Smut with a Shiver

By Delores Swallows (Guest Blogger)

Hi, I’m Delores Swallows, and I now accept I’ll never drive a Ferrari. I wrote a guest blog for Beyond Romance in July of last year, and Lisabet has been kind enough to invite me back.

My previous post was called ‘Smut with a Smile’ because I write smut, and I smile when I read it back to myself in private. Just joking. I do write smut, but I try to include some humour within the stories to make the readers smile.

But for this post, I thought I’d explain how I tried to make my latest story a little darker. There is less humour, but still quite a bit of smut. Like my other stories, this one also features voyeurism, high-heels and a petite brunette.

In previous stories I’ve found some plots allowed for a variety of sexual scenarios without asking the reader to suspend their disbelief. In Stranger than Fiction it was easy, because my female MC was a figment of the imagination of a smut author. 

In the story Web of Deceit, my female MC ventured into the murky world of cyber-sex in chatrooms. There she was able to flirt and describe her fantasies, and things were fine until she decided the fantasies weren’t enough. I think I over-indulged in the freedom that story gave me, because it’s probably the dirtiest story I’ve written to date. But I’m hoping to top that with my WIP J

My latest release is called Midnight Mirror, and features (as you can probably guess from the title) a mirror that does strange things at midnight. It’s in the genre I’d call Paranormal-Erotic Romance-Voyeurism, or in other words, it’s a PERV story  

 

Okay, I just made that acronym up, although I suspect many others will have also used it in the past. It’s hard to find any pun that’s original, nowadays…

As it’s a paranormal story, this offered another opportunity for me to vary the mood and feel of the sex scenes.

Since I wanted it to have a dark, creepy atmosphere, I needed to find something spooky to focus on. As a kid with an over-active imagination, I was always wary of mirrors—half-expecting strange things to appear in the glass (and I wasn’t referring to my spotty, pre-pubescent face). Mirrors can be spooky for a whole host of reasons.

It’s a common occurrence in films for the person looking in the mirror to see either something behind them, or their own reflection distorted in some freakish way. I remember being really grossed-out by the bathroom scene in ‘Poltergeist’, where the guy peels the face of his reflection, the lumps of flesh landing in the sink.

So when I decided to try my hand at writing a spooky story, involving a mirror was one of my first thoughts. A mirror is also a good way of getting the voyeuristic aspect into the plot, so how could I not use one?

The first house I ever bought was an old derelict terraced cottage. A lady had lived there alone for many years, and after she’d died the house had remained empty for about four years. Many of my friends used to try and wind me up about it being haunted. I should admit up front that although I accept ghost might exist, I’ve never seen one. Nor have I ever experienced anything which can’t be explained logically (and ‘alcohol’ is usually the logical explanation).

But shortly after I’d moved into the house, I had a dream where I was sitting in the lounge when the ghost of an old lady walked through the room. She was wearing a raincoat and headscarf as if she’d just come in from outside, but the thing that scared me enough to wake me was that her eyes were repeatedly blinking at an impossible speed. I don’t know why that freaked me out so much, but it did.

As a result of that dream, rapid-blinking eyes also feature in the story.

Here’s the blurb, followed by an excerpt:

To brighten her dreary flat, Natalie buys an old mirror, soon finding that it isn’t what it seems. At the witching hour, her reflection takes on a life of its own. Natalie finds herself physically sharing the sex scenes taking place inside the glass.

Her mirror is her hot little secret until the scenes on the other side become disturbing, making her frightened to stay in her own home.

She knows she needs to overcome the force behind the glass, but the only thing she can think of is to use herself as bait…​​

x x x

Returning to the lounge to turn off the lamp, she glanced in the mirror on the way. As she looked, the eyes of her reflection started to blink repeatedly. Natalie stopped and stared, her own eyes not blinking at all. The room became cold, and she saw her breath condensing in front of her. Then the eyes in the mirror stopped blinking, and Natalie saw her own eyes staring back at her.

But it wasn’t Natalie in the mirror—or rather it wasn’t how she should have looked.

