Vanessa Clark: Erotic Author Spotlight Series
Vanessa Clark writes compelling erotica which is all embracing and highly sex positive. The themes are spread across the wonderful diversity of sexuality and gender, with erotic stories told from lesbian, gay, bisexual, intersex, and trans points of view. You can enjoy a free excerpt at the end of this post too. Thanks Vanessa!
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
Vanessa Clark writes lesbian, gay, bisexual, intersex, and trans* romance/erotica fiction that she affectionately calls glitterotica. She mostly publishes under her initials/pseudonym, V.C. Her writing career started in high school where she gained a reputation for her historical short stories, even having been given a couple of gold key awards from Scholastic Inc. Vanessa Clark got her start writing erotica during college. After having numerous short erotica stories published on Oysters&Chocolate.com, she has since had various erotic shorts published in anthologies and has written six novels so far, and counting. She’s been published by O&C Press, Ravenous Romance, Freaky Fountain, Cleis Press, Go Deeper Press, Storm Moon Press, House of Erotica, and Robinson/Running Press. You can contact Vanessa Clark at firstname.lastname@example.org and follow her on Twitter, Facebook, and her blog for news and updates on book releases, works in progress, and much more!
Vanessa Clark Books
The Mistress by Vanessa Clark
First Class Tiger by Vanessa Clark
Valves & Vixens including Vanessa Clark
Best Lesbian Erotica 2013 featuring Vanessa Clark (Amazon UK here)
Sugar and Spice including Vanessa Clark
Femme Fatale including Vanessa Clark
Vanessa Clark: Free Excerpt
from “Les Lettres Dangereuses” by Vanessa Clark
Edinburgh, Scotland. 22 September 1847
Dear Marquise Francis Blake,
Being that it has been over a week since I’ve written to you, it is fair to assume that I had not looked into Olivia’s diary. After reading back the last letter I had written to you, I was frightened. I have never in my four and thirty years confessed in writing about my love for someone, let alone for a love such as Lady Olivia. I tried to forget about it by keeping my mind off you, Olivia, and her dirty-minded diary and instead on only my loyal servitude. It was hard Madame, not as easy as I thought it would. The reason for that is because your Olivia has seduced me again.
This happened only yesterday.
I was in Olivia’s room, styling her hair. While I was pinning her hair into a voluminous bun and decorating the sides with golden clockwork pins, I couldn’t help but be distracted. I was pining over the back of her supple neck, where the hairs there are wispy and soft, seeming more golden white than blonde. I wished my lips could caress her there. When I helped to disrobe Olivia—which of course is nothing new, I’ve been tending to undressing and dressing her since she was a little one—my eyes darted to her naked bottom. More than ever before, I thought it so titillating. It is so fat and round Madame, the flesh shakes and jiggles in the tiniest of her movement, rippling like a pond. Usually, it’s so fair, but this time, there were red splotches all over it. I had never seen her red like that before, until now. It looked beautiful. Her pale white canvas was now graced with artwork. The giver of those red splotches was the painter, a giver of dominance and control over Olivia—the muse, the object of this artist’s desires. I was tempted to ask her how her ass had got so red, but I held my tongue and focused on the task at hand. I was quiet, silently picking out her drawers. My curiosity was raised higher when, as I was helping her slip into them, I noticed how even her round luscious breasts were the same color as her bottom.
“Been rough housing with a mate?” I courageously asked her.
“Oui,” she attempted to speak in my language.
“Avec qui?” I asked her with whom.
“Un garçon méchant,” she declared.
“Un garçon méchant?” I played dumb, as if I had no idea as to who she was speaking of.
“He spanked me.”
I was sincerely shocked that she blabbed it out to me.
I didn’t ask her who George was. As you know, Madame, I knew exactly who he was.
“We were only playing, frolicking through the woods,” she went on. “He was chasing after me. He was so quick! He grabbed me by the collar of my afternoon dress, tackling me to the ground. Once I fell, he lifted up my dress and pulled down my drawers, exposing my bum.”
