preparing. Posturing. When she is satisfied she dabs her lips with a tissue and gives herself one last pout. She is ready.

He knows that she will be sucking somebody’s cock tonight. He knows it won’t matter who they are, if they have the cash she will get down on her knees and wrap those full red lips around their cock and suck them dry. Drain their balls, gulp it down. He knows that deep down she will detest every minute, but she will do it.

She will do it to be who she has to be. She will do it for him.

Part of him loves her for it. What other mother would do that for their son? Part of him hates her. What other mother would do that?

He wants to close his eyes, but wants to continue watching her. He can feel the drug taking effect now. He can feel it flowing through his veins. Yes, he wants to close his eyes. But he wants to watch her. He wants to see her how other men out there will be seeing her; all cocksucker’s lipstick and big creamy tits. She knows what men like, even the sort she will be with tonight. That’s why the heels, that’s why the low-low top.

She knows what men like.

‘Have you got everything you need darling?’ She is ready to go now. Ready to leave him alone; ready to go out into the night; ready to suck some strangers skanky cock. She is ready to go and find him his drug money.

‘Yeah, I will be okay.’ She tousles his hair affectionately. I will try and not be too late but it will depend if I can find Jazzy. Have you got enough till then?’

‘Just make sure you get me some tonight okay?’ You’ve never got ‘enough’ you silly bitch.

‘Don’t worry darling, it’s Friday. Plenty of guys out tonight.’ She tries a smile that doesn’t quite come off. She puts on that ‘brave face’ that is intended to comfort him. She doesn’t want him to feel guilty about what she has to do. She imagines he gives a shit.

He can smell the cheap perfume on her, and as she bends down to plant a light kiss on the top of his head he sees right down the front of her dress, right down those big milfy tits. Jesus. He is feeling drowsy now. So drowsy.

He fucking loves it. He fucking hates it.

To continue reading, please visit the sites below to download the full story!

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February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Story: Sex Slave to a Stranger.

 Synopsis:

Sex Slave to a Stranger is an explicit story about a successful female surgeon’s secret life of sexual servitude.
Sally is a popular surgeon; well respected, financially secure, with a seemingly perfect life. But her private life is a disaster. She is a mass of unfulfilled perverse desire, and failed relationships. She is unhappy and frustrated.
..and then an intriguing text from an anonymous man changes that life forever. She finds herself pulled into a series of humiliating and degrading tasks which take her out of her pampered everyday world into a sordid world of sexual servitude with total strangers. Choice is taken away from her and Sally learns the hard way that she is not the person she always thought she was.
WARNING: Explicit content. Over 18 only.

Extract:

Sally looked up at the clock. She had seven minutes. She felt her nipples stiffen; an inward stab of shame. Jesus.

She glanced down at the report and then up at the patient before her. This was always the difficult part. The woman was her own age, and had two young children. It wasn’t good news.

‘…well, I’ve received the reports back from both the path labs and the expert panel. They have examined the gland that I took out of your neck last month…and… their tests are indicating a lymphoma…’

She knew at that point that what she said afterwards about not knowing anything really concrete until the lymphoma had been typed, graded and staged would not be listened to. She knew all the woman had in her head right now was: ‘I have cancer.’

She saw the woman’s eyes brim with tears. And fear. She knew she was a single-parent. She could almost see her mind running ahead, to cancer, a painful, lingering early death, the orphaning of her children; and then beyond to their sufferings in state orphanages or foster care. The woman’s face was a mask of anguish. Six minutes.

‘…and so I will be passing you over to another consultant who will do the more detailed tests which will tell us how we can proceed…do you have any questions?’

At this point they all did. This woman was no exception. It was the usual one; and so was the answer.

‘…well we can say this, we have a range of treatments available, which lymphoma is responsive to. Just how responsive we can’t say until the more detailed results are in. But we are a very long was from saying it is fatal.’

The woman stared at the desk, glassy-eyed.  She showed no sign of moving. Sally glanced at the nurse with her eye brows raised. As much as she felt for her at that precise moment Sally just wanted the woman to go; to disappear, to wander away, to just fuck off. She was beginning to feel panicky. She could feel her skin breaking out in prickles. She looked at the clock. Three minutes. Her nipples felt diamond hard. She needed to go. Go now.

The nurse laid her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Would you like a minute in the room next door where it’s quiet?’ The woman was all thanks and gratitude as she was shepherded into the side consulting room. Shock written all over her features.

Quickly she discarded her white coat, throwing it over her desk. She still had three more consultations but she had to be there by twelve noon. She walked quickly down the corridor to the back stairs, ran up to ‘Orange’ level and then entered the car park. Red Jaguar; she had the plate number pounding in her head. Red Jaguar.

She ran down one line and then the other. She was in the last-minute now. She had only seconds to spare when she saw the one she wanted. She could see a figure sat in the rear seat. She remembered the instruction, ‘At no time will you say a word. Just do exactly as I have told you and leave. No talking.’