Reflected-Natalie had her face, but her hair was a deep auburn and cut shorter, the ends curled out from her face. She had bright red lips and looked like someone from an old movie. Her floral dress reached her knees and was fitted at the waist. The room behind reflected-Natalie wasn’t the living room of the flat. It was larger, with retro décor. It had patterned wall-paper and a rug that didn’t reach the walls. The floorboards showing around the rug were waxed to a shine. Framed oil paintings hung from a picture rail which ran round the walls at head height. Reflected-Natalie lifted her arm and straightened her hair, whereas real-Natalie stood stock-still. Rather than looking in a mirror, she seemed to be looking into a window from the past. The large mirror was like a TV screen allowing her to see into another world, but with no sound to accompany the show. All Natalie could hear was her own breathing.

Reflected-Natalie turned as the door on the opposite wall opened and a man in army uniform entered the room. As she watched from her own flat, Natalie knew this man was the husband of her reflected-self. He pulled off his peaked cap, showing a disfigured face—his scars a result of a fire. Somehow she knew the Wellington he’d been piloting was shot down over Germany during a bombing campaign, and he’d been a Prisoner-of-War for the last three years. Her reflected-self rushed to his arms, and Natalie heard sobs of relief break from her own throat.

Her heart boomed in her chest as she watched the couple in the mirror cling to each other, the woman kissing his scarred face, running her hands gently over the part of his head where the hair would never grow back.

Suddenly they were tearing at each other’s clothes, and warmth flooded between Natalie’s legs. The woman undid her husband’s uniform jacket as his hands struggled with the buttons at the front of her dress. They fumbled with clothes, still kissing. Natalie noticed the woman crying and felt tears on her own cheeks. As the man’s shirt was removed, the extent of the scarring on his upper body became evident. His wife slowed her eagerness, gently running her fingers over his red and wrinkled flesh.

Natalie watched, and she shared the woman’s anger. How could anyone have done this to such a beautiful body? The wife gently removed his shirt and vest, then started to kiss each inch of his blemished torso.

The husband undid enough of the buttons to allow her to slip the dress back off her shoulders and slide it down her body. She wore a cream longline bra and matching pantie girdle with built-in clips to hold up her seamed stockings. She quickly unfastened her bra, and as Natalie watched the husband bend to take a nipple into his mouth, she felt her own nipple being sucked and nibbled. She felt a need deep within her. The Natalie in the mirror hurriedly unclipped her suspenders and the husband dropped to his knees, carefully rolling the silk stockings down her legs. The girdle and panties were quickly removed, leaving forties-version Natalie completely naked. Her husband fumbled with his boot laces.

Natalie watched the scene, her heart racing with expectation, a strange impatience twisting her stomach. Finally his boots were removed and his wife was undoing the buttons of his uniform trousers. As soon as she pushed the trousers down his cock sprung free, sticking out hard and proud. The only scars below his waist were on the backs of his legs.

Natalie held her breath as she watched her other self encourage the soldier to lay flat on his back on the rug. The wife positioned herself above him and held his erection at the opening of her sex. As she lowered herself slowly down, Natalie experienced being entered, filled, and a groan escaped her lips. Her muscles gripped involuntarily around the phantom shape inside, and the lady in the mirror began to ride her husband. Moving slowly up and down, the wife watched his face.

x x x

At first, the mirror—although a bit freaky—isn’t really a bad thing. My MC has a couple of pleasant experiences, but then things start to get not so pleasant. She has to overcome whatever it is, and so obviously that means it’s time for her to put on her high-heels!

I’m happy with the way the story turned out. It’s different from the stuff I’ve written before (which sounds like I’m not happy with the other stories, which isn’t true. Honest), but I did enjoy writing it.

However, there was the constant temptation to add bits of humour. Although there are some lighter bits, I didn’t want to add something that would break whatever mood I’d managed to create.

When Natalie watches her reflected-selves having sex, she shares their sensations and their orgasms. She also experiences the men coming as an iciness inside her. One of the scenes she witnesses involves a version of herself being double-penetrated during an m/f/m threesome, and the urge to include the term ‘rectoplasm’ was almost over-whelming. But I resisted, and the story is (hopefully) better without it.