The thought of it—it made my clit buzz and my pussy shudder.
“Then suddenly he started spanking it,” she continued as if she were talking to herself rather than speaking to me, she wasn’t even looking at my direction. I was invisible and yet I was not. I listened closely. “He did it so hard that I let out a shout. And he didn’t stop. It hurt. He kept spanking it over and over, one hand after another, while he was laughing at me and calling me a—” She was silent. Something was holding her back from admitting what I already knew.
“Calling you what Mademoiselle?” I gulped.
“It does not matter,” she said quickly.
There was a moment of silence between us as I helped her dress into her morning attire. It was a most gorgeous periwinkle blue dress, the skirt of it ruffled at the back, slightly puffy and exaggerated to give off the illusion that she had a bigger bottom than average. I cinched her waist with a dark bronze corset that had a clockwork design all over it, complimenting the pins that she wore in her hair. I pulled the leather strings of her corset a bit tighter, so it cinched her waist just a notch more. The lovely dear gasped a little, not at all whining about how tough I was since she had long been used to this only type of aggression that I put on her. It had to be done, because as you always remind me Madame, Olivia always has to look at her best anywhere, no matter the time or place . So I made sure that she was as perfect in my eyes as she is in yours. I also helped slip on her clockwork earrings and necklace then helped her with her bronze lipstick and dark-tinted eyeshadow that completed her look. She looked so ravishing, not that she didn’t know that already. She looked at herself in the mirror, turning around, the skirt of her dress rising up a little by the air beneath her, and then posing at herself, gracing the mirror with the most proud smile of satisfaction. If only that smile was for me.
“Anyway, back to where we were,” she was still looking at herself in the mirror, talking to me from her reflection. “After the spank I could feel warmth rising from my flesh, oh, how it tingled. George turned me over on my back, and then spanked my breasts too until they matched the reddish color of my arse. You can’t see it now,” she bent over a little, her corset having pushed her breasts up high. They jiggled a little, and of course, naturally Madame, I was hypnotized. “But at the time, there were so many red splotches on them. And they were tingling too.”
“This George sounds more like a bête,” I commented. “Why do you associate yourself with such a creature?”
“It is true, he is a bête, but he’s a beautiful one,” her face glowed. “I like his company. He is a lot of fun. You want to know why? It’s not just because of the naughty things he does to me. He also takes me on rides on his airship, and we fly high up in the sky, and from there I have the most beautiful view of Scotland that you could never see from land. I never knew just how lovely, how emerald green this part of the world looks, until George showed me it from up there. It’s so dreamy, like he is,” she sighed. “He inspires me so much Angelique. He really is an amazing boy.”
“You like this boy a lot it seems, don’t you, Mademoiselle?”
“I wouldn’t let him do what he did to me if I didn’t Angelique. And I don’t trust any lad to take me a ride on his airship. Not all of them know how to fly as well as he does. I really like him.”
My heart suddenly felt cold. Not that it was all that warm to begin with, but oh, how much colder it got. If only you were there Madame, I have never seen her smile like the way she did while talking about that boy. And the sound of her voice, there was immense warmth there. It could melt Antarctica. Her cheeks were pink like a tulip. Her face so more warm, soft, and supple than usual. As she spoke, I could see it—her longing for this lad’s presence to suddenly appear. Thankfully, no technological advancement of this day and age could make that happen, but how her face longed for that invention to come true. And how it made me feel even colder. What was this frost that I was feeling? Was it jealousy?
“Why are you telling me this Mademoiselle?” I looked down as I helped to slip on her shoes that was adorned with clockwork features and little broaches of Queen Victoria all over it. “You’ve never spoken to me of such intimacies about anyone, especially not between you and a lad.”
“Who else do you expect me to tell?” she said with an attitude. “I can’t tell my mother.”
That attitude in her voice was normal. Such a sassy thing your daughter always has been Madame. She got it from you.
“What about your friends?” I asked her politely.
“They’d judge me.”
“So you come to me instead?” I raised my eyebrow. “But why?”
“Because,” she stared at me with her big blue eyes electrifying with a threatening glare. “If you were to tell anyone about George and me, nobody would believe you. I could get you discharged for lying and have you sent to jail for corrupting my image and my reputation.”
Madame, even with her tone of voice so cruel, so menacing, so evil—like yours when you are wicked—my heart still fluttered for her. And I will admit, the lust in my body intensified.
“You wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you?” the tone of her voice was low and fiery.
“No I would not Mademoiselle,” I spoke calmly,tryingto not show her that I was slightly afraid of her. “I won’t expose a word about our conversations to anyone. I promise.”
“Very good pet!” she patted my head. “Now run along.”
I obeyed her command. Away I went, tending to my other duties that had nothing to do with her.
Later that same day, I dressed her in her yellow afternoon gown that was in the same fashion as her morning gown and I styled her hair into bunches of curls, adorning the top of her pretty head with a feathered matching hat that had a mixture of silver and bronze clock gears and red rubies all over it. Oh how marvelous her light pink breasts looked the tops bare but displayed modestly enough to not offend or over-excite. There was a knocking on the door as we went downstairs. The butler answered it and before him was a young man. He walked in with a strut to his step. His Brutus hair style was as shiny as his teeth. His breeches, coincidentally matching the colour of Olivia’s decorative afternoon dress, were indeed rather tight and had ties and buttons at the knees. His boots were the shiniest pair I have ever seen. His shirt was white; the waist coat double breasted. His black overcoat had fur around the collar andhe sported a tall hat on his head that had the aviator goggles that Olivia spoke of so much. I couldn’t help but look out the window; from the outside I could see that he had one of those shiny bronze cars that is run solely by the light from the sun and the moon. It was dazzling, just as the boy was. Not that I found him as handsome as Olivia clearly did, but that could have been my jealousy taking over . If I really had to be honest with myself, and just toss my jealousy aside from the moment, the lad was very good looking.
“Your guest, young Lord George Rowlandson, is here for you Lady Olivia Blake,” the butler announced.
That smile on Olivia’s face; it was so cheerful! It shined even brighter than the sun at day or the moon at night. It was blinding. So warm and inviting and yet it left my body, spirit, and my soul so cold, empty and hurt. It was never more evident that Olivia had her heart set on that boy. When I saw the two together from afar, I couldn’t help but wonder to myself if this Lord George Rowlandson felt the same way? It was hard to tell, Madame. She ran to him and embraced him; it was plain to see that he did not embrace her in return. He just stood there, rubbing her back, not really embracing her as any boy would and should. I couldn’t hear what the two were saying after Olivia parted from him. They were giggling a little, that was loud enough to be heard from anywhere. Then, she grabbed his hand and I saw them both run off into the study. I crept to that area, noticing how they were leaving the door open. Checking on them once I saw they were indeed stuck into their literature for school. They seemed serious and quiet, being such a good lad and lass. Yet I was only gone five minutes when on returning , I gawked and stared. I couldn’t move. I was in disbelief by what I saw, left wondering if what was happening before my eyes was real. Neither of them cared or bothered that anyone—me—could look right into the room. Olivia had her back turned to him, her drawers pulled down. As I watched Lord George lifted up her dress, taking a peak at what I could imagine was her bare bottom and her pussy. He stood up and said to her, “Is it still sore?” Lifting up her skirt, exposing her bottom once more he rubbed it all over with his bare hands.
“Yes!” Olivia squeaked. “And the inside of my arse is still throbbing from your monster cock.”
“I will give your bottom a break then.”
“How sweet you are, my Georgie.”
“But you know what that means?”
“That all attention will be on Kitten.”
Like the bête that he was, he viciously threw Olivia’s books on the floor, picked her up from the ground, and laid her on her back against the table, pouncing on her, straddling her like a mare.
“Here Kitty, Kitty,” he clicked his tongue, lifting up her skirts and thrusting his head up there.