She knocked on the window and then pulled the door open. What she saw was a middle-aged man, around fifty or so in a pinstripe suit. She climbed in. She was out of breath and panting. Her lungs were taking in great gulps of air.

She pulled her sweater up and over her head; she had gone intentionally braless that day. With her smallish breasts no-one else would have noticed and so she sat sideways on to the man topless. His eyes looked her over. His eyes were like fish eyes, unfeeling, dead. His whole face was without expression.

To continue reading, please visit the sites below to download the full story!

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February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Welcome to My Blog, My secret Life

Welcome to this, my secret life.

Welcome to my blog…

We all wake up in the morning intending (or hoping!) to live our lives the way we feel we should. But too often we don’t. In small ways we deviate; we have choices, needs, cravings, impulses, drives, and compulsions, which embroil us in other pursuits. Pursuits that compel us into other lives, lives separate from our family, friends and work colleagues. Some are harmless and minor, others more dangerous on so many levels, and which potentially threaten our neat and orderly life.

The attraction of this ‘double life’ is clear. Few things are as totally liberating as the freedom to pursue our hidden desires without threat or consequence. In my capacity as a freelance journalist, I have had cause and opportunity to explore various activities which require a ‘secret’ or hidden life from the participants. Indeed, I have a developing secret life of my own.

This hidden life represents a safe haven from which to explore exactly who I am. Through my explorations I can better understand the life underpinning my life; illuminate those compulsive invisible presences shaping my life.

In my case, this secret life revolves around my sexuality; a search for exotic and different forms of erotic satisfaction. This is at the core of all my writing; and it is this which will be the focus of this blog. It is also the necessary reason for my anonymity. We all have secrets don’t we? And we all have that need to share. After all, the sharing of secrets is the very currency of intimacy.

In my fiction I draw heavily upon my ’explorations’, and the stories which I create all feature people and situations that I have known or observed. Obviously heavily disguised – to protect both the innocent and the guilty.

Although my writings, both fiction and non-fiction, will, of their nature, involve a good deal of dark erotica, I will not be writing simple titillation. Instead I will be focusing on the darker side of sexuality; those normally unspoken of things which we all are aware of somewhere on the edge or our vision. Some might call these areas of sexuality twisted or strange. For me they represent an endless fascination. Flame to my moth.

For the (partial at least) record, I am a divorced women in my early thirties, professionally employed, and living in the London area. My real name could be Janey, but you may think of me, and know me, simply as ‘That Woman.’

I hope you now have an idea of the content of this blog, and will return again as it develops.

 

Until next time…

February 1, 2012  Tags: , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

The Story of a Fuckrag Mummy

My new story ‘Fuckrag Mummy’ is now available to download from Amazon and Smashwords. It tells the story of a middle-class professional woman who is driven by her inner-compulsions to find sordid sexual gratifications in the high-crime inner-city slums. By offering herself to a young client half her age she compromises herself so badly that he is able to blackmail her into total obedience. And when he extends his ‘interests’ to her young eighteen year old daughter, his hold over her is complete.

She soon realises that her fantasy was nothing like reality as she is taken on a journey to the sexual heart of darkness…..

***

EXTRACT

Now

She heard him before she saw him.

Even his voice felt like a hard, sudden slap across her face. She felt herself shudder.

And then they were coming through the door, all bustle and expectation. Zoe beaming, her cheeks reddened from the cold outside. ‘Hiya……’  Then he followed her in, grinning.

It was like a stab in her heart.

For just an instant she felt herself freeze, too stunned to speak or move.

Zoe was saying, ‘…and this is Lennie mum.’

And he was standing there, grinning at her. In her own kitchen, standing there in front of her. Grinning.

She held out her hand like a puppet, ‘please to meet you’, he said, his grin getting even bigger; enjoying the moment.

‘…and you’, she muttered in return.

It was only when their eyes locked that she knew this was deliberate; that he was up to something.

It had been four months.

Four months since she had first visited his flat.

Four months since her nightmare had begun.

Four months since she had allowed him to humiliate and degrade her beyond her previous wild imaginings.

Four months since he made her betray everything she loved and held dear.

And now here he was, in herkitchen. Grinning at her.

With her daughter.

 

Four Months Ago

She was always late.

Always chasing her tail, and that morning was no different. She had just dropped Zoe at sixth form college, and
she was still half an hour away from where she should have been five minutes ago.

Of course, she knew she shouldn’t be going there at all. Parole interviews were strictly office-based. Going to the clients home to do one was breaking if not every rule in the book, certainly some of the most important. But she also knew that she had to. She couldn’t hold off any longer.

She knew it was taking a chance, making a massive leap, but she had got to the stage where not doing it was harder than doing it. So this morning was the day. The day that could change everything, would change everything. Just
thinking about it made her nipples stiffen.