I like to think it’s my first example of ‘Smut with a Shiver’.

If it sounds interesting, you can get a copy here (among other places):

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/611333

My current WIP is not paranormal in any way. I’m back to the real-life shenanigans of a wife cuckolding her husband. There’s no rectoplasm or ghost-riders, but there is voyeurism. And high-heels. And a petite brunette. 

Oh, and I'm giving away a copy of Stranger Than Fiction or Web of Deceit (your choice) to one person who leaves a comment. Don't forget to include your email address! 

About Delores Swallows

Delores Swallows has many dirty thoughts, and during his free time he writes them down in the form of stories. Born and bred in the northwest of England, he has a commoner’s accent and a bit of a crush on his future queen (Kate, not Camilla!).

His stories often feature petite brunettes, high-heeled shoes and voyeurism. He claims he didn’t realise these were obsessions until someone pointed out how often they appear in his work.

If you would like to give feedback on his stories or contact him, you can do so via e-mail deloresswallows@gmail.com or twitter @deloresswallows

If you would like to get a free story and updates on all new releases, simply join the mailing list by writing to his e-mail address above.

The admin at Facebook don’t like his pen name, but he does have a profile under the name of Delores Jones, and that profile has a page in the pen name: www.facebook.com.deloresswallows

Check out his website for free short stories, blog and info on all his current and upcoming stories: www.deloresswallows.com

Review Tuesday: Stranger Than Fiction by Delores Swallows

Stranger Than Fiction

By Delores Swallows

Excessica, 2015

We authors often complain that our characters boss us around. We hear their voices in our heads, voicing their displeasure at our plot twists and demanding changes. They object loudly when we try to make them adhere to our outlines. It’s worse than herding cats.

Stranger Than Fiction takes this conceit one step further. In this tale, an erotic author’s heroine becomes corporeal in order to express her dissatisfaction with the sexual scenes he’s penned for her. Ruby doesn’t just bitch about her sexual frustration; she takes action, seducing poor James and engendering vivid (and messy) orgasms, even though he knows she isn’t real. In the process, she jeopardizes her creator’s already threatened marriage. As mild-mannered James tries to juggle his attraction to the increasingly wild heroine he has birthed and his love for his overworked executive wife, he learns a thing or two about his own sexuality.

Delores Swallows writes with a sure hand and a ready wit. Ruby’s outrageous behavior and James’ futile attempts to curb his lust for his unruly character will have you laughing out loud. However, Stranger Than Fiction is more than just a raunchy lark. Ms. Swallows (or maybe I should say “Mr. Swallows”, since the author freely admits to being male) incorporates some underlying wisdom about the nature of imagination and the complexity of eroticism.

I suspect that Delores Swallows didn’t consciously intend to make Ruby a personification of her creator’s sexual frustration, but one could read the book that way. While James tries to write a story infused with realistic emotional conflict rather than unbridled and fantastic lust, he’s shackling his own sexual creativity. When he lets Ruby come out and play, he liberates his own libido.

And is the book erotic? Stranger Than Fiction deals more with light-hearted arousal than deep, obsessive desire, but it does include a lot of lively and pleasurable sex, with many a nod to favorite female fantasies like multiple partners and sex with hunky strangers.

Stranger Than Fiction is about forty pages long. Novellas of this length often feel either incomplete or rushed. This book is exactly the right length for the story it tells. The story arc builds, rises to a climax (or several), then resolves, to everyone’s satisfaction (including Ruby’s). The sense of completion is another testimony to Ms./Mr. Swallows’ authorly skill.

This is the first book I’ve read by Mr. Swallows. Given that he now has a several book backlist, I’m certain it won’t be the last.

Smut with a Smile

By Delores Swallows (Guest Blogger)

Hi, I’m Delores Swallows. Or at least that’s the name I use for the stories I write.

I started writing dirty stories about fifteen years ago, and I did it for my own amusement. By that, I don’t mean I’d sit in the dark and type one-handed. I mean I enjoyed the process of having a dirty thought, thinking up a scenario where it could actually happen, and then writing a piece of fiction to show it happening between characters in a way I hoped was a believable and arousing.

