Robin Sweet: Erotic Author Spotlight Series

Robin Sweet

Love erotica and murder mysteries? Then you’re in for a treat with this week’s featured author. Robin Sweet has just released her kinky murder mystery, Of Jennifer’s Body – and she’s also a writer for the popular sex e-zine, Cliterati.

Read on to learn more about Robin Sweet and enjoy a free sexy excerpt too.

Cara Sutra

robin sweet erotic author spotlight series

Robin Sweet Biography

robin sweet erotic author spotlight series

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’.

Robin Sweet has been on the London fetish/poly/queer scene for a very long time and uses those experiences – the good, the bad, the hilarious and the horrendous – in her writing. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, however, is entirely the result of her forgetting to change the names.

She is Queer Editor at, the pioneering erotic education site, once for women, now for everyone. You can read what she wrote for Cliterati about the rules of love for perverts here.

Her favourite things include ladies in spectacles, gentlemen in skirts, Japanese rope bondage, Jane Austen, David Foster Wallace and kittens.

Robin Sweet Links

She has just released Part 3 of her kinky murder mystery, Of Jennifer’s Body, on the Ether Books app. The app is free and available for iOS and Android.  Visit etherbooks dot com for more details, and find Robin’s stories at catalog dot etherbooks dot com/authors/729.

You can also follow her on Facebook and Twitter @RobinSweetUK.

Free Excerpt

robin sweet erotic author spotlight series

Extract from Of Jennifer’s Body, Part Three, by Robin Sweet

When DCI Black walked through the doors of the Pervporium that afternoon, armed with a pure and searing determination to get to the bottom of Jennifer Sherrington’s involvement in David Podd’s death, it was to face an unexpected – although gratifying – sight.

Jennifer, dressed in a tight-fitting trouser suit the colour of cinnamon, was bending over a till, clearly trying to get at something just out of reach beneath the counter. Her immaculate buttocks were perfectly displayed to the main entrance, the sleek, heavy fabric of the trousers outlining each delicate curve and allowing just a hint that there might be something lacy – and possibly even silky – underneath it. On the counter top beside the audacious buttocks were a pile of receipts and invoices, a tablet computer, and several stacked books about business management and marketing strategy, all with different coloured sticky tabs protruding from them.

DCI Black stopped dead in her tracks (she had not expected to get to the bottom of things quite so soon). Her throat closed up. She attempted to clear it, and made a kind of dry, crackling noise.

Jennifer’s head bobbed up from behind the buttocks and she looked over her shoulder, which gave her the momentary appearance of a fawn surprised in the woods.

“DCI Black!” she said, hurrying to right herself and straightening her jacket as she did so. Her long hair, reflecting the creamy, coffee tones of her suit, shone like… DCI Black physically shook herself. No more of that kind of thing. She had questions to ask. Because asking questions was what she did. She was a police detective. There had been a murder. No, two murders. It was imperative that she…

Jennifer was approaching. She put out her smooth, tiny hand to shake Black’s, and Black caught a whiff of something delectable.

“How can I help you, Detective?” asked Jennifer.

“Questions,” said Black. “I mean, I have them. To ask you. The bottom. Of. Getting there to it.”

“Oh… of course.” Jennifer opened her wide eyes wider and gestured towards the back of the shop. “Shall we go through? I have a new kind of tea that Harrods want us to stock. For some reason they don’t want to sell it in their own store. It has very erotic packaging.” She blushed slightly and led the way, a mute Black following (it is the mark of a particularly choice submissive to sustain the ability to blush at the slightest sexual reference, no matter how many years of willing carnal degradation she has undergone).

They sat awkwardly at the table in the back office as the flames hissed under the kettle, the packet of tea between them. It did indeed have a quite obscene – although tastefully done – image on each side of the box. Black found it impossible not to stare at the tangle of appendages involved and attempt to mentally unknot them. She hastily looked up and found Jennifer’s clear blue eyes fixed on her, although they dropped characteristically as soon as Black met them.

“Ah, yes. Ms Sherrington,I have questions,” said Black, again. She was pleased the words were in the right order this time, and there was no ‘bottom’ reference.

“Yes, Detective? You know I’ll be very happy to give you anything you need. Anything at all.”

This time it was Black who blushed slightly, a most uncharacteristic occurrence for her (17th November 1987 had been the last time, for those interested). Feeling the sudden warmth of her cheeks, a sense of irritation at her own fallibility pushed Black forward.

“David Podd. Your fiancé.”

Jennifer’s eyes grew moist. “Yes, detective,” she almost whispered, eyes dropping to the tabletop again.

Black’s irritation grew. This was all very familiar. These little gestures. They were Sherrington’s stock in trade, weren’t they? But the Professor’s words sat persistently in her memory: This Jennifer knows something she’s not telling you.

Black sprang from her chair and walked to the window at the back of the office, which looked out on an empty alleyway. Although, on closer examination, Black realised it wasn’t quite empty: it contained one of the Pervporium’s house gimps, madly scrubbing at the cobbles with an old fashioned brush so big he had to use two hands to wield it.

“Do you have to make him do that? Really?” asked Black, turning back to Jennifer, surprised at the harshness in her own voice but pushing on. “Who’s going to see that alleyway?”

Jennifer walked to stand beside Black and peered out of the window too.

“Oh, you mean Gimp Number 8. I don’t make him, Detective Black,” she said, earnestly. “He likes to do it. He gets quite upset if we tell him not to. It’s important to him that it stays shiny and clean out there.” Then she smiled involuntarily as it occurred to her that Black would probably be interested to hear just how many Pervporium members did see the cobbles of that alleyway in close up on club nights, and how instantly recognisable most of those people would be to the detective.

Black saw the smile, though she didn’t understand its meaning, and her irritation blossomed into resentment.

“Got this all under control haven’t you, Ms Sherrington?” she said.

“I… I beg your pardon, Detective Black?”

Black moved a step closer to Jennifer. “Got your little act all worked out. Miss Innocent, Miss Helpless. But it seems like you’ve been managing pretty well without the Master here, am I right?”

Jennifer’s delicate face was a picture of speechless hurt and confusion. Her mouth opened in a small ‘o’ of shock and her eyes filled again. She lifted a hand gracefully towards Black, as though to ward off any further cruelty.

Black grabbed the hand without thinking and pulled Jennifer close so that their faces almost touched.

“Well, I’ve got your number, missy.”

Black’s other hand was on the back of Jennifer’s head, her fingers entwining with her hair. She pulled the strands tight and heard Jennifer gasp. Eye to eye, Black could see Jennifer’s pupils dilate. The smell of something delectable was stronger. A pulse was beating in Jennifer’s neck. Other than that, the pair were still as mannequins, barely even breathing.

The kettle squealed. It was time for aphrodisiac tea, but neither Jennifer nor the Detective Chief Inspector seemed to feel they needed it.

You can download Part 1 of this story for free at catalog dot etherbooks dot com/Products/2218

– Robin Sweet

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