The jealousy in my body suddenly had turned into that of pleasure as I watched that boy having a go with my Olivia. Her long curly blonde hair of hers was cascading like a waterfall over the ledge of the table, touching the floor. Her mouth was agape in ecstasy as she moaned, “Oh Georgie, deeper! Slide your tongue in Kitten deeper!” He must have obeyed, for her pleasure-crying increased in volume. I played with myself, covering my mouth so not a single breath of me could be heard or detected. I doubt that they could hear me—Olivia’s panting and moaning was quite loud and noisy.
“If you don’t quiet down, my slut, Kitten won’t get her milk.”said George pulling back for a moment.
She instantly silenced herself.
“That’s better.” George untied and loosened his breeches, removing her drawers completely.
My eyes widened as if scared when I saw it. His penis was massive. Thick. Long.
Olivia looked at it, and groaned, “Oh Georgie, my love!” as he held her legs up high, his hands gripped around her ankles. He pressed her knees against her shoulder. I could imagine the lust in his eyes intensifying even more. Olivia let out a terribly wicked shout when George penetrated her, every single inch of him. That I could see oh so clearly. His entire dick hidden inside of her in the blink of my eye. He covered her mouth with such harsh kisses, keeping it shut and quiet as he devoured her lips, his hips bouncing up and down, back and forth, his entire long member pushing inside of her. I could hear it—the way his meaty bone was making her juicy, how with every thrust, I could hear her Kitten mewing and purring, clicking the same way that George did when he was “talking” to the kitty. He did not grant Kitten any mercy. He wasn’t making love to Olivia. He wasfucking her. Plowing inside of her faster than a runaway chariot, wet at the mouth, I imagined too, and growling like a wolf, I could hear in reality, his hands gripped at her wide hips, his fingers sinking so deep into her flesh.
“I love you Georgie!” she whimpered. “I love you, my Lord.”
It broke my heart to hear her say it. It was obvious. That boy didn’t love her. What pet name did George give to her? Her pussy had one—Kitten. Why didn’t she?
“Is Kitten ready for her milk?” he panted.
He kicked his head back and groaned. He was coming inside of her, I knew it by the sound of his breathless moan and heavy panting. He quickly pulled out and had his head between her legs again, tonguing her gaping hole, I gathered, sucking his semen out of it from what I could tell by the slurping sounds I heard.
“I love you,” Olivia repeated, closing her eyes. I could see that smile from miles away.
Her Georgie did not respond back. The greedy thing only cared for one: himself. He wanted to only ravage that poor fucked pussy until—I could imagine—it was sore too, like her bottom.
I hurried away from the door before they’d realise I had been there the whole time. I went to the nearest toilet, pulled down my drawers, and feverishly masturbated my pussy, with four fingers this time, stretching myself as I fucked it in the same fast, quick, and speedy manner that George fucked Olivia. I came so many times Madame—four times. After I was spent, I asked myself, not in my head, but out loud, in a murmur, “What is Olivia doing to me?” When I came for the last time, I said this out loud too: “Oh Olivia, I love you! If only you know how much I love you.”
Not too loud, of course. Nobody could possibly hear me. I wouldn’t dare be that brave and bold. When I left the bathroom, and returned back to the study, I was surprised to find the naughty two gone. Where had they gone? Olivia did not leave a note, a word, nothing. Not that she needed to, but I was awfully curious as to where she and her bête had gone off to. I looked outside of the window and saw that George’s car was gone from the driveway. He had taken her off somewhere. I didn’t need to imagine what the two were going to do next. Olivia would reveal all in her diary. That was when I thought about her Diary. What other indecent entries were contained in it since the last time I read into it? It really had been so long, but it was impossible for me to forget everything that she wrote. I had every word and every illustration branded into my brain. Even more so now. The memory of what I had just witnessed, it was a tattoo in my skull. So for that reason, I did not look into her diary that day. Yet I didn’t make any promises to myself that I would not look at it the next day. I tried a little, but I couldn’t resist the awful temptation.
The next day, I returned back to that forbidden place: her diary.
– Vanessa Clark