I kept all the stories in a computer file and decided I’d give myself a pseudonym to use as a label on the folder. I chose Delores, which to me is a kind of exotic name. Sometime later I joined an on-line forum for aspiring authors of erotica, and decided to add a surname. The name ‘Swallows’ occurred to me, and I giggled.

I’ve used the name for the on-line forum ever since, and tell people that if I ever write non-erotic fiction, I’ll do it under the pen name Millicent Spits.

Late in 2014 I was encouraged to try and get some of my stories published, so I submitted two stories to different publishers and got two acceptances. Then I was faced with the decision—should I choose a more appropriate pen name? Would people actually be interested in reading anything by someone with a stupid name like Delores Swallows? Well, I suppose the answer to that is ‘of course not’—because I now have twelve stories published and I still don’t own a Ferrari.

But by the time I’d got a publishing deal I’d found my own style of writing, and the tongue-in-cheek name seemed pretty appropriate. And to be honest, I kind of like the name now.

In my real life I use humour a lot. I’ve known from a young age that I have the ability to make people laugh. At school I used to get into all sorts of trouble because I’d blurt out my quip without thinking if it’d be the appropriate thing to say. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to learn how to pass a remark through my brain a second time for a ‘review’ before I let it escape from my mouth. Doesn’t always work. During volleyball last week, a young German woman who’s working in the UK for a few months asked me if I was scared of her (she shouts at everyone if they make a mistake). I said ‘Of course I’m scared of you – I’m scared of all big women’. I don’t think it was the reply she wanted….

I like to think a lot of my stories tend to contain a fair amount of humour. But I think sex and humour are a good mix. Sex can be funny, and fun can be sexy.

Humour and sex tastes are both subjective, so all I can do is write what works for me and hope readers like it. I write about things I find arousing, and include humour I find amusing. I don’t think I’d be able to force myself into an alien pattern in either area. I’m probably not that creative.

I try to introduce most of the humour in the dialogue. I don’t use the ‘double entendre’ type of humour from the old British Carry On films, where any phrase that can be misinterpreted is followed by an exclamation of ‘Oh, Matron!’ To me, that’s more in the realms of ‘pun-ography’.

But I like to make my characters say the sort of things to each other that I say to my friends in everyday life. Some stories are much more aligned to humour than others, but I think any story can be lightened (and improved) with a few funnies. My novella, Closest Strangers, is a pretty dark erotic thriller based in a seedy world. Unpleasant things happen to people, but there are still moments where the characters use humour as a pressure-release valve. I think it happens in real life a lot – I know I certainly do it.

Another story of mine, In the Shadow of The Riot, has a lot more humour. It’s based around a tour of four punk bands in 1979. I was actually a guitarist in a punk band around that time, but the fact I’ve written this story means I can give ‘Historical Romance Author’ as my occupation if I’m ever arrested.

Jag liked the look of the bass player. She was tiny, about five-two and really petite. As she played the bass she bounced about the stage, never looking at the audience. It was Mindy’s fellow guitarist who stepped up to the mic and took lead vocals.

I woke up this morning in a stranger’s place

I was wet between the legs and had a smile on my face

The crowd cheered. Muzza leaned over to shout into Jag’s ear over the noise. “Why can’t you write classy lyrics like that?”

“How about I woke up this morning in a stranger’s bed, I was sore up the arse and had a bag on my head?”

Muzza laughed out loud. “Yeah, I can just see Wood singing that.”

x x x

My latest story is a little different in one fundamental way – all my others are meant to be ‘believable’. By that, I mean I have always tried to make the stories I write appear like they could actually happen in real life. My latest story is called Stranger than Fiction, and it doesn’t follow my usual pattern. Here’s the blurb:

James writes erotic fiction. His latest story describes the adventures of Ruby, a happily-married woman in an open relationship. When James writes a sex-scene which leaves Ruby unsatisfied, she turns up in his real life to demand more from her encounters.

Ruby's presence starts to impact on James's relationship with his wife, with embarrassing consequences...

To my mind, this story is perfectly set up for all sorts of fun, simply because there are so many ways Ruby can get James into trouble. Here’s an excerpt:

The lights were off and Sally was in bed. James faced the wall as he undressed but when he turned around, in the faint glow from the clock, he could make out Ruby kneeling on all fours on the bed. She was naked except for her shoes, running one hand over her backside.

“Want to do me doggy, Diggy?”

James worried Sally would hear if he replied, so said nothing. Ruby wiggled her ass a little, and James lifted his hand towards her. She wiggled again, and James’s hand touched her. The skin was cool and smooth. He let his hand move slowly over the swell of her bum cheek, down the outside of her thigh. Ruby moaned quietly as his hand slid around the back of her leg and upwards along the inside of her other thigh. As his hand reached higher he could feel the slickness of her juices. He slid two fingers easily inside her wet sex. Ruby groaned and James finger-fucked her slowly. He inserted his thumb into her anus and Ruby offered vocal encouragement and rocked herself back to meet his hand.

“James?”

Suddenly the light came on, and Sally looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Hair flattened on one side, eyes getting used to the light, she stared at him.

James looked at himself. He stood with his hand held out, two fingers and thumb protruding like a child pretending he had a gun. He saw Sally’s gaze wander down his body, and James saw with horror he had an erection.

“What are you doing?” Sally was understandably curious.

“Er, sorry. I started to get a bit of cramp in my arm, so I was stretching it a bit before I got in bed.” James knew how lame his excuse sounded. “Probably a keyboard-related thing.” He tried to laugh, but it wouldn’t come out. “The pains we writers put ourselves through.” James shrugged, embarrassed at his own inability to be creative.

x x x

Ruby is one of my favourite-ever characters, and she’s relentless in her wish to get James to write her a better sex-life. She wants to feature in threesomes and gangbangs, and is trying everything to convince him it would help his sales:

x x x

“Look, Ruby, the thing is—”

“Oh I know, I know, it’s not my story.” Ruby used finger quotes. “But let’s pretend—for a minute—you were going to try and write an erotic story containing something slightly erotic. Can you pretend to do that for me, Diggy?”

James crossed his arms and exhaled loudly, letting go of the breath he was going to use to voice his reasons for not using the scene. He waited patiently.

Ruby stared into his eyes and he saw the flame of anger there slowly dissipate.

She let out a breath of her own, pushing her hair back behind one ear. “Thank you. Now, where was I? Number five has gone to the bar, and I’m standing next to the big guy with the rest of his crowd. There’s maybe half a dozen of them, all men in tight shirts and bulging muscles. But the big guy’s obviously their leader—the alpha male. You could put that term in your keywords, Diggy. Maybe increase your sales.”

“Yeah, why don’t we make him your billionaire stepbrother who’s also a were-giraffe as well? That way we can tick a few more boxes.”

Ruby frowned. “Be sarcastic if you want, Diggy, but your books aren’t exactly flying off the shelves. And it’s werewolves or werebears—they’re the shifters the ladies like to read about, not weregiraffes.”

James smiled mischievously. “Ever seen the tongue on a giraffe?”

x x x

So there’s a lot of humour in this story, but there’s also quite a bit of heat, too. Hopefully I’ve managed to get the balance of the two about right, and people will enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing it, but not as much fun as I’d have driving a Ferrari…

Giveaway!

You could win a copy of any of the books I’ve mentioned in this post. Just leave me a comment that includes your email, telling me which title you’d prefer. I’ll pick two winners, next Saturday. 

About Me 

Delores Swallows has many dirty thoughts, and during his free time he writes them down in the form of stories. Born and bred in the northwest of England, he has a commoner’s accent and a bit of a crush on his future queen. His stories often feature petite brunettes, high-heeled shoes and voyeurism. He claims he didn’t realise these were obsessions until someone pointed out how often they appear in his work. His latest release is called STRANGER THAN FICTION. It’s his thirteenth publication, but he thinks it’s bad luck to be superstitious.

Website: http://www.deloresswallows.com

Free stories and numerous photos of ladies in high heels!