 

Word Count: 8,068

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February 1, 2012  Tags: , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Why Do Young Girls Have Affairs With Much Older Married Men?

Young girls have always been an obvious attraction to the middle-aged married man. It is easy to see why, they represent new pastures, no baggage, no-obligations, an oasis from the tired and jaded world they inhabit in the family. Plus there is the obvious allure of the nubile young body, firm and pert, in stark contrast to the one ‘at home’. But what is the attraction of a (let’s say) 45-year-old married man for a girl in her late teens?

I am speaking to Jessica. She is eighteen years old, and the daughter of a very good friend. She is here to chat to me about why she is  on her third married man in the last 16 months, all of them well into their 40s. Once again we are at the my ‘HQ’, the  Hix Restaurant and Champagne Bar in Selfridges. On the face of it Jessica has a lot going for her; eighteen years old, the product of a very expensive private education, pretty, slim with head-turning bumps. She is a middle-aged man’s lottery win.

So what does an obviously in-demand girl like Jessica see in a married man well over twice her age. What is the appeal?

Jessica sips her tea and looks thoughtful. ‘My first married man was a friend of the family, a colleague of my father’s and his wife was my mother’s best friend. I had known him since I was little. He was like an uncle really. When I was just turned 17 he sat me down and told me he was attracted to me; that he and his wife no longer had relations, and that he needed to talk to me. God, I felt so flattered. I mean he was a very successful and accomplished man. And he wanted me? I though oh my God!.’

So that was enough then, to be flattered?

‘To be honest I kept looking at his wife who was really attractive; maybe 40s but looked like 35, very sophisticated woman, and I thought God, he has her, but wants me? Me? I mean wow! It just made me feel great really.’

But were you attracted to him as a person, or just that fact or what he was or what his wife was?

‘Well, if I am honest he wasn’t what you’d call physically attractive. Not conventionally good-looking. But it was the fact he wanted me so much, even though he had a wife like her. I was at an all-girls school, and this was a man! He was so intense, he talked like he really needed me. And I suppose no-one else ever had up to then.’

So really it was flattery plus the lure of being needed?

‘The thing was the sex was amazing! I mean not amazing like in going on for hours, it was just a massive turn on to be in bed with a guy I had known all my life, a guy who knew my parents, and he had this amazing trophy wife. He had her, but was all over me in bed. He would lie there afterwards telling me what a fantastic body I had. How I obsessed him day and night. Not only that he would tell me about his wife, how she was sagging and not tight, he used to compare us all the time and it just made me feel wild because this was a woman you know, that I was in awe of. And there was her husband telling me she was shit in bed and that he needed me. God he used to really be so pathetically grateful, I couldn’t not sleep with him in the end…’

So he told you he needed you? Did you need him?

‘What I needed, I think was that feeling of being special and when he compared me to her I did, I felt extra special. Even when I started to go off him a bit, I still liked that feeling of somehow belittling her by fucking her husband. Somehow fucking him made me better than her. I think I was a bit nuts you know? In the end I think it was actually more about me fucking her than fucking him. It was all this stuff in my head?’

So did you feel any real animosity towards his wife? Want to take him away from her at all? I mean I take it you didn’t see an actual future with him. Or did you?

‘Oh God no. That kind of thing was the last thing really. I just wanted it to be what it was. An affair. I suppose I did come to resent his wife. She was always so superior and stuck-up. so when he used to tell me things, criticise her body I would feel great. It was like I was feeding off that to make me feel good.’

So how did it end then?

‘It sounds a cliché but she came home unexpectedly one day and found me standing in the kitchen in just my knickers. God, what a fucking day that was. She just started braying and honking like an animal, storming around the house shouting at him, shouting at me. It was really frightening. It sounds completely stupid I know, but I didn’t think she’s be so extreme. Bit of a shocker really.’

Sound terrible. So was there any repercussions.

‘God yes, of course the very first thing she did was get on the phone to my parents. They went fucking nuclear with me. Christ, it was scary. Daddy was all bent out of shape about it, could hardly speak to me for an age, Mummy called me seven colours of slut. Took them an age to get back to normal, especially as the couple eventually separated.’

Well it must have been a bit fraught if they were close friends of your family.

‘The really funny thing was that once it because known in my parents circle that I had had sex with this guy, another two of my parents friends started hitting on me. Both married and both in their 40s! One was a surgeon the other a banker. I was still 17 and felt like the temptress of the fucking world.’

Did anything happen with them?

‘With both, I still see the surgeon occasionally, but am at uni now so its not like it was before.’

And like the first one, did you know their wives?

‘I did yes and there were similar issues, but by them I knew myself a little better and wasn’t as carried away. Though the banker did want to fuck me in the marital bed while I was wearing his wife’s wedding dress.  That felt a bit freaky. I mean, he also wanted to watch me masturbate using her toothbrush, and I did. God that still a turn on a pervy way.’

I’ll bet. How long did they go on for.

