Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Review Tuesday: Wired Hard 4 (#scifi #lgbtq #reviewtuesday @circletpress)

Wired Hard 4: Erotica for a Gay Universe
Edited by Lauren P. Burka and Cecilia Tan
Circlet Press, 2010

Cecilia Tan's Circlet Press was founded in 1992—when the Internet barely existed and erotic stories were available mainly in Penthouse and on the shelves of sleazy video stores. Ms. Tan's literary recipe was revolutionary: a potent blend of sex, science, technology and magic, with a generous measure of gender-bending to spice things up. Back then, hardly anyone else shared this vision.

We now live in an era of ebooks and genetic engineering, instant messaging and cybersex, gender reassignment and gay marriage. The world has matured and many of the fantastic imaginings of Circlet's authors have become familiar facts. In the second decade of the twenty first century, Circlet is still delivering some of the best speculative erotica available—appropriately in electronic form. WIRED HARD 4 is a splendid example.

The eight stories in this collection are remarkably diverse. They are unified, first, by their raw sexual energy, and second, by the intimate mingling of human with other: machine, robot, animal, vampire, or god. Xan West's lyrical introduction points out that most of these tales deal with transformations. Sex here is more than an avenue of pleasure. It is the gateway to new and different selves.

Helen E.H. Madden leads off with “When Angels Fall”, in which the gay prodigal son of a fundamentalist cult (the “Moral Minority”) returns to seduce the gorgeous android who is his guardian angel. The act of finally satisfying his life-long fantasy frees the young man to accept his homoerotic desires.

Slavery by Degree” by Gavin Atlas is narrated by an enthusiastic submissive who has signed a contract to serve as a teleportation-delivered fuck toy in order to pay off his debts. He winks into existence in his clients' abodes, with their organs already buried in his ass.

Kal Cobalt's “Parts” is one of the most intriguing stories in the collection. A robot masquerading as human finally becomes so in a liaison with a body-mod fetishist named Monkey who brags that he's 1% inorganic.

Balance of Power” by Jamie Maguire proves that it is still possible to write an original vampire story. In this tale, two ancient vampires consummate a fierce and tender reunion as one wakes the other from a thousand-year sleep and then allows his lover to drain him dry.

Diane Kepler's “Nectar” is a gay BDSM riff on Jules Verne's classic “The Island of Doctor Moreau”. The narrator is a creature engineered by his genius “Daddy”--part human, part animal—but devoted to his stern creator.

The Royal Catamite”, Tom Cardamone's contribution, may be the most peculiar in the book, in the truly bizarre transformation it presents. I don't want to spoil the impact by saying more.

Shanna Germain's characters in “Beneath Sea and Sky” are possibly the most human in the collection—two men bound by lust and separated by misunderstandings. In this story, the magical elements are subtle, lurking just beneath the surface.

Finally, “The Succession of Knoorikios Khnum”, by Zachary Jernigan, is full-fledged science fiction/fantasy, complete with a grand interstellar empire and its charismatic, all-powerful ruler. The protagonist, a low-ranking diplomat from a backwater planet, stakes everything on a scheme to seduce the god-like emperor.

All the tales in WIRED HARD 4 deliver more than just hot gay sex. Most are exceptionally well-written. Many involve a novel premise or a startling resolution. My main complaint (which I've voiced about other recent Circlet ebooks) is that the book was so short. It's true that the electronic format removes the page constraints of print, so shorter books are feasible. Personally, though, I hate it when a good book ends too soon.

In any case, I truly enjoyed WIRED HARD 4 while it lasted.

Monday, January 30, 2017

Masturbation Monday - "It will never fit." (#anal #dildo #fantasy)

Most Mondays I have “sneak peek” posts, but for some reason, this Monday was free. So I decided to join in Kayla Lord’s Masturbation Monday meme.

Here’s a very nasty self-pleasuring excerpt from my BDSM ménage erotic romance The Ingredients of Bliss.

