This week’s erotic author in the spotlight is the wonderful A.M. Hartnett who you can find out more about below in this week’s feature. You’re also being thoroughly spoilt by not one, not two, but a very generous three free excerpts from her saucy books.
Thanks for getting involved A.M. Hartnett and for sharing your amazing writing with us!
If you’d like to read about other erotic authors you can find the Erotic Author Spotlight Series here. Erotic author and interested in your own free feature post at Cara Sutra? Find the call for submissions page here.
– Cara Sutra
“I always look forward to what A.M. Hartnett is going to say next. This is the truth. Whether in an email, a blog post, on Twitter, or in one of her erotic stories, I am always curious to see what Hartnett will come up with. She’s got me on the edge of my seat (in more ways than one)” — Alison Tyler, author Dark Secret Love.
A.M. Hartnett began writing erotica upon receiving what, at the time, she considered very bad advice from a career counsellor Since 2006, her short stories have appeared on the web and in various anthologies, including Kristina Wright‘s Best Erotic Romance series and Rachel Kramer Bussel‘s Curvy Girls.
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Inspired by Tumblr’s diverse sex blog community, Uncover Me is about a wounded sex blogger, Carrie Thorn, whose sinful little secret becomes a voyeuristic adventure when one of her readers recognizes a landmark in the background of one of her photos. In Brendan, Carrie finds a man who won’t let her hide behind her dirty pictures with her toys and sinful poses any longer, a man who becomes more and more interested in Carrie than her naughty persona.
She didn’t think of it as porn.
Porn was something some men watched in front of their computer, cock in hand and a box of tissues next to their keyboard. Artificial boobs and bad acting. A hard cock in a wet pussy or mouth.
What Carrie was doing wasn’t porn. It was just her blog.
Standing in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped turban-style around her hair, she wiped away the film her shower had created and stared at the reflection of herself. She tossed around the idea of taking a picture. She knew her readers liked it when she was fresh out of the shower, her skin pink from the heat and the spray and still shining with moisture, but the pictures were like any other creative endeavour: the mood had to be just right.
Carrie hung up her bath towel and went from the steamy bathroom to the cool bedroom, damp feet slapping on the hardwood floor. She stretched, grateful for the open window and the breeze that skittered across her bare back on what already promised to be a hot one.
Before she’d been single, the windows had been closed all the time. It was a wonder she’d been able to get a wink of sleep in the year she’d been with an ex who wore socks to bed. She liked the fleeting exposure of open windows and blowing curtains, of a warm breeze skimming over bare flesh in the darkness.
She didn’t go near her phone as she dressed. She left her tablet computer alone. There would be at least twenty little red dots over her blog application’s icon. There would be more as North America woke up, lengthy comments or just little nods of approval.
What she’d posted the night before had been a blurry black and white shot of her touching herself through cotton panties. Nothing major, just a little tease, but even the subtle posts got a reaction.
Carrie wrapped herself in her robe and returned to the bathroom to dry her hair.
Besides, if she looked at the phone and saw what her pet perverts had written, that compulsion might come over her. It could strike at any hour of the day and she’d be off like a smoker on their first break of the morning. At some point during the day, she’d tuck her phone into her pocket and retreat to the washroom – not the communal stalls across the hall, but the single room by the coffee shop in the lobby, the one with the locked door. She’d take a few sneaky shots: an open blouse, the saucy peek of a garter, a finger toying with her pussy. She’d post the picture, and then return to her desk with a tea and start the wait all over again.
On a good day, she’d make it until quitting time, until she locked the front door behind her.
If it was a hard day, she’d make another trip to the bathroom, or even sneak a quick picture right there at her desk.
She still hadn’t touched her phone when, half an hour later, she was completely polished and lacquered, with the kettle bubbling on the kitchen counter. The urge was getting stronger.
She wished it was Sunday. Carrie worked her guts off on Saturday doing all those little things like laundry and groceries just so she could put on all those naughty things she’d been picking up since starting the blog and become Maggie, the woman of the blog. On Sunday she slept late and then, for as long as she was awake, allowed herself to be that persona she had created.
But it was Wednesday, and she had days left before she could give herself over to her dirty pictures.
Fifteen years ago, Jacques Taureau was attacked in his bed. His face was slashed and his throat slit. His assailant wasn’t a stranger, but the woman he loved. The attack changed him, and in the aftermath he retreated to his secluded family home in rural New Brunswick, Canada. Only a selected few have seen him since the trial, but he’s been watching.
Grace Neely has made a name as the right hand of Taureau-Werner’s top dog. Even though she works long hours, she still finds time to play in the empty offices and boardrooms of the Taureau-Werner building. That’s where he watches her. That’s where he contacts her, and where Grace indulges him with a private show.
But he can’t keep her at arm’s length forever. Grace demands he take their digital affair to the next level, and for the first time since that horrible night, Taureau must let someone in.
‘Did you fuck him last night or did you wait until this afternoon?’
Though she was beginning to feel cornered, she refused to give up her composure. She spoke matter-of-factly. ‘No. He was drunk by the end of the night, and I needed to be here at seven o’clock.’
‘Did you want to last night?’
Grace nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’
He said nothing, and she was fraught with turmoil. Taureau had been right; the need for control gnawed at her. She took the opportunity in his silence to try and gain some semblance of an upper hand.
She gripped the edge of the table. ‘Is this the real reason you rang me tonight? You want the filthy details?’
‘I don’t need filthy details. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. No, I was curious. At one point in the video from today you looked right at the camera. I wanted to find out whether you were that clever and knew you were being watched.’
He moved again, this time to reveal a little more of his face. He had a strong chin dappled with whiskers and a wide mouth. The burgundy shirt he wore was unbuttoned partway to reveal a lightly furred chest. Just the slightest hint of a naked body gave her a thrill she had to suppress.
‘How do you feel about being watched? Be honest with me.’
‘How do you know I’d be telling you the truth when my livelihood is hanging in the balance?’
‘Is it? I thought we’d settled this when you admitted you didn’t know his name. Miss Neely, I’m not firing you. Now please, tell me how you feel about being watched.’
She had the urge to avert her gaze as a shiver teased between her shoulder blades. Indeed, when she made her connections at the office there was always the thrill of being caught, but that thrill only shimmered through her as she and her lover secreted themselves away. She wasn’t doing it because of any penchant for being watched.
‘I’ve never thought about it until tonight,’ she said honestly. ‘It’s never been my fantasy.’
‘Anonymous sex is your fantasy.’
‘It’s not anonymous,’ she insisted, then laughed at herself. ‘It’s not entirely anonymous. I do get their names most of the time.’
‘That’s more than I can say about my own activities these days, Miss Neely.’ Taureau chuckled, a low sound that surrounded her. ‘You’re evading my question again. Now that you know you’ve been watched all this time, how do you feel?’
‘Hot.’ His mouth twitched as the admission raced electric through her veins. ‘I would feel different if I found out there was a security guard jerking off somewhere, or if I caught someone peeking through a crack in the door.’
‘You’ve been lucky. No one’s caught on yet.’
‘But you have, and now that I know you’ve seen everything …’ She darted her gaze from side to side, wondering if he could see the slight movement as she pressed her thighs together. ‘You must know that’s one hell of a fantasy you’re peddling: a rich, brooding stranger watching me from the shadows while I’m bent over a table or a desk with a hard cock pounding between my legs.’
A sharp hissing sound came from the speakers. Grace couldn’t help smiling.
‘Is that what you needed to hear so you won’t feel like a pervert the next time you’re rubbing out while watching me?’
‘There you go again, trying to get control from me. One would think you like to be in charge, but we both know that’s not true. You like to be pushed around a little. You like to be told what to do.’
Molly has been watching Quinn come and go for months. She knows exactly what he’d peddling in her hotel, and now it’s time for him to go. She books his time and pays for his fee, but when the time comes to send him on his way, Quinn makes a much more tantalizing offer: she lets him stay until New Years, when he plans to retire, and he’ll make it work her while …
Sleeping with a male prostitute for business in one thing. The affair Molly embarks upon with Quinn is another matter. One meeting after another, Molly is startled to find herself falling for him, and even more startled to find him falling right back in love with her.
‘You remind me of someone, you know. About ten years ago there was a woman in Vancouver who would dress like that. She was a little older than you, single and successful, renowned for being a perfectionist in her field. She was a perfectionist in every aspect. If you couldn’t do it right the first time, you were out on your arse.’
She watched him finger the cuffs he’d made at his elbows and itched to straddle him, to unzip him and ease down on that deliciously thick cock. She didn’t want to hear about some other woman. She wanted his mind on her, Molly Archer, and she wanted his thoughts to go no further than stretching her wide as he went balls deep.
‘The first time she contacted me was by email. She was very businesslike in the way she explained what she expected from me. It seemed so deranged that I almost turned her down, but I wanted the money so I upped my price. I was impressed by how thorough she was with her kink, and how in control of it she was.’
‘What did she do? Tie you up and peg you?’
He gave his head a shake, then leaned back, hands flat on the bed behind him. ‘I met her at her condo. She was wearing something like what you’re wearing, all white frills and satin. She was nervous at first. Not afraid, but anxious that I might disappoint her. Finally, she talked herself into trusting me, and then she took me to the bedroom. Shall I go on?’
Her impatience was bubbling over, but there was something hypnotic about his storyteller’s voice. She nodded and was met with a smile. He beckoned her again and, once she was before him, he gestured at the floor.
‘You want me on my knees?’
‘Don’t get too excited. I’ll tell you why once you’re down there.’
Down she went and sat back on her calves, when what she really wanted was to pull out his cock and disturb his unflappability.
He leaned forward and went on. ‘First, she wanted me to give her a stern talking-to. She wanted me to grill her about her business dealings, her personal life, how often she cancels her appointments with her personal trainer, how much of a credit-card balance she keeps, and so on. Once her failings were laid out before her, it was time to get physical.’ He leaned forward and cocked his head. ‘Have you ever had a good hard spanking, Molly Archer?’
She shook her head. She would have answered, but her tongue had gone useless on her while her body was struck with a charge.
A good hard spanking? Not only had she never had one, but she’d never really wanted one. She’d always found the fantasy off-putting, but as soon as the question had left Quinn’s mouth she ached to reach down and give herself a bit of a rub.
He looked down at her pretty white stockings. ‘I think we’ll skip the boring parts. If you want to moan about your perceived faults, you can get yourself a therapist. Right now, I’m more interested in seeing how wet a few smacks will make your pussy. Up.’
He held out his hand. It was such a gentlemanly gesture and she got to her feet as daintily as she could. He held on even after she draped herself over his lap, and something told her that he wouldn’t let go even while he was bringing a stinging palm down on her cheeks.
‘If we’re going to do this, then we’ll do it right,’ he said, and with his other hand he dragged her panties down just below her buttocks.
‘Did you use your hand with her?’ she asked, her voice shaking past her tonsils.
‘No, she had a leather paddle. Even if I had known this would be what we’d be getting up to tonight, I wouldn’t have brought anything with me. I like the idea of feeling the same sting in my hand that I’m giving to you on your arse.’
‘Hurts me more than it hurts you sort of thing?’
‘No, this won’t hurt me a bit.’