‘The banker for maybe 3 months, as I say I am still sleeping with the surgeon, been one and off for 7 months now. Difficult when at uni.

And pastures new?

‘Well lets say life is never boring.’

So do you have regrets at all?

‘No not really, I know it makes me sound like a homewrecking bitch but I enjoyed it. If I am honest I learned a lot. Not about sex or anything but about myself. I came out of that time a lot stronger than when I went in. I found out I didn’t need to fuck a guy just to get compliments to boost me up, or score points against a middle-aged women. I have also learned that to a man the most fantastic body in the world is the one that’s with them at the moment.’ Jessica laughs loudly here. It does seem a little forced. Like it’s been a hard lesson to learn.

At this point, Jessica sounds a lot older than her years. She is undoubtedly mature for her age, perhaps because of her early experiences. So it seems that the attraction of the middle-aged married man might actually be that he has an accomplished wife the younger girl can define herself against.

While age-gap sex will always be an attraction, it is worth remembering that young girls who go with older married men do it for their own ego, as much as the man does!

 

February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Send Me A Postcard: Cuckold Story – Extract

I think this is a really good story. Good because it is evry well written for a start. And good because it delves into the situation and the characters in some depth. There it is much more satisfying that the all-too-common ‘erotica-by-numbers. The people involved are real characters with emotions and needs. Their marriage is a real marriage not some unlikely fantasy of a solitary writer. This is writing which blurs the distinction between erotic and mainstraem writing. Quality counts!

 EXTRACT

The problem with holiday websites, Sophie reflected as she shifted in her seat, was that the exotic imagery and artwork often belied the drabness of the resort itself. Even supposedly reliable websites seemed to promise much but all too frequently delivered little. Her seat, meanwhile, moaned softly as Sophie shifted, his thoughts far removed from any holiday destination – no matter how beautiful. He was focussed entirely on his task, his tongue lapping hungrily and eagerly
against his wife’s genitalia, unceasing in his need to please.  However, for that brief moment as Sophie had shifted, causing the pressure on her husband’s face to intensify, he had broken one of her rules and had emitted a deep pleasure filled moan. He had been told many times that he must express neither pleasure nor pain without permission. Sophie’s response was immediate. Without her eyes leaving the computer screen,
she reached round and grabbed her husbands’ balls, squeezing them hard.

“No noise, baby. I’m trying to concentrate” she soothed.

Instinctively, Bruce – for that was how the seat was otherwise known – opened his mouth wider in order to scream, the effect merely allowing his wife to grind her labia further into him.  Knowing that the noise – albeit stifled – would be likely to increase momentarily, she relaxed her grip on his balls and carried on scrutinising the website.

I don’t think RM likes it too hot’ she ruminated aloud.

It was a slightly pointless statement as Bruce had no hope of replying and wasn’t permitted to make any audible acknowledgment anyway. He simply continued to lick away, his tongue aching from 30 minutes relentless activity. He lay on his wife’s bed, his bare feet resting on the pillows, his head a few inches from its foot. This inverted state provided Sophie with her favourite piece of furniture, while she worked at the lap top placed on the dressing table in front of the bed. There was something particularly intoxicating about using her husband’s debit card on an extravagance whilst pleasuring herself on him. If she could time it right, the moment of climax would be saved for the moment she clicked the mouse on ‘Pay now’.

‘When we werediscussing it, I remember him saying that he preferred a milder climate’.

She clicked away from the 14 day ‘holiday of a lifetime’ to the Dominican Republic and looked for something perhaps a little less exotic. She sensed her husband’s fatigue beneath her.

“Faster you useless piece of shit!”

Mostly Sophie spoke quietly to her husband but occasionally it amused her to shock him with a harsh rebuke. It also served to remind him that the pace of his service was something that Sophie would determine, not him. Bruce duly obliged, forcing his aching tongue into more frenzied activity….

To continue reading the story, please click on one of the links below.

***

The full story is available for Kindle from Amazon UK by clicking on the picture link in the left sidebar. It is available fromAmazon Kindle USA by clicking HERE,

February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Pussy flashing on the London Underground

Pussy flashing on the London Underground.

Her name was Pippa. It wasn’t her real name of course. She had been introduced to me by a friend of mine who know about my interest (i.e., obsession) with secret lives and sexual connections. We met at the divine Hix Restaurant and Champagne Bar in Selfridges. When my friend, Claire, told me she knew this girl who made a habit of flashing her pussy on the London Underground I am not sure what I expected. But whatever it was that I expected, Pippa in the flesh wasn’t even close.

My first impression was just how ‘long’ she was. Five feet eleven inches in her bare feet apparently. Slim-to-medium build with everything in proportion.  Mid-to late twenties, at a guess. She was dressed very stylishly, quite the ‘young strumpette, with her uber-trendy Alain Mikli specs, and her ‘trademark’ short-short skirt.  As it turned out she was a management accountant, ‘very single’, and a committed Christian.  And for someone who had a habit of flashing herself to total strangers she seemed initially quite reserved, but after telling me all about her accountancy work and her activities on her local Parish council, she quickly loosened up.