I interrupted my fantasy just long enough to strip off the shirt and jeans. I was nude underneath. Pulling open the drawer of the bedside table, I retrieved a black velvet drawstring bag and extracted its contents. Harry had hidden it somewhere in his luggage and handed it to me with a triumphant grin the first night in Paris.

Though I was alone, I couldn’t help blushing at the sight of the massive dildo. Fashioned of jet black silicon, it was nine inches long and a full two inches in diameter. Harry had insisted I buy it. He’d stood laughing in the background at the adult store while I’d stuttered and fumbled with my credit card, unable to meet the clerk’s eyes.

It will never fit,” I’d protested, after I’d obeyed his order.

We’d strolled arm in arm down Market Street, my cheeks still hot with embarrassment. I’d felt as though every passerby knew what I carried in the plain brown paper bag.

Oh, you’re wrong, love. It will fit perfectly—not just in your pussy, but in your ass too.”

He was right of course. If I was sufficiently aroused—and I was always that way, around Harry—it slid right in. The first time he’d commanded me to fuck myself with the obscene object, I’d had one of the most intense orgasms in my life. He hadn’t inserted it into my anus yet—nor forced me to bugger myself—but I knew he would eventually.

How would that feel? My rear hole tightened at the mere thought of such an invasion.

Stretched out on the bed again, I feathered my hands over my bare breasts, across my belly and down to my cunt. The lips were slick and swollen under my fingertips. Spreading them with my left hand, I rubbed the toy over my inner folds, gathering wetness. My clit screamed for attention, but I held off, as I knew Harry would, building the tension. Instead, I eased the first inch or so of the artificial cock into my channel, pretending it was Harry’s cock.

As always, going farther felt impossible. The silicone rod was too big, too hard. My poor, tight pussy could never accommodate such a bulk. Pain flickered through the haze of my arousal as my flesh protested. “I can’t,” I moaned out load.

Of course you can. You will. For me.’

For Harry, I’d do anything. I released my labia, grabbed the dildo in both hands and pushed. A few more inches disappeared into my cleft. My thumb grazed my clit, triggering a bolt of pleasure that spiraled deep into my core. The pain faded, replaced by extreme sensations of fullness, sensations that pumped energy into my gathering climax.

Fuck yourself. Ram it in.’

I drew my knees up that I could tilt my pelvis to a better angle. With all the force I possessed, I drove the phallus into my cunt. The tip hit my cervix. I gasped in sudden agony. Then pleasure welled up, drenching me and spilling over, washing away even the memory of discomfort.

I pulled the toy part way out then slammed it back in, using the same sort of rough, fast strokes Harry favored. Incredible! Of course, the lifeless hunk of silicone couldn’t begin to match my lover’s hot supple flesh, melding with my own.

But the sense of transgression was thrilling—the knowledge that I was fucking myself with a huge toy at the orders of my Master.

Good girl.’

Eyes closed, I summoned my lover. I wanted the dildo to be Harry’s cock, but stubbornly, I could only picture him watching, a delighted grin lighting his face.

That’s right, love. You keep working on your pussy. Meanwhile, I’m going to bury my cock in your ass.’

Oh, by the Wise Ones! He’d been threatening to take my rear hole for months. So far he’d done no more than talk, knowing how the notion both scared and thrilled me.
I thrust the dildo in and out with my left hand, my right toying with my clit. Just a week before we’d left for France, he’d drizzled massage oil down my crack and worked three fingers into my anus, fighting my resistant muscles. I’d thought I’d faint from the perverse pleasure of that intrusion. At the same time, I’d almost been ready to use my safe word. It was just too private, too embarrassing. I felt unbearably filthy—all the more so because I liked the feeling so very much.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Call for Submissions - Best Lesbian Erotica Volume 2 (#cfs #lgbtq #erotica @CleisPress)

Pen and Ink
Greetings! I know that many of my followers are authors, so I wanted to share this call for submissions from my friend and blog-mate Sacchi Green.

Deadline is coming up fast, though!

