NaNo Day 5:
SS-2—3017 words

Writing Kink 

When my editor sent out a call for submissions for kink stories, I wasn’t quite sure how kink was defined. I discussed it with her and determined that kink was turning something non-sexual into something that aroused and titillated. Think shoe fetish or foot fetish. Or Seinfeld’s George Constanza and his velvet couch. Disturbing images of a naked George Constanza on a purple velvet sofa aside, the idea of writing kink intrigued me.

As an avid watcher of HBO’s Real Sex and Billie Piper in Diary of a Call Girl, I’d seen some pretty kinky stuff. I’d also read Anne Rice’s Beauty Trilogy which turned me on more than I cared to admit. Some of those scenes still play out in my head.

I enjoy the psychology of sex. And delving into characters whose psyches had been twisted, resulting in the association of everyday events or things with sex fascinated me to no end. But as a plain vanilla bonne vivante in real life, I realized one doesn’t have to participate in kink or bdsm to enjoy reading about it. 

For my first foray into the steamy, taboo world of kink, I drew on my own memories of playing doctor with the kid next door. To this day, a sexy nurse stars in many of my fantasies. Research revealed that more people than I ever dreamed of not only fantasized about medical fetish scenarios, but acted on them!

After two failed marriages, Avery Walker is encouraged by her therapist to explore her secret obsession. She can’t get off without fantasizing about submitting to intimate examinations—performed by a hot female nurse. When she joins a medical fetish website, she expects to find a partner who’ll provide a little probing and maybe some sexual release to help Avery get in touch with her kinky side. 

Then she meets Nurse Lovette… 

The consummate professional, Darby Lovette is determined to keep her relationship with Avery one of nurse and patient—nearly impossible when the gorgeous woman is on the exam table, willingly submitting to unspeakably intimate “procedures”. The fact that she’s loved and lost helps Darby maintain her resolve; falling in love isn’t part of her treatment plan. But Avery’s determination to explore sex with a woman just might be the cure for what ails them both. 

Reader Advisory: This book employs myriad toys created especially for erotic exams, no holes barred, and, ahem…perhaps a sensual enema—or two.

Surprised by how well Nurse Lovette was received by my readers, I probed into the world of kink again after reading Adele Dubois’ She’s Furry Yiffy, in the She-Shifters anthology, and seeing an episode on a crime drama about people who enjoyed dressing up as various critters to be treated as pets. The kink is called pet play and I drew on it for Purr, a lesbian historical about Katzenhalle, sort of a home for wayward women that’s ruled by a dominatrix who requires her charges to dress as cats and do all manner of kinky things.

Having been caught kissing a servant girl, Arabella suddenly finds herself shackled and bound for Katzenhalle Villa, where she expects to be forced into servitude. Instead, she discovers the mansion is home to other young women with Sapphic penchants—and good behavior is rewarded with kittenhood. All who reside at the villa dream of donning cat ears and tails and earning status as one of the mistress’s “pets”. 

There’s one caveat. Romantic entanglements are strictly forbidden, and this poses a problem when Arabella catches the eye of a favored pet, Giselle. 

Risking discovery, the women indulge their mutual desire, heated looks escalating to thrilling touches with fingers, mouths…tongues. Until Arabella discovers things are not as purr-fect as they seem at Katzenhalle. While breaking the rules may see them punished, the treachery of falling in love may come at a fatal price. 

Reader Advisory: The kittens of Katzenhalle can’t get enough hedonistic sexual attention. They enjoy female/female sex, light BDSM, ménages, multiple partners and even the occasional sensual enema. Meow!

***CONTEST*** Share your fetish fantasy or comment about kink to be entered in a drawing to win a free download of my latest Ellora’s Cave release, Purr!

Intrigued? If you’d like to read more, visit my website at https://Paisley-Smith.com

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About the Author

I’m Paisley Smith! I am a full time freelance writer and can usually be found in front of my computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting. It’s a glamorous life…working in one’s pajamas.