‘I have always had this thing about the underground’, she says. ‘Just entering a station is like leaving your usual life behind, and entering an anonymous place where your usual behaviour and values can be set aside, and you don’t have to live with any consequences of what you do. And once you know there will be no come-backs in your real life, it’s like being another person. I am another person down there!’

I ask her how it started. How did the first time happen? ‘There was no real first time. I just started in small ways like leaving my knickers off when I knew I was going to be on the tube. Just for my own satisfaction really. I tend to wear short skirts anyway, and I just found being without them fantastically liberating. Made me feel like a really wanton slut, like I could do anything, and it would be okay.’

‘To be honest I didn’t set out to “flash” as such, it was more that I didn’t care if anyone saw or not. Yes I quite liked the idea of them seeing my pussy, but I didn’t go out of my way to stick it in somebody’s face.’

So when did you become aware that someone had seen you?

‘The first time I really knew for sure was when I was sat opposite this guy. He was in his mid-thirties or whatever, and was sat reading a book. As usual I was looking around, watching people, and it was one of those funny times when your eyes just meet each other, and you just know. My eyes going sideways met his coming up from my crotch and I knew he had seen my puss. He held my eyes for a good few seconds and I could see him wondering; wondering if I was up for a fuck or something probably! Of course I wasn’t but knowing he had seen my pussy really made my heart race. I was so excited I thought I must be going red and hopped off the train a stop early. That was the start really.’

So how often now? Just when she felt like it? Regularly??

‘I always go to work without any knickers on. It would feel somehow wrong tom wear them on the tube now. But I always nip into a loo when I get off and put them on. Same with coming home, I take them off just before I leave work and travel back without. It just feels right now.’

So it’s like second nature. Does she every not forget on the tube that she is without?

‘Sometimes I am more conscious then others. In general I just don’t care if I am seen or not. If they want a look, let them. I don’t care who. But if I am feeling extra horny, I do try and deliberately show somebody. There is just no thrill like it, showing to somebody when you know they are looking. And then if you show them that you know that they are looking and you don’t mind at all, that it’s okay. It is just mind-blowing.  I suppose I have moved on from the casual flash, to the accidentally-on-purpose flash, to the very deliberate flash to the sometimes blatent and prolonged flash. ‘

So have those types of encounters lead on to anything else? Touching or more?

‘No never; I would never go further than flashing. Although in the loo or wherever afterwards, I have often had to rub one off just get rid of the total horniness.’

Masturbate you mean?

‘That’s right. Sometimes I am so horny I can’t walk!’ She laughs a very dirty laugh. People at the next table look.

Do you have a favourite type of “viewer”?

‘Well, not really. That’s part of the thrill, the unknown, giving up control over who sees what you have. It’s the having no choice that’s exciting. I suppose if the guy is middle-aged or something he might appreciate it a bit more, and remember you. That’s always a good feeling. I like it when you can see a certain desperation on their faces, they want to look, they have to look, they can’t help it. Maybe they haven’t seen one for ages. The look on their faces is a picture.’

From the way Pippa talks, it is evident that she is a very enthusiastic public exhibitionist. She really does get a lot of pleasure from revealing herself to anyone who might look. As she concludes ‘For me, the real question is not about why I flash my pussy, the real question is why more women don’t!’

As someone almost obsessed with secret lives and sexual peccadillos, I found Pippa both engaging and genuine. We part with promises to keep in touch. ‘Just don’t mention the stations I get on and off will you?’, she says. ‘Flashing is always best one on one.’

(Photos for illustration only.)

If on your travels on the London underground you have seen Pippa flashing her pussy, do write and tell…

February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Recommendation: ‘Obsession’ by Helen Jones

A story of sexual obsession, compulsion and humiliation, ‘Obsession’ by Helen Jones is a character study of frustration and intense sexual need. It focusses on Julia Marshall a woman just into her forties who craves male company and all that goes with it. Tired of being alone on her birthdays Julia decides to book a male escort. After remodelling her clothing and herself she decides to be uncharacteristically bold and book a young black escort 21 years younger than herself.

This is the start of her journey into the darkside of sexual obsession. She is quickly sexually infatuated with ‘Max’, and cannot stop herself giving him her all. But after awhile the money starts to run out, and then….well there are consequences for them both, and an ending I didn’t see coming at all. This is a very entertaining and well-written story. It is especially good in portraying the frustration and needs of Julia, and how this changes her from a lonely schoolteacher into a woman who will do anything to keep a man with her.

It is as much the story of her transformation from a lonely schoolteacher into a sex craving slut who will do anything, a woman sho sheds her inhibitions and no longer cares what anyone thinks, as the story of the relationship itself. This is a story that works on a variety of levels.

