This week the erotic author spotlight falls on perhaps one of the best known names in erotic writing, the immensely knowledgeable and prolific Violet Blue. I am very excited to feature Violet Blue here at CaraSutra.co.uk and lots of thanks goes to Cleis Press for all their helpful information.
Please enjoy finding out more about this simply fabulous lady. I know you’re all going to love sampling the free excerpt below from one of her anthologies, written by Elizabeth Coldwell and taken from Best Women’s Erotica 2013.
– Cara Sutra
Violet Blue is an award-winning author and editor, CNET reporter, CBSi/ZDNet blogger and columnist, a high-profile tech personality and one of Wired’s Faces of Innovation. She is regarded as the foremost expert in the field of sex and technology, a sex-positive mainstream media pundit (MacLife, CNN, “The Oprah Winfrey Show”) and is interviewed, quoted and featured in outlets ranging from ABC News to the Wall Street Journal.
Violet is a trained sex educator and lectures to human sexuality students at San Francisco State University, UC Berkeley, and to trainees at the national sex crisis and information hotline San Francisco Sex Information. She lives in San Francisco.
Visit her at www.tinynibbles.com.
Elizabeth Coldwell, from “In Threes” in Best Women’s Erotica 2014
The first time I saw him I was on all fours on the bed, naked and gagged with my own panties. Mitchell had ordered me to wait in that position while he paid a quick visit to the bathroom, and I was doing as I was told. Just my luck that at that moment room service finally deigned to deliver the bottle of champagne Mitchell asked them to send up when we’d first booked in, nearly an hour before.
Hearing the rap on the door and the waiter announcing his presence outside, I called as best I could through my gag, trying to attract Mitchell’s attention. He’d insisted I wait in silence till he returned, and I knew my poor backside would pay the price for this flagrant act of disobedience, but this was important. Unfortunately, the waiter must have taken my muffled noises as an invitation to come in, because the lock snicked open and he walked into the room, carrying an ornate silver ice bucket.
He said nothing as he looked at me, though I felt like his eyes were eating up the sight before him: my breasts, hanging down full and heavy; my asscheeks, already bearing the red marks of the spanking Mitchell had dished out as soon as he’d stripped me bare; my mouth, plugged with a wad of black silk. Did he know that was my own underwear, wet and fragrant from the juices that been flowing since Mitchell rang me at the gallery that afternoon and told me to meet him at the Charmont? A hot flush suffused my body, burning deepest on my cheeks and echoing the pulsing heat between my legs.
It didn’t help that the man could have stepped straight out of the file in my brain marked hot, dirty fantasy guys. He’d most likely shaved before he came on shift, but now the beginnings of a heavy stubble prickled on his chin. His black hair was a little too long, curling against his shirt collar, and his olive-toned skin and dark eyes spoke of a Mediterranean heritage. He made me think of all the scenarios that turned me on the most: the ones where Mitchell held me down firmly and encouraged some other man to touch and stroke me in all the ways I liked the best, taking me to the brink of orgasm and back so many times all I could do was beg and sob and promise to do whatever the two of them wanted, as long as they let me come.
“I’ll just put this down here, shall I?” he said, gesturing with his head in the direction of the antique dresser. His accent was more rainy Manchester than romantic Sorrento, but it didn’t take the level of my filthy fantasizing down even a notch.
I just nodded, barely noticing that Mitchell had returned to the room and was already fumbling in his wallet for a no doubt hefty tip. Not that he needed to buy this man’s silence. The expression on the waiter’s face told me that not only did he like what he saw very much indeed, but also that this wasn’t the first time he’d interrupted some explicit scene or other. After all, the Charmont prided itself on its discretion as a venue, and you didn’t hang on to that kind of reputation for long if you employed staff who didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut.
He left the room with slow, backward steps, taking one last good look at my naked curves and the submissive posture in which they were displayed. Even before the door shut behind him, Mitchell was unbuckling his belt and pulling it free of his trouser loops.
“What’s our rule on silence, Lucy?” he asked, not even waiting for an answer as he strode toward me. “Six with the belt will help to enforce it, I think….”
Such a harsh punishment, but I deserved it. And I wondered, in the instant before the first blow fell, whether he realized all my thoughts were of the handsome waiter lashing my backside, while Mitchell looked on and told him to make sure I really felt every single one.
– Elizabeth Coldwell
Violet Blue’s social media links can be found here: http://about.me/violetblue