* * *

Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 2
(Best Lesbian Erotica 2018)
Editor: Sacchi Green
Publisher: Cleis Press
Deadline: March 20, 2017 (earlier encouraged)
Payment: $100 and 1 copy of the book within 90 days of publication

Rights: non-exclusive right to publish the story in this anthology in print, ebook and audiobook form. Authors will retain copyright to their stories.

Is there a story inside you burning to be written? Now’s the time to let it out. Or is there one you published during 2015-2016 that you think is the best thing you’ve ever written? I’ll consider just a few reprints. Up to two submissions per author are allowed, preferred length between 2000-4000 words. No simultaneous submissions.

I want a variety of themes, voices, and tone. A diversity of ages, ethnicities, cultures, and physical attributes and abilities is welcome. The central figures must be lesbian, believable, fully developed characters. Give me vividly drawn settings, and plots or story arcs that grip the reader and don’t let go. Originality is especially valued; write the story that only you can write. And, of course, I want intense sex scenes that flow naturally from the story as a whole. All flavors of sensuality are welcome, from vanilla to BDSM to edgy frontiers that surprise and startle the reader. A few stories with a speculative fiction bent, science fiction or fantasy, might fit in.

Send your submission to sacchigreen [at] gmail [dot] com as an attachment in .doc, docx. or .rtf format, double spaced, Times New Roman black font. The story title, your legal name, pseudonym (if applicable), previous publication information for the story (if applicable), and mailing and email addresses, should be included on the first page. 
Queries are welcome.

Picture This (#writersJourney #romance #movies @CharJGordon)

Charmaine Gordon head shot

By Charmaine Gordon (Guest Blogger)

In show business, often the director says: Picture this. And so I begin with the same words to you, new friends. Take me as I am for I am a writer just like you except I traveled this path later in my life than most of you. Here’s a brief introduction first so we may be acquainted.

In my early life, I was the good daughter, the good wife, the good mom of many children as my pilot husband flew for the Strategic Air Command during the Korean Conflict. Eventually we became civilians and one day when my youngest only daughter turned sixteen, an actress friend suggested I drive to New York City and spread my wings as an actor. I had been in many Community theater plays but never entertained a career before. My husband drew a small map on how to get to the city and fearlessly I went.

Soon I became a small fish in the big talented pond. Daytime drama was my first venue, shows like “One Life to Live” for twelve years, “All My Children” (in and out of this one), “Another World”, two steady years.

Things moved fast in the big city. We lived about thirty miles north, no biggie to drive back then. Soon offers for movies came in and I was in “Working Girl” sharing a hot dog with Harrison Ford during a break after singing Happy Birthday to Melanie Griffith while handing her the cake; meeting the charming Anthony call-me -Tony Hopkins who treated me to dine with the stars that day-one month on that movie; “When Harry Met Sally” for a week where I met Carrie Fisher and we all sang during a break. And many more movies.

I don’t intend to bore you. Sweet time for me. Then I was in a play Off-Broadway. My voice felt way off. I went to a specialist. I quote the words of doom. “My dear, you have Spasmodic Dysphonia. I fear you have lost your voice.”

A friend called with the suggestion: “Write a book.” I said, “I don’t know how.” “But you’ve been memorizing scripts for years and you’ve worked with Mike Nichols, Billy Crystal and good actors so didn’t you learn from them?”

That night I had an idea and wrote and wrote and never stopped until The End. Then I sent out query letters with rejections coming back but actors are accustomed to that. No biggie. And then Vanilla Heart Publishing called me. Yes, they were interested and they wanted more and soon I had a contract. Me with no voice had a contract for a book. I cried! Oh yes, I cried. 
So you see, it can happen to you. Just keep writing, have faith in your work and yourself. And remember what I said and did.

Thanks, Lisabet. My best to all of your readers. I so appreciate this special moment on your blog.

Here is what’s called ‘Breaking News.’ My publisher just sent me the cover reveal of my latest story. Title: Chef’s Surprise! And now it’s released. Chef’s Surprise is my twenty fifth book. This author is excited.