It is at once an erotic story, and a character study. A very promising start from this new author.

‘Obsession’ by Helen Jones:

 

Download from:  Amazon USA

                              Amazon UK

 

 

February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  2 Comments

Story – The Pervert Within

‘The Pervert Within’, is a dark and twisted story about a man’s obsession with his stepdaughter. But who is the pervert…..?

Harry Stenton is a man with a sinister past, a man with many secrets. For most of his life he has been a brutal sadistic serial rapist: a violent man, without  pity or remorse. He considers rape an art form, and himself its
master

But then he meets Rosie, and he forms a relationship with her  daughter which brings out another side. A side he didn’t know existed, he wants only to love and protect her, keep her safe from the evils of the world. The  beast within is tamed and their relationship flourishes.

Until that is, he discovers that Louise isn’t quite the pure and innocent girl he has idolised. A ‘chance’ discovery shows Harry a very different girl; a girl he sees as being like all the other women he has known…

As Harry’s old self re-emerges their relationships takes a number of twists and turns to a hopefully memorable ending.

 

EXTRACT

Meet Harry Stenton. That’s him over there, sitting on his own, nursing his drink. His third of the afternoon.

Doesn’t look happy does he? Right now he is feeling his mortality, feeling burdened by unfulfilled desires; he feels his life is in flames. Burning him up…consuming
him.

But all that is about to change…

What he needs is a plan, a way forward. A scheme that will get him what he wants. And right at this moment Harry wants a lot.

He is a man bristling with ambitions many and various, large and small. Right now two in particular are on his mind. Both are causing him some misery. Both are making him feel neglected; making him feel desperate.

He knows what he really needs is to get rid of his wife Rosie. At forty-four she is getting past her sell-by date and needs off-loading; scrapping. Their ten-year marriage is winding to a sorry end full of nothing very much. He needs a new woman, new flesh; something younger, juicier, better looking; and if at all possible with a decent fucking job.

The second thing on his mind is Rosie’s nubile daughter,Louise. She is eighteen and Harry is eaten-up by the need to have her, to fuck her, to possess her young and tender body. Since her birthday he has seen her in her true colours, he has become obsessed with her, totally infatuated. Since he realised that she wasn’t quite the sweet and innocent young thing he took her for, thoughts of her boil his mind.

She is a prickteasing bitch; he has to have her. Has to. And he will.

One way or the other.

Whatever it takes. All he needs is the right strategy. His cock aches for those tight holes; her firmness; her skin. Thinking of her
dominates his life. Nothing else seems to matter. Nothing else does matter. Only her.

He drains his pint and nods to the barmaid for a refill. She looks a bit like the young Natalie Wood; all dark hair and perky tits and that same stuck-up look. He thinks for a second about buying her a drink, but decides against it. Waste of money. There’d be nothing at the end of it there. Bitch.

When he looks at her he sees Louise. He feels that familiar ache. But when he thinks of Louise, his thoughts are infected by her sad and saggy fucking mother. That was another sort of ache entirely.

Jesus Christ!

But things were about to change for Harry. He is determined. And when Harry gets determined, Harry gets what he wants.

Harry has secrets nobody knows about.

Until now…

To continue reading the story, please click on one of the links below.

***

Download from Amazon UK

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February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Student using sex to pay her way.

Female students entering the sex industry to fund their education seem to be all over the papers of late. Seemingly the combination of rising tuition fees and a cutback-happy government is driving girls into the ever-willing arms of the sex-trade. And nor do they seem even shy about it. Hardly a day goes by without ‘so-and-so from Sheffield’ popping up (or out) of some page or another. As someone having more than a passing interest in the subject (my 17 year old daughter is going to Uni in 2012!), I decided to find such a student and find out more.

Through a text-based contact service I found ‘JoJo’ (‘London Student Willing to Entertain’). After a short period of texting and a couple of telephone calls we meet for afternoon tea at the divine Hix Restaurant and Champagne Bar in Selfridges – a favourite spot of mine. During our text exchanges I had learned that she was 19, originally from York, and studying at a leading academic institution. She refers to herself rather broadly as a ‘sexual entertainer.’ She even has a ‘business card.’

In person she is a slim, pretty, highly animated chatterbox, with lots of smiles and eye-contact. She is smartly if casually dressed and glances around impressed with her surroundings. She was certainly someone you could warm to quickly. I ask her what she does to ‘entertain.’

‘Well it varies really, depending on what’s wanted. I like to think I am versatile, and can cater to needs as they arise! Most of it is private stripping and shows, you know? One-to-one shows in their own place or a hotel if they are married or visiting. You get a lot of visitors who want a quick thing while they are here. Or guys who live here who want some fun with no strings.. There is some modelling work, but not a lot really, just the occasional amateur wanting a body to photograph.’

So what does a strip or a ‘show’ involve then? Does it ever get to actual sex?

‘Again it depends really. Some just want to see you naked and thats all. As soon as you are naked they give you a clap and thats it, some want to see you get naked and then start playing about with yourself, you know, some want you to cum while they watch. Some want to wank themselves off while you do your stuff. Varies. I once got a bonus for cumming at the same time as the guy!’

So do you really cum for them or do you fake it?

‘I have cum yes, I find it a lot of a turn on. I mean someone watching you and really horny for you is bound to be isn’t it? Sometimes I don’t quite manage it, but I do fake pretty good, so its all the same really.’

So they sit there and wank while you strip? How does that feel?  Do you ever worry they will get too worked up and want more?

‘To be honest most work up to that after they have had two or three shows. First time they just want to see you do it, have a chat.  You build a rapport you know, so it feels comfortable really. Would feel a bit freaky if it was the first time, but most go a bit further each time.’

You have ‘regulars’ then?

‘Oh yes, one guy I see every week, we havee a good chat afterwards and a drink. Another I see  two or three times a month. Thats the best part beuilding that intimacy, as well as being able to financially plan. And you also get word of mouth recommendations. I strip for one guy, and I also do a show for his brother every now and again. Some are one-offs, but the regulars are more fun. and a steady earner,’ she grins.

When you say the shows can go ‘a bit further’ each time, does it ever get to involve actual sex. With your repeat clients I mean?

‘Well, not actual fucking as such no, but for a bit extra I don’t mind then stroking me or feeling me up you know? I have wanked guys off, and done a couple of blow jobs but no actual fucking as I say.’

Is that an important distinction then – touching yes, but fucking no? Is that an easy line to maintain if guys are wanting more.

‘It is what I made up my mind to do. I don’t mind showing my body, and I don’t mind helping them get off if thats what they want, but am not comfortable with actual full sex. I don’t have a boyfriend at the moment, but I wouldn’t like the thought of being unfaithful if I did have. I need to be able to live with myself afterwards.’

You don’t class a blow-job as full sex then?

‘Well it’s not it is? It’s just helping a guy blow his load, and its a bit quicker than a straight wank! Most are a bit shy of asking for it, but I offer it as a kind of consolation idea if they have asked for a fuck.’

As JoJo talked it became increasingly apparant that she had a real focus and was clearly driven in what she did. ‘I am the first member of my family to get to university and eventually I would like to make a career in academia, so this is a long-term thing for me. Put it like this, I study as hard as anyone on the course, but some students come from families who can afford for them not to work. They don’t study as hard as I do, they don’t love the subject like I do, they are here for just a good time. Some are just bone idle. But they can afford the all books and anything else they need. If I didn’t do this, I couldn’t. Why should I accept falling behind those students? If I were stacking shelves in a supermarket for £6.90 an hour I would have to spend so much time earning, my studies would suffer. This way, I can earn enough to live without giving away too many hours from my studies.’

So for JoJo the sex trade, offering sexuel services to fund her education and anticipated career is a pragmatic choice. It is a time-limited option, and very much a means to an end. As a woman I can only admire her. As a mother I can only worry. But let’s not fool ourselves, prostitution is still prostitution even if it has a socially esteemed outcome. And it still carries all the attendent risks.

And off she went. JoJo, serious student, sexual entertainer, and obviously star of many a solo performance.

February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Story Recommendation – Last Train Home

Female domination stories too often reduce the Mistress to a one-dimensional figure, without thoughts or feelings, without her own emotional needs and insecurities. The problem with that because the ‘Mistress’ is just a stick-figure, the content is limited to the mundane and stereotypical where the Mistress simply abuses the male slave, and puts ‘it’ through a series of humiliations. Generally the feeling by the end is that you have read it all before – read one read them all.

However, in Christina Marshall’s ‘Last Train Home’, at last there is a Domme with a difference. This Domme is a real person, a woman with a life, a career, opinions and thoughts, as well as desires and quite compulsive needs. Her train journey begins uneventfully enough with ruminations about her life and day, but she quickly instigates the tense and emotional domination of a total stranger. This from the very smallest incident, builds into a very satisfying climax where lives are changed. The nice thinmg here is that the Domme is not simply responding to the usual mundane ‘script’ (Mistress says X, slave does Y), she is responding and acting at the behest of her own needs and desires. It is a story which makes a real step forward in ‘femme domme’ stories, and is all the more satisfying for that.

The author Christina Marshall is herself a dominant woman, with a variety of relationships with submissive men past and present. The central core of the story is based on a true incident which occured on a late night train journey to Edinburgh. I personally found the story to be engaging and (unusually) at no point at all predictable – you are kept going all the way right through to the end. Recommended.

A very superior femme domme story, refreshingly 3-dimensional in that the Mistress is not just a ‘dominatrix’, but a real person, impelled by her own emotions.

 

 
 

To continue reading, please visit the sites below to download the full story!

Download from Amazon UK

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February 1, 2012  Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments

Middle Class Women Sex Slumming in the Inner City

Why do apparently respectable middle-class women indulge in the increasingly popular practice of sex slumming in high-crime inner-city areas? What drives a woman living a comfortable existence in an affluent part of London, to repeatedly enter the slum estates to seek anonymous sexual gratification? What is the attraction of sex with dubious strangers in areas riddled, with crime, drugs, violence and danger? I know of several such women who not only indulge in this pastime, but actually feel it is a kind of compulsion, an addiction.

‘Slumming’ began in the London of the 1880s where groups of the wealthy would leave their homes in Mayfair and Belgravia and take omnibus tours around the poorest parts of the East End of London. The motivation was to see the poor how the poor lived, their work, and play. Today ‘moral tourism’ is big business where groups from the rich West, are taken to the poorest areas of the world like Brazil, the focus is on sun and sex. From my ‘day job’, I have become aware that a new type of slumming is emerging in London: sexual slumming, where  financially comfortable middle-class women visit the high crime slum estates for the purposes of sexual gratification.

I am speaking to Laura (not her real name). She lives in Green Park, her husband is a successful barrister (Q.C!), and she herself is a senior civil servant. We are chatting in my home and she is concerned to try to explain what she calls ‘the monkey on her back’ – her need to go enter the ‘sink’ estates of London searching for sex.

‘I am, I admit, a humiliation junkie. It is what motivates my sexuality. I seem to only be able to really get off during sex, if it is with the sort of person it degrades me to go with. I am very naturally right-wing in my outlook. I despise the workshy and the whole ‘benefits culture,’. however I force myself to have sex with such men exactly because it is repulsive to me. The more repulsed, degraded and humiliated I am the harder iI cum. I visit those estates like a Victorian man much have visited brothels, under cover or darkness with a fear of being seen or found out.’

So when you say repulsive…you mean who they are or what they are?

‘Well both really. Just the fact they live in those dreadful place makes them repulsive to me on one level. But if they are actually physically unattractive as well, well that’s a bonus! The whole place has a seedy, sordid attraction for me. I used to drive through the place like a tourist on safari before I got the courage to actually park up and explore, go into a pub or two.’

That must have taken some courage…

‘Well, I have always had a kind of fascination for places like that. I used to drive around them at night, looking at the people. I would see the women and girls just walking about, next to nothing on even in the middle-of-winter. I would like to watch them and wonder about their lives. I would imagine being one of them, and when I arrived home I would masturbate thinking about it. Sometimes I would even stop on the way home and do it. So right from the beginning I wanted to be one of those women, live their lives, even if only for a short while.’

So do you have any idea where that kind of fascination came from? Did anything spark it off?

‘Well not as such. But I have always had fantasies of sexual humiliation and degradation. As I say, I would imagine myself as one of those girls being callously used for sex by the types of men on the estate, the rougher type of man, the criminal, the total bastard, even the pervert. It has always been something of an obsession with me. It is like being two people. On the one hand I have my ‘daylight’ life respectable career and family life, and my ‘nocturnal life’ where I cruised the streets of estates observing the life there and longing to be a part of it. I used to have fantasies of actually leaving my home and family and living there, living that life. Just being on the estate makes me feel good, it is a place where I am invisible from my real life. I can do anything without any comebacks.’

Really? Well what stopped you?? What prevented you making that move, making the fantasy real?

‘Well, practical matters really. With my accent I might not have lasted five minutes. But mainly I have managed to find an outlet which can give me the release I need. I say need because I don’t actually want it, but somehowe can’t live without it. I need it even against my will.’

Against your will?

‘Well as I say, it is not a want, but a need, I must have it despite myself. Sometimes I despise myself for having it. I live with it because living without it makes me restless.’

So do you have affairs with these men?

‘I would not call them affairs as such. Some are one offs, a pick up in the bar and then sex in their place, some I do see again, but that’s more like a one-night stand repeated than anything ongoing. Does that make sense? I make my mind up on a given night to enter a certain pub. And when I enter I know that if I get an offer of a drink or sex or whatever, I will say yes to it. It doesn’t matter who or what the man is. That’s the kick for me, giving myself no choice, letting them choose and me just accepting.’

You just accept anything that comes your way?

‘Yes, I have even smoked weed and taken speed while there. But really I am there for the sex. It is good now because a few of my guys have told other guys so when I enter a place, a few of the guys know I am there for sex; there for a bit of rough cock.’

Does that make it easier or harder?

‘Easier. it is like a form of shorthand. Sends out the signals, so there is less time hanging about on my own? Guys move in quicker, knowing they are on a certainty.’

So could you give it up.

‘No. That is all I can say. No I could not. It is in me, and once its there it won’t go away. Sex slumming, the need for humiliation and degradation, is more than my hobby, it is  my addiction.’

 

 

 

December 1, 2011  Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,   Posted in: writing  No Comments