We turned several corners of narrow, winding streets. I smelled garlic, tomatoes on the vine, then he pushed me down a narrow opening against a wall. It was warm against my back and he was very hard as he pressed into me. He kissed me. His breath smelled like peppermint and coffee. “You haven’t been smoking,” I said, as he rubbed his gigantic cock against me. “I never smoke when I want to fuck. I’m really glad you came.” He trailed his tongue down my neck then stopped. He made my heart race and he knew it. “Take it out,” he whispered, moving back to my ear. “I can’t take it out,” I said, as people kept traipsing past us. “Take it out. Now.”
...if he ties me up, spanks me and uses ‘dirty talk’ before fucking me. Telling me what he’s going to do to his filthy little girl, that I’m all just for Daddy and that there’s nothing I can do to stop him, he’s going to fuck me anyway, nothing I can do about it. No choice. Tied up and no way out, no escape. Just a little fucktoy, a ragdoll for him to use and abuse at will. That sort of thing.
He moved on his side to face me, both of us on top of the bed. His nose almost touching mine. There’s no argument which could ever be brooked with those dark eyes, brooding doesn’t even come close. Determined? Of course. Expectant. Dominant. In control. To be obeyed without question or hesitation. To stare into them means to know this is what you really want, to know your own mind and be strong enough to go where it and he leads. I'm proud enough to face those eyes openly and without hiding or running. They were out of focus range, suddenly… and his mouth was on mine, tasting and invading. The first penetration.
Braden shut her up by kissing her. One minute she was raving like a lunatic and the next moment he claimed her mouth with his. At first, she didn’t respond as surprise rippled through her. She simply took in the fact that her stoic, taciturn cowboy was, in fact, kissing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, letting her tongue meet the seam of his lips. He opened immediately and swirled their tongues together. It was different from Leo’s kiss but no less sensual. Her fear melted into desire and, when he pulled back to stare at her with his blazing blue orbs, her fear evaporated.
I’m worried about hearing the right words when people ask questions. That’s quite before the fact that I just don’t like my voice. Writing seems to comfortable, compared; when you’re reading words you can imagine the perfect pitch and tone of voice. Never any hesitation or stuttering, no breaking voice, no awkward pauses. No scrabbling around in the corners of your mind for the right way to say this out loud.
Slut-fucking, where 'slut' holds only the right amount of shame, which is none, really at all, yet when he growls it into my ear with a bite of venom in his tone there is a shudder of a pride-humiliation mix that if you've never felt it, you won't understand. Proud to be humiliated in front of him like the sex object he enjoys me being, that I enjoy being, for him. Proud to be his slut, that term of derisive loving perverted endearment; hearing him say that word only to me, only about me, his special slut, no-one else is his slut, only I.
Erotic World Book Day was 5 March and as part of the celebrations there was an unashamedly spectacular party on Facebook. From 7pm UK time until well past midnight, every hour saw a new host share a wealth of tasty entertainment for the party attendees to enjoy. Were you in attendance? Were you one of the 325 people who came to our party? You really should have been there. With shared excerpts from some of the top names in the world of erotic fiction, cyber cocktails, sexy chat, best-dressed competitions and over £1,500 of prizes to win, this really was an unmissable adult event. Erotic World Book Day originator Emily Dubberley declared the party officially open at 7pm with an overview of the night’s festivities and the charity fundraising reasons behind the celebrations. We hoped to raise a substantial amount for sexual health and well-being charity Brook. As well as regular calls through the night for party folk to donate generously, either through the website link or text, there would be the official launch of our Erotic World Book Day charity anthology, An Intimate Education. 100% of the profit from sales of this erotic e-book would be (and still is being) donated to Brook.
Megan Hart writes books. Some of them use a lot of bad words, but most of the other words are okay. She can't live without music, the internet, or the ocean, but she and soda have achieved an amicable uncoupling. She can't stand the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves her cold.
Tamsin Flowers: This week's erotic author in the spotlight is Tamsin Flowers (website here, who has written a variety of sexy novels as well as short stories which have featured in many erotic anthologies which I am sure many of you will recognise. Tamsin Flowers' newest work, The Scarlet Bond, is almost ready for release - but you lucky Cara Sutra readers can get a sneak preview with a free excerpt in the feature post below. If you love vampires, you're definitely in for a treat!
The choices that Alison makes are her own, although it may seem that she is prostituting herself to some. In fact, it could be argued that it's Alison who is exploiting the men who she fucks into submission. Tempted to read more? You should be.
I feel the sheet under me, the sheet that felt so cold when he first carried me to it and laid me down but has since submitted to warmth underneath my naked but for rope body. I feel the hemp rope tight but not painful around both wrists, tied in front of me in a placating prayer. He is kind and didn’t tie them to my rear, so I can lay flat on the bed. He is cruel because I know this means he plans to keep me like this for some time. Rope also adorns my ankles, keeping them bound together although I can crook my legs open at the knees. Or rather, he can prise them apart. My mind cartwheels again. I try for a dry swallow.
Her breathing quickened at his possessive touch. If she moved her legs apart, anyone at the end of the table would have a view of her pussy. Crap. This was not what she had envisioned for the evening. She considered explaining, but doubted he’d be sympathetic. Screw it, the lighting was subdued and her skirt covered enough—she hoped. Slowly, reluctantly, she spread her legs until her foot was lined up with the corner. “I’m going to place the manacle around your ankle. I won’t latch it, pet. You are to remain still. If you remove your leg, I will be disappointed.”
Robin Sweet: Robin Sweet is a journalist and fiction writer who doesn't really believe in 'sexperts', although she has been known to accept hard cash for acting as one for magazines like Scarlet, Forum, Men's Health and FHM (it keeps her in latex). She thinks sex isn't really that complicated and the best advice is usually 'try talking about it with your partner/s'.
Jacqui Sinclair is one of the most popular writers for EarnTheNecklace.com. Her first novel, The Imperfect Gentleman, is the story of an ambitious, struggling college student whose life suddenly changes when she meets a much older, wealthier man. Seduced by his mind, body, and wallet, this perfect relationship quickly spirals into a twisted tale of sex, lies, and deceit, with a stunning twist that will blow your mind A tribute to sexual exploration and self-discovery, The Imperfect Gentleman is a rollercoaster ride of sexual exploration and self-discovery—and proves that there is nothing better than sex with a much older man.
That’s when I really started to explore what I was doing. I started copying some of the shit I had seen girls doing in those porn movies, like licking around his head, seeing how deep I could push into my mouth, twisting my head from side-to-side as sucked him, all that sort of crazy shit. And I guess some of it worked because Danny started moaning a little bit.
She’d waxed and tanned and barely dressed, she’d courted darkness’ approach with a stilettoed dash through the twilight between taxi and apartment building, and now she stood facing her work for the evening. Average, she decided. From the postcode and the cut of the suit trousers he was wearing he definitely had the means to back up his demands. But first impression looks-wise? Average.