Introducing Chef’s Surprise, my new book in all e formats listed below:

Chef’s Surprise
By Charmaine Gordon
One night, she ran. For the bus to freedom and a new life. She had a plan, and a small box of cash.
With grit and determination, the young girl learned more than lessons at nursing college, the first part of her plan.
Someday, she would become a top chef, but for now, she’d claw her way up the ladder.
There is payback for every crime, and sometimes the payback is more than satisfactory.
Grab your copy today!

Friday, January 27, 2017

The Much Maligned Adverb (#amwriting #craft #StephenKing)

Stephen King cover

The adverb is not your friend.”

This pronouncement, by Stephen King in his influential little volume On Writing, has inspired floods of red ink. Adverbs—especially those ending in -lyarouse the irrational ire of critics and editors. “Weak!” they exclaim. “Verbose!” “Unnecessary!” “Outdated!” Some of the more poorly educated even claim that adverbs violate the rules of grammar.


I’m a writer. That means words are my tools. All words. I’m not about to countenance some pundit (or even a best-selling, highly skilled author) telling me I should jettison an entire class of words just because they’ve become unfashionable.

I understand the logic behind King’s critique. Novice authors frequently overuse this part of speech, describing the manner in which a generic action is performed rather than search for a stronger or more specific verb. Excessive use of adverbs can be a sign of laziness. Certainly, they’re not the best tool for every occasion. A rich repertoire of evocative verbs can be far more effective than a bustling stable of adverbs.

That’s no argument for banning them outright.

Editors argue that adverbs slow prose down, making it less potent and direct. That’s probably true. However, sometimes I want to slow the pace of a paragraph. My personal style differs from the spare, unadorned prose King creates. I learned to write in a less hurried era, when an author could afford to explore her scenes and her characters in a more leisurely manner.

I had the notion that I’d post a few paragraphs from my current work in progress, then strip out the adverbs to show the effects of this edit. What I discovered is that my most recent stories use far fewer adverbs than I expected. I guess the unfashionable status of this part of speech has in fact influenced my writing as well. I also realized that these days I tend to use adverbs to modify adjectives or participles rather than verbs—to qualify or limit descriptions.

In any case, I think removing these adverbs would make the prose less effective. In some cases, it would even change the meaning. Here’s a snippet to illustrate what I mean.

Would you like to see my drawing, Dr. Gardner?” Alisha offers me a sheet of paper, presumably the picture that so thoroughly captured her attention yesterday. Color explodes off the page, garnet red, cerulean blue, shockingly bright purple. In contrast with its violent hues, the lines of the drawing are delicate and precise. Meticulously rendered gardens and palaces fill the every inch of the paper—arched gates curtained with ivy, marble fountains spilling silvery cascades over velvet green lawns, onion-domed towers soaring toward feathery clouds. I'm reminded of the jewel-toned miniatures painted by the eighteenth century Ottoman masters, until I look more closely. Then it is Hieronymous Bosch that comes to mind. For in the shadowy corners formed by vine-draped walls, and on the lushly carpeted floors of the pavilions, I see tiny beings—not people, no, not with those swollen heads, sharp-taloned limbs and tooth-lined maws— engaged in the most perverse couplings imaginable. Here an enormous penis splits a dripping orifice. There, a long, tri-forked tongue penetrates multiple bodies simultaneously. A fat-assed creature squats and strains above a gaping mouth. A head literally disappears between splayed female thighs while smaller beings perch on the woman's abdomen to gnaw on her pendulous breasts.

My stomach turns. My cunt melts. Both reactions are completely inappropriate in a therapist. I swallow the disgust rising in my throat, ignore the desire smoldering in my sex, and hand the sheet back to Alisha.