I attended college in the Deep South where I obtained a slew of totally useless degrees and developed an unrelenting sense of humor.

My books can be found at Ellora’s Cave , Loose Id, and Cleis Press!

I’m a member of Romance Writers of America.

NaNo Day 2:
SS-2—1574 words

You know that feeling when you finish a book and you loved the characters so much you want to immediately read it all over again? Or when you slow down toward the end (or try, anyway!) because you really, really don’t want it to end? When I love a book, I do all of the above.

So imagine how it is when you’re actually writing the book, and it’s part of a series, and you’ve come to know the characters over four books and three years. That’s what’s going on with me right now as the final book in the Receptionist series, UNLEASHING THE RECEPTIONIST, comes out. Talk about separation anxiety. I’m a basketcase! 

I still remember where I was when I wrote the first word in this series (the café at the Anchorage public library.) Of course I didn’t know it would be a series then. It was just a book written on a whim, a saucy, kinky nod to office power politics called TRAINING THE RECEPTIONIST, starring Dana Arthur and her two sexy bosses. But the characters weren’t done with me yet, and I felt called to write a sequel (RESTRAINING THE RECEPTIONIST.) And then, a wonderful reviewer wondered if I was ever going to write about the past of the two heroes, Ethan Cowell and Simon Dirk. Well, of course I was, now that she mentioned it! As soon as I read her review, I knew exactly how I wanted to reveal the secret incident that brought them together.

(If you ever wondered whether reviews influence authors, in this case it definitely happened.)

Dana, Ethan and Simon and I go way back, and saying goodbye is difficult. Those three sure know how to rock each other’s worlds, and they’ve certainly rocked mine. Here’s the blurb for the last installment in their story, as well as an R-rated excerpt. And this is me, blowing kisses to my dear departing characters.

You can tie a girl up, but you can’t keep her down…

…the Receptionist, Book 3

In the year since Dana joined Ethan and Simon’s firm, the three of them have found the perfect balance of power and pleasure in their three-way, work/play relationship. Not only that, but it’s been the firm’s most successful year financially.

Except something is missing. Her men won’t tell her anything about their past. How they met, or how they formed such an unconventional business and personal partnership. Until they start sharing their secrets, Dana fears she’ll always be the odd girl out.

Everything changes when a vengeful former partner resurfaces. Suddenly, both the business and their idyllic relationship are under siege. With a tax auditor watching their every move, the three must be on their best behavior.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Dana seizes the chance to prove herself—and finally win her sexy bosses’ full trust and confidence. Now the race is on to root the evil nemesis out of their lives once and for all—before her dream relationship cracks under the pressure. 

Product Warnings: Contains hot three-way M/F/M sex, highly inappropriate office behavior, a shocking secret, a kinky accountant and some really bad girl-on-girl porno reenactments.

 Excerpt:

On a typical workday, if I’m chained to my desk it’s with silk cords and for one purpose only—because it leads to screaming orgasms for me and my two delectable bosses, Simon and Ethan.

With one exception. Business plan time.

During business plan, I’m chained to the desk in the usual, strictly metaphorical way. You know, working. Needless to say, it’s not my favorite time of year. It’s tough to spend all day and half the night shut up inside an office with two sexy gods when neither has touched you once. But maybe that’s just me. Not every receptionist has been trained to receive pleasure as well as incoming calls.

“Dana,” said Ethan, jolting me from my sexually frustrated daze. “Can you put another pot of coffee on, luv? And then I’ll need the P&L’s again.”

I hid a sigh as I trudged to the kitchenette. “Coming up.”

At least the profit and loss statements were good. Cowell & Dirk had had a very satisfactory year. Especially if you asked the only actual employee—me. I had experienced a blissfully high level of job satisfaction since Simon had hired and trained me.

“Mu shu pork okay?” called Simon. “I’m ordering from Great Wok.”

Now that was more like it. My mood brightened as I put on the coffee and gathered up the files. I’d do anything for my bosses, we all knew that. But I certainly preferred some duties to others.

“Food’s on its way,” said Simon when I returned with the coffee pot. “If I could only tear Ethan away from that spreadsheet.” He shot me a green-eyed pirate wink. His hair was a tousled black mess, but I loved my Simon in all his moods.

I gave him a questioning glance, wanting to make sure I’d interpreted correctly. Simon and Ethan had a strange bond, one I couldn’t quite figure out even though I was closer to them than anyone. They seemed to read each other without words. Simon gave me a go-ahead tilt of his head. With his wrinkled white shirt open at the neck, he looked half-drunk, as if he’d been swilling expensive brandy all night instead of crunching numbers.

“Maybe we need to spread something else in front of him,” I suggested. I put down the files and the coffee and prowled toward Ethan, who barely looked up from his swivel chair. He wore his reading glasses, his grizzled blond head bent over the desk. I challenge you to find anyone hotter than a sexual beast like Ethan with a pair of wire rims perched on his much-broken nose.

I knew from the angle of his head that he was tracking my approach. Ethan was like a wild animal picking up scents, especially the scent of eager Dana. His nostrils flared as I came close to the desk. Read the rest of this entry »

NaNo Day 1:
SS-2—0 words

“Why do you write?”

I think that’s a question some writers struggle with answering in their own minds as much as they do answering it when someone else poses it.

The responses run the gamut from a shrug and an “I don’t know, I just do,” to, “I’m a writer; I have to write” to, “the characters won’t let me sleep.” I’m not making fun, here. I believe those are all honest answers. I know writers who get fidgety if they can’t let the words flow. I know others who say it’s a job, and has to be treated as such – but still feel over the moon after writing a tight scene or solving the crime or reuniting lost lovers.

My reasons for writing are entirely selfish. Well, not entirely – I’m more than happy to let readers in on the game, too.

It’s the vicarious thrill.

There, I’ve said it. And you know it’s true.

Who hasn’t imagined themselves as one character or another? Wanted to be Harry Potter, one day a normal kid, the next a magical defender against the ultimate evil. Or Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, who gets to eat junk all day, try to chase bad guys, and be faced with the tough decision of cuddling up with Ranger or Morelli. (Forget choosing, I say – go with both!) Or be Linda Howard’s Cate Nightingale from Cover of Night, a widowed mother of two who makes the sexy town handyman stutter with lust and love.

That’s the whole point of reading a great book – the escapism of imaging yourself as someone else, somewhere else, doing something else.

I write because it puts me in charge of the fantasy.

I’m not supermom, but I can write a character who manages to start a business, attend soccer practice, make home-cooked meals and win the love of a rock star.

I’ve never been a dancer – think more Elaine’s weird dance from Seinfeld – but one of my characters can seduce the pants off the man in her life, and take to the wild side while she’s doing it.

And no way am I a soldier on a world far, far away, but my heroine can kick asses, take names and win the love of not one good man, but two.

Now there’s living vicariously.

* * * * *

Available now from Samhain Publishing: Three Wicked Wishes

“What is your deepest, most secret, most treasured desire?”

Cassie Parker doesn’t know either when the exotic woman who materialized in her living room asks. One minute, she’s enjoying wine – a lot of wine – over reruns of I Dream of Jeannie, the next – poof! When she wakes the next morning, hung over and late for work, Cassie is convinced it was all a dream.

Until the real dreams begin. Involving David Michalek, her boss, so sexy in his Clark Kent-Superman kind of way.

David, as triumphant knight to her fair lady.

David, but two of him, as the sensual twin club owners who ask her to judge a most intimate contest.

David, this time in triplicate, the consorts of a galactic princess.

David, the man she’s fallen deeply, passionately, impossibly in love with.

And he doesn’t have a clue.

What’s a girl to do?

Too bad it’s just a dream. Or is it?

Find me at:
Website: RainaJames.com
On Twitter: @RainaJames
On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/raina.james.77

This year I’ve been notoriously late for my blog posts, but I promise it’s with mostly good reason. Delilah was so sweet when I shared with her why I’m sending this at the last minute. I had surgery early in October—my first ever. We removed a tumor and my thyroid. Anyway, that’s not what this post is about. It’s Halloween! Time for hauntings and I wanted to share a true life horror moment with you guys—which stems from my hospital stay. I decided to make you the hero or heroine in the story, so enjoy my dark ride.

They wheel you down a long corridor, your honey is holding your hand and trying to keep his shit together, because after all, he is the hero of your dreams and has to live up to that status. You get one last moment to hug him, kiss him, and get a little grope if you’re lucky—or like me. He scolds you, “Behave. And you better make it through this so I can punish you for that.”

You are pushed into a large room with curtained stalls. There are bodies all around you. They draw the curtains so now it’s just you. The sounds around you are men and women telling others what is about to happen. You’ve been told that they’ll give you a happy drug to keep you calm during this stage, but so far nothing. A man wails about his wounded leg even though he lost it in WWII. Another man moans. A woman is weeping softly in the stall next to you while they talk about a double mastectomy. It is all too real.

A man comes in and inserts an IV. An hour passes. The time can be measured by the lovely round clock directly above your feet. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Okay, it’s your turn.”

You frantically grasp the side of the bed frame and swivel up to see your doctor and nurse. “Wait. I was told I would have a happy drug before this shit went down. I really want that.”

The Doctor grins at you. His skull cap has pushed thick eyebrows low over his beady eyes and he winks. “I think you can make it.”

“Well, of course I can, but I don’t really want to if I don’t have to.”

Someone shoots something in your IV and the corridor lights grow fluffy and fade. Ah, you are much happier now. There’s some conversation around you. Someone puts a mask over your face and tells you to breathe. Breathe again. Breathe some more.

Three hours later.

You hear people calling your name and they want you to wake up to the burning pain. No. It’s much nicer in the dark.

“Wake up.”

Dim lights meet you and you’re again in a room full of stalls filled with other moaning, groaning bodies. Someone sits down next to you and takes your hand. The pain is unbearable, but you don’t say anything except to answer their many questions.

“What is your name.”

You answer.

“What day is it?”

You didn’t know that going in, so you guess. They don’t like this.

“Who is the president.”

You smirk. Really?

A man is woken two stalls down and he’s big, and mad. He fights the nurse. Your crew runs to help and it takes six of them to put him back on his bed. There is moaning and groaning everywhere. But it’s okay, because they have left you to suffer through your pain in peace.

A cute male nurse leans over you. A nice distraction from the fire inside. You try to open your eyes and watch his sexy ass as he twists and turns on his stool. He has blue eyes, but they are dull and not as blue as the man waiting for you somewhere else in the hospital. You reach up toward your incision, hoping to scratch away the pain.

He takes out a syringe and lays it on the bed next to you. So close. You can almost reach it if he wasn’t holding your arm down now. He smiles and you think, yes, he’s going to end this suffering. But he doesn’t. Instead he leans over and whispers. “It’ll be about fifteen more minutes before I can give you something for the pain.”

You glance up and through the slits of your eyes see the round clock stationed directly beyond you. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Okay, so the pain goes away with morphine—who knew? But, that really is how my OR experience went and it really is a terrifying moment. Horror doesn’t always have to be ghouls and goblins. Most of the time, it’s these events in our life that we draw from when we write. And you better believe that this experience will be in a book some day—a very sexy one.  😉 I hope you all have a safe and sexy Halloween, and if you are misplaced because of Sandy, just remember, if you have your health and safety, that is the most important thing.

THE AGONY AND ECSTASY OF BEING A WRITER

For me, writing isn’t something that I do. It’s what I am. I am a writer. I love it. It’s my breath and I was put on this good Earth to do just that… to write.

There’s nothing better than carving out characters, giving them life on paper and then seeing them published for the world to enjoy.

To see them grow from a barely there idea to a fully fleshed out story, there’s something pure in it. 

Something other worldly.

I’ve had numerous short stories published over the last couple of years, and there are a few more to follow in 2013. I somehow fell into writing erotica and haven’t looked back since. I love it, and usually ramp up the tension by putting a thrilling edge running alongside the erotica.

I’ve been told I have a very forceful, almost staccato style of writing.  Perhaps it’s because I’m born on the fourth of July. I’m fiercely independent, and so is my writing.

It’s as unique as my finger print. 

That’s what I believe anyway.

I have been writing ever since I can remember, and there’s nothing in this world I’d rather do. So the goal is simple—to become a multi-published writer who earns enough money to do it full time.

That’s the ecstasy.

But at the moment, I’m in agony.

How do I know? My best friend asked me how I was feeling, and I replied, “Sad, I’m feeling sad and I don’t know why.”

“You’re sad because you’re not writing,” she said without missing a beat.

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re spending eight hours here, at work, when you should be fulfilling your soul purpose.”

It was like a lightning bolt of realisation.

I’m sad because I’m not writing.

But I have to pay the bills. A long spell of unemployment a while back has me working the nine to five… and honestly, I don’t mind (have you ever tried to live on £120 Government Assistance every two weeks?). I want to work; I need to work.

But how do I stop feeling sad? It’s like my soul is crying out because it’s missing something.

It’s missing writing.

But how do I write? When do I write? I’m so exhausted after work, its dinner, bed, sleep, work, and repeat five days a week.

The weekends are spent catching up with the house work and simply getting my breath back.

Then Monday morning hits.

So, dear reader… have you been through this? Do you have any advice you can offer? How do you balance the world of work with the universe of your writing? How do I achieve the greatness that you know you’re supposed to achieve and pay the bills in the mean time?

I’d love to hear your thoughts, your tips for finding balance and doing what you love.

Find me at tahiraiqbal.com.
Tweet me at @tahiraiqbal

Halloween Memories

As a child Halloween was a favorite holiday, ranking right up there with Christmas and Easter. You get stuff. Santa brought gaily wrapped presents and the Easter bunny left a basket of colored eggs and chocolate bunnies.

But Halloween made your spine tingle and put an eerie spin on your imagination. I remember trick-or-treating with my older sisters. I was excited at being allowed out after dark, wearing a costume and going home with a sack full of candy. What’s not to like?

Halloween was special. Trick-or-treating had an edge, especially if the moon was full and my sisters had filled my head with chilling tales. Shadows became ghostly figures, leafless trees looked like tall skeletons, and the scraping of fallen leaves along our rural road were surely the scurrying of unseen creatures. It was exciting and scary with the possibility of witches flying and goblins lurking.

But time moves on and Halloween becomes a night to don costumes and party with friends. It’s fun, but the edge is gone. Now, I’m one of those people who open the door on All Hallows Eve and respond to the demand of trick-or-treat with a handful of candy. I love seeing the smiles of pirates, princesses and super heroes, and hearing their joyful chatter as they rush along carrying plastic pumpkins and bags of treats. I hope the costumed children are collecting memories along with the candy because the wonder of Halloween comes to an end all too soon.

I hope you’ll enjoy the blurbs of my Halloween themed books Embrace Forever and Warrior of the Light and spend All Hallows Eve with my heroines, Jastra and Dani.

* * * * *

Embrace Forever

Sentenced to death Jastra is transported Draco, the vampire planet, as part of a food for protection program. Vampire warriors destroy the asteroids threatening Tariz and the condemned provide nourishment and pleasure.

As a sex slave, Jastra has known a life of opulence. Jastra’s new master, Dauthus, offers a life devoid of luxury but the pleasure is to die for.

As commander of the vampire warriors Dauthus faces many demands and confrontations, but falling in love is the ultimate challenge.

BUYLINK

* * * * *

Warrior of the Light

A bright burst of light signals a new life for Dani March, but at the moment her main concern is what to do about the wolf-like dog that has jumped into the back seat of her convertible.

Dani’s inadvertent request for a big bad wolf makes for an interesting night. A dog can change into a warrior and a naked hunk with a big sword can turn interesting into extraordinary. The warrior can jump through space gates, childhood bedtime stories can be true and Dani’s earthly existence is a fantasy.

Finding out you’re an alien and falling in love? There’s only so much a girl can take.

BUY LINK  

B.J. McCall is multi-published in Ebook and print with Changeling Press, eRedSage, Cobblestone Press and Ellora’s Cave. This year, 2012, B.J. celebrates being a ‘decade author’ with Ellora’s Cave. Happier than a witch in a broom factory, B.J. is thrilled to announce the release of her latest werewolf tale. Pleasure Pact will be released by Ellora’s Cave on November 9th.

Hi Delilah. Thanks for the invitation to guest blog on your fabulous site. (Actually, *wink* I begged to get in bed with her and she took pity on me.)

I’ll cut right to the chase. *Ahem* Normally, I write erotic historical westerns. You can find me hanging around Wild and Wicked Cowboys on the 2^nd and 13^th of every month and I pretty much speak, write, and think in westernize.

But you know how ever once in awhile a streak of ornery hits ya? Well, it happened to me in February of this year. It was probably a case of being stall crazy and wanting spring to get busy and be. But for whatever cause, I jumped the tracks so to speak, and wrote outside my normal genre.

I feel like I need to whisper this next part—I wrote an erotic paranormal story, starring were-jaguar, NSA Special Forces Operative, Thomas Hunter and Bitter Creek Holler hedge-witch/healer/truth-sayer, Missouri Hess.

I created a world of werewolves, witches and strange critters living in the hills, titled the book Call Me Miz, and then I got really crazy. *blushing* I did it again—Hexual Healing, the second book in what I’ve affectionately named my Bitter Creek Holler Series, released from Ellora’s Cave on October 12^th.

Harvest the magic of Samhain and sex

Heal the beast, rebound the hex

Burn, witch, burn… 

Incantations, scryings and hexes abound when hedge witch Missouri Hess breaks out her rough magic. The autumn solstice is days away, Bitter Creek Holler is pulsing with mountain mysticism, Miz is burning up with enough sexual energy to light Fenway Park and her lover is MIA. She…is…pissed.

Nothing in his Special Forces background has prepared shape-shifter Thomas Hunter for the torture of jaguar mating heat or the wrath of a furious witch. Though he’s on a mission in DC, his beast wrests control, returning them to their mate. 

After Thomas delivers his own brand of sexual healing, it’s back to DC with Miz. There’s twisted magic at work. Someone has unleashed a snake-eyes death hex. Good thing Miz is all about hexual healing. And Thomas stands ready to take all the heat from her sexual burn.

 Now Available @ Amazon /  Ellora’s Cave /  B&N  

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

Dammit to hell!  Miz paced from one side of her living room to the other, stopping every once in a while to peer outside. The damned cat was in the tree again and Mother Nature had sent a storm. Lightning crashed and thunder rolled, making the earth shudder under the force of the ever-nearer strikes.

 I will not invite that idiot inside. A picture suddenly flashed in her mind of the wet jaguar crouching on a slippery willow limb. Tough shit! Thomas Hunter was up a tree and he could stay there. Forget him, Miz. You met in midsummer, solved a crime together, boinked like animals—which he is, sort of—you came, he came, he left. End of romance.

“Serves you right,” Miz snarled. She didn’t know whether she blamed herself or him. She knew better than counting on anyone. She looked at the storm outside where sheets of water pelted across her yard in a rolling tide. He left, he didn’t call, we’re done.

Jerking a blanket around her shoulders, she stomped to the kitchen to see if the coffee was ready. Suddenly, a wash of pleasure shivered through her as she felt the essence of Thomas penetrate her body and melt her core.

Oh. My. God. She put passion in the mental punch she landed on his metaphysical, thick skull. Stay out of my head. Read the rest of this entry »