~ From “Countertransference” by Lisabet Sarai, unpublished work

Let’s strip out the adverbs:

Would you like to see my drawing, Dr. Gardner?” Alisha offers me a sheet of paper, presumably the picture that captured her attention yesterday. Color explodes off the page, garnet red, cerulean blue, bright purple. In contrast with its violent hues, the lines of the drawing are delicate and precise. Rendered gardens and palaces fill the every inch of the paper—arched gates curtained with ivy, marble fountains spilling silvery cascades over velvet green lawns, onion-domed towers soaring toward feathery clouds. I'm reminded of the jewel-toned miniatures painted by the eighteenth century Ottoman masters, until I look more. Then it is Hieronymous Bosch that comes to mind. For in the shadowy corners formed by vine-draped walls, and on the carpeted floors of the pavilions, I see tiny beings—not people, no, not with those swollen heads, sharp-taloned limbs and tooth-lined maws— engaged in the most perverse couplings imaginable. Here an enormous penis splits a dripping orifice. There, a long, tri-forked tongue penetrates multiple bodies. A fat-assed creature squats and strains above a gaping mouth. A head disappears between splayed female thighs while smaller beings perch on the woman's abdomen to gnaw on her pendulous breasts.

My stomach turns. My cunt melts. Both reactions are inappropriate in a therapist. I swallow the disgust rising in my throat, ignore the desire smoldering in my sex, and hand the sheet back to Alisha.

In my opinion, this snippet is less dynamic than the original. It feels flat. I use adverbs for emphasis here, and to convey nuances of excess. I also intend to convey the fact that the narrator (who is a highly educated psychiatrist) is a highly verbal person who uses words both to comprehend the world and to distance herself from her own feelings.

Your mileage may vary, of course. Each of us uses our tools in different ways. You may strive for the lean, muscular prose of Stephen King and Elmore Leonard and personally eschew adverbs as unnecessary ornamentation.

Do not presume, however, to banish them outright. I want them in my tool box, along with all the other delightful and varied structures in the English language.

And don’t get me started about the universally condemned passive voice!

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Dream Sequences (@kd_grace #dreams #bdsm #mm )

Psychology of Dreams cover

By K.D. Grace (Guest Blogger)

Thanks so much for having me over, Lisabet. It’s always such a pleasure to be your guest. Today I want to talk about dreams -- one of my favorite sources of inspiration, which also happen to be one of my favorite writing constructs. More than a few of my stories have had their roots in my dreams. Many of my novels have dream sequences, which are fantastic for furthering the plot, upping the tension, or creating a little chaos.

Dreams have been a driving force in story and magic since our ancestors told tales around the campfire. The connection between what goes on in our dreams and our unconscious is so startling that it’s no wonder mythology and religion are full of stories in which dreams are the way for the divine to speak to mortals. When we dream, it feels like we’ve fallen asleep in one dimension and awakened in another where different rules apply every night – every dream in fact – and where, struggle though we might, we are most definitely not in control.

People have always believed that there’s something magical about dreams, that in our sleep, we can see the future, be warned of coming catastrophe, see the face of a lover, even see our own doom. These days there’s not a lot that can’t be explained by science and technology. Magic is the realm of fantasy novels and super heroes, but dreams, well there’s still something almost magical about them. We can tell when someone is dreaming; we understand the physiological process, we can understand in part why we dream certain things. But even knowing what we do about the anatomy of sleep and dreams, a nightmare is still terrifying, a disturbing dream still stays with us for ages after it happens, and a sexy dream, well who doesn’t wish we had a lot more of those?

One of my very favorite classes in Uni was a psychology class that involved keeping a dream journal. All we had to do was write down what we’d dreamed every night. I was surprised to find that, in the beginning, I had trouble remembering much more than an image here and there, but then I’d never thought much about my dreams before that class. My teacher suggested I keep a spiral notebook and a pencil on my bedside table and that I set my alarm at two-hour intervals. Each time the alarm went off, I was to jot down just a few key words that would kick-start my memory in the morning, then go back to sleep. At first it was mostly mundane bits and pieces that I remembered, but it didn’t take long until I was remembering multiple dreams and detailed sequences.

I was so impressed with the results that I kept a dream journal for a long time after the class came to an end. I only stopped because it was beginning to take more and more time as I remembered more and more details. Later, when I worked with a Jungian analyst for a couple of years, dreams once again took center stage in exploring my inner workings. The thing about dreams is that every image, every action, can either symbolize something that could be important for the dreamer or, as Freud observed, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Long after I stopped keeping a dream journal, I still wrote down powerful dreams, dreams that disturb me, or dreams that left me feeling like maybe I’d touched something deeper in myself. I recorded them and then I analyzed them and explored what they meant to me, what the Self was trying to communicate. I almost always found my efforts rewarding and enlightening.

While there are dreams wed like to linger in a little longer, there are also dreams we cant wake up from fast enough. I wrote The Psychology of Dreams 101 because I wanted to explore what might happen when a dream journal leads to that mix of sexy dreams and disturbing nightmares. What happens when a dream that starts out too hot to handle turns scary? What happens when one is no longer sure whats dream and whats reality? Worst of all, what happens when the dreamer cant escape the dream? The Psychology of Dreams was a chance for me to play around with the idea of the dream as a driving force in story. While The Psychology of Dreams is an erotic novella, its also a chance for me to play with the juxtaposition of the erotic and the horrific, and find a way back from the dark and disturbing to a HFN.

Here’s a dreamy little taster.


What if there was punishment when you didn’t dream the right dreams? That’s the dilemma Leah Kent, and her professor, Al Foster must face—dream right, or take the punishment. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a wander into the sexy and dark unconscious as Leah takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required dream journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys. But not all dreams are pleasant ones, and some have far-reaching repercussions in the waking world.

Buy Links for The Psychology of Dreams 101:

It’s My Dream!
The Psychology of Dreams 101 Excerpt

Now then, let’s see if we can’t ease the pain in you lovely little bottom before we get on with the spanking, ” Dr. Clyde said before Leah could ask what he meant by his remark about them never getting out of the dream. He rummaged and rattled through the surprising abundance of the desk drawers until he came up with a tube of something she couldn’t see in her bent-over position, but as he unscrewed the lid, she immediately smelled peaches. There was the sound of something squirting, and then she felt the doctor’s large palm spreading cool lotion against her burning butt. She sighed and clenched at the pleasure of it. “There now. That feels better, doesn’t it hon? Just what the doctor ordered. We don’t want that lovely ass of yours too wounded just yet. Your punishment has hardly begun, after all.”

Peach? Seriously?” Al said, coming closer to observe and sniffing as he did so.

Yup! And it’s edible too,” Dr. Clyde said. “Taste. Not like that, Dear God, Al, put the tube down, and use your imagination. You’re in a dream for fuck sake! And you,” he turned his attention back to Leah, “you lie still. You’re being punished. You don’t get to see what’s happening. You have to trust the dream, trust that what happens next is all a part of the experience.”

Enough of the psycho-babble, already, Derrick. We get it,” Al protested. There was a shuffling of male bodies behind her, and Leah felt a different set of hands, clearly Al’s hands. They were not quite as large as Dr. Clyde’s, but they were slightly calloused. She wondered how someone who taught courses on dream psychology got calloused hands. He gently cupped her hips, careful not to touch her wounded left ass-cheek. Then she felt the humid heat of his breath just before his warm wet tongue pressed against the place where her thigh met her left buttock.

Oh God!” she managed, as the unexpected, but delightful, sinuous lap of his tongue up the rounded contour of her ass cheek moved inward, closer to the cleft that she knew would taste nothing at all like peaches. Meanwhile the doctor droned on that though at one point in our evolution, we liked the scents and odors of the body, at present that was less the case, and scented and flavored lubricants and lotions for sex often made the partners more comfortable with their personal smells.

I like her smell,” came Al’s muffled reply. “It’s her I want to taste, not fucking peaches.”

Wait a minute, you can smell me? I mean I’m sure you can smell me now, but … before?”

I ha’ a ‘en’ative nothe,” came the slurped reply against her ass, and she decided right then and there that she was just fine with that.

I fail to see how eating her out is going to help ease the pain at all,” Dr. Clyde observed as Al licked and slurped and nibbled ever closer to the ache at the center that had nothing to do with the spanking.

It’s my dream.” Leah protested, wriggling and squirming to open her legs against the restraint of the panties around her knees. “If I want him to do … that, then surely he should do that.”

It’s hardly a punishment though, is it?” the doctor said, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest observing Al’s efforts from the edge of Leah’s peripheral vision.

Who the fuck ca -- res?” she managed with a little gasp as Al fingered her open to make room for his very talented tongue.

She was just getting into it, just beginning to think that maybe Al’s tongue was prehensile when she heard a grunt and opened her eyes to discover the good doctor had moved closer, and he was now observing with his trousers open, his gaze locked on what Al was doing to her bottom and his fist locked around his heavy erection, which pointed accusingly at her ass as he shifted his hips to free his balls. Not that she wanted him to stop or anything, but she was just about to comment that she failed to see what his cock stroking had to do with her punishment when the sudden absence of a warm tongue from her nether region and the sound of a zipper opening told her that, in solidarity with his fellow male, Al had just freed Simba. She pressed her legs tightly together and wriggled just enough for the binding panties to drop to the floor. Then she kicked them aside and she was free too, opening her thighs anticipating more than Al’s tongue when the damn doctor called a halt to all activities.

Now what?” Both she and Al growled at the same time.

You’re not supposed to fuck her, Al. You’re supposed to spank her, punish her, make her repentant.”
Oh I am,” she managed breathlessly. “I’m very repentant. I’ll never write down fake dreams again.”

Dr. Clyde ignored her. “Look, in the dreams, you’re both being punished. No one gets satisfaction until the punishment is complete.”

Seriously?” Leah said, and Al cursed profusely. Under different circumstance to hear such foul language from the mouth of her mild-mannered instructor would have shocked her, but at the moment, she was inclined to agree with him completely.

Well, I suppose I could have some satisfaction,” the doctor added with a little shrug of his broad shoulders, and the movement made his dick look like it shrugged too in its anxious agreement. “After all it’s not my dream and I’m not being punished.” Cock in hand, he insinuated himself between Al and Leah and with a quiver of anticipation, Leah wriggled against the table as he fingered her open.

Wait a minute,” Al said. “This is Leah’s dream. What if she doesn’t want you to fuck her? What if she just wants to get on with it?”

No, no! That’s all right. I’m good with it. I’m fine.” Leah just wanted someone to fuck her and soon! Since it was her dream, why not the good doctor? He was certainly ready.

That doesn’t mean you can’t put your cock in her mouth if you want,” Dr. Clyde said to Al. “I suppose that could be considered punishment. It could certainly be considered humiliation in most BDSM circles, if done under the right circumstances, or so I’m told,” he added quickly.

What if I put my cock up your ass instead,” Al said, shocking both Leah and Dr. Clyde as he yanked at the waistband of the man’s expensive trousers.

Before the doctor could protest, Leah added her own bit of profanity to the blue language hanging in the air. “It’s my dream, damn it! So just put your fucking cock in his fucking hole already! I don’t see how that can affect my punishment. And when you do, I want to see, so Doc, if you’ll just hand me the mirror.”

Wait a minute, Al’s the Dom, not you.”

Shut up, Doc!” both she and Al said at once.

It’s my dream,” Leah repeated, “Besides,” she added quickly, “I’ve never seen a man fuck a man before.”

Come to think of it, neither have I,” Dr. Clyde said. “Do you think you can angle the mirror so I can see too.”

About K D Grace/Grace Marshall

Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves mythology. She enjoys spending time in the gym – right now she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. She loves to read, watch birds and do anything that gets her outdoors.

KD has erotica published with Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, To Rome with Lust, and The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.

K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition, Interviewing Wade are all available.

Find K D Here: