A Nugget of Naughty Little Rich Girl

Cover image for
Naughty Little Rich Girl

Naughty Litte Rich Girl is my first crack at an erotic short story intended for men. It is, of course, also suitable for woman who like it hot and hard.

One evening, I was driving the pair home from the Met. At the time, they had been married less than two months and she, obviously, still felt the need to put in her best work. From the back of the limo, I heard her giggles; high-pitched screeches that belonged to a five-year-old. Flicking my eyes to the rearview mirror, I watched her manicured hand with long, bright red finger nails, rub its way up his thigh before cupping his groin.

“Ooh,” she crooned. “Nice.”

He gave a soft groan in return. “Do you want it, baby?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replied, her voice even higher than before. “Baby wants it bad.”

His hand, which had been out of view, somewhere at the small of her back, slipped up to her neck and I watched, as he pushed her head towards his groin.

She didn’t resist. In fact, she glanced at him with an impish grin, until she could no longer see his face. All the while, her fingers were sliding down the zipper of his pants, reaching between the fabric and slipping the wrinkled, dark, but surprisingly rigid cock from its confines.

The image of her young, plump, red lips, slowing closing around that old dick was arousing and grotesque all at once. It was beyond captivating. I tried to keep my mind on the road, I even contemplated bringing up the panel that closed the rear of the limo off from view. However, if I did that, there was a chance they would both realize that I’d already seen more than I should have done.

So I sat there, shifting uncomfortable as the swell in my pants became more pronounced. Occasionally, I looked at the empty street ahead, but mostly my eyes were fixed to the rearview, watching the hypnotic sight of her head enthusiastically bobbing up and down, her face completely curtained by her long, blonde hair.

My right hand left the steering wheel and unconsciously dropped to my groin, rubbing through the material of my black dress pants, while the sound of her eager slurping and screeches of pleasure filled my senses. The screeches were too loud, too pornography 101, to be genuine, but that didn’t matter.

“Oh yes, baby,” Stockwell moaned, his head tipped back and his eyes squeezed shut. “Daddy’s going to come!”

The motion of her head became faster, the nails, which clung to his thighs, gripped harder and the her mouth sucked more energetically.

“Yes, baby, yes!” he cried, his hips jerking upwards and his face contorting in that unmistakable mix of agony and ecstasy.

Her head remained at his crotch for a few seconds, as she continued to lap loudly at what, by that point, must have been a flaccid shaft.

His fingers stroked her hair, while his eyes remained closed. “Good girl,” he mumbled. “Such a good girl.”

“Hmm,” she hummed contentedly, finally lifting her face from his lap and sliding the zip closed as she did. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Daddy,” she said in that baby voice, I knew she only used when he was around him. Righting herself, she sat back in her seat, her left hand wiping daintily at the corners of her mouth, while her eyes locked onto the rearview mirror and the eyes she found staring back at her.

I wanted to look away, but I could not. Besides, there was no point pretending I hadn’t seen what I’d just seen. So I waited, heart pounding and cock still straining at my pants, for her to turn to the man beside her and begin an outraged diatribe on the perversity of his driver.

But her head never turned, her eyes didn’t even move. She simply continued to stare into my eyes, until a half grin quirked her lips.

If you enjoyed these teaser, check out Naughty Little Rich Girl by clicking here.

Why Do Women Love Erotica More Than Men?

On the face of it, the ‘sex industry’ is a male-centric one. However, when it comes to sex in literature, it’s all about women. Women, predominantly, write it and women, by far, are the biggest consumers of it. Why? And, more importantly, why is it helpful for an author to understand what goes on in his or her readers’ heads.

Men And Women Are Different

No shit, Sherlock - right? Our brains are biologically different, they function differently, meaning that the weaknesses of one are compensated for by the strengths of the other. To my mind, this is all just as it should be - it makes us a good team. Much as both genders may hate to admit it, the truth is we compliment each other perfectly.

So, where men are very visually motivated, women tend to lean more toward imagination. In other words, for a man titillation is, usually (but not always), about what is right in front of his eyes. For a woman, it’s about what’s going on in her head, it’s about her ability to visualise, it’s what she hears, it’s what she feels, it’s the promise of what’s to come.

Why Do Men Prefer Porn?

Men tend to favour, especially when we’re talking about sex, instant gratification. Let’s call a spade a spade: men, by and large, want to fuck. There is a reason that men are renowned for wanting to skip the foreplay (although it must be said that some men enjoy foreplay just as much as women do).

In the main, men want to get down to business as quickly as possible, this is evidenced in most porn films. The actual act may take longer than by rights it should, but penetration usually happens quickly. At the very least, a shlong is wapped out within the first couple of minutes.

I suspect, in some part of their pre-evolutionary male brain, this has to do with getting the mating business over quickly, so as to reduce the time you are vulnerable to attack by predators or competitors.

But regardless of the reason, male fantasies tend to get straight to the point; there’s no messing about, the woman’s already up for it, he doesn’t have to do much (if anything) to arouse her, he’s in there quick and, if he’s feeling in a generous mood, he has his fantasy partner screaming his name, just before he reaches his climax.

Men prefer porn, because it’s in-your-face, it is what it is, it gets down to it quickly, if you’re lucky there may be a threadbare plotline. It’s just all about the sex and, usually, it’s about the man’s enjoyment of sex.

Because men’s brains are wired to crave quick, sudden sexual encounters and their natural inclination places prominence with visual stimuli, it’s little wonder that they prefer a five minute burst of porn to an evening in the company of an erotic tome.

Why Women Love Erotica

Now, that’s not to suggest that women don’t enjoy a little porn, too. Many of them do, but let’s no kid ourselves. Porn is made almost exclusively for men. It’s a multibillion dollar industry that depends on male customers to survive. There is very little porn made for women; films with a story, with delayed gratification, a slow build of sexual tension. I think you’d be hard pushed to find porn that chooses to combine romantic love and sexual desire. And that, on the whole, is what women are after.

Don’t get me wrong, we know there is excitement to that sudden rush of hormones that leaves you incapable of controlling yourself; ripping off a lover’s clothes with shaky hands, in a desperate need to feel skin against skin. We women know the value of a quickie. We know that fucking can be exciting and it has its place. However, we are aware that there is a veritable cornucopia of sex, a vast array of ways to (in the words of Primal Scream) get your rocks off. Variety really is the spice of life.

So, why do women prefer erotic literature, well, quite simply, because it offers that variety. Porn is usually formulaic and, more importantly, leaves nothing, zero, zip to the imagination. Erotica, however, can be set anywhere, in any time, it can shift; the characters can quite literally shift. Sometimes encounters are quick and dirty, sometimes there are pages and pages of frustrated longing followed by slow sensual love making - usually, there is a mix of those two extremes and everything in between.

The point is, she is not bound simply by the garish images in front of her eyes. A woman’s imagination is forced to do some of the work for her and it will, undoubtedly, prove more arousing than anything that is pushed right in her face.

Writing Erotic Literature For Men

With all that said, you might assume that erotic literature is a woman-only zone. While I have no doubt that the audience for erotic literature will remain predominantly female, I do think it is possible to write erotic prose that men enjoy. Of course, erotic male literature needs to reflect male fantasies, desires and preferences.

Both male and female erotic authors need to implement a different box of tricks if they plan to aim for a male audience. To my mind, it would be difficult to write a work that would appeal equally to men and women, without having sections of the book that a man would want to just skip over. So, if you want to write erotic literature for men, you have to keep a man’s mind….well, in mind.

However, with the proliferation of porn and the ease with which it can be accessed, I can’t imagine literature ever superseding it in the lives of men. That said, perhaps the ubiquitous nature of porn will have exactly that effect. Maybe men will realise, as they search for increasingly hardcore and bizarre content, that what they really need is the freedom to use their imaginations. One can only hope!

Is PayPal Our Moral Compass?

Well, when it comes to erotic fiction, apparently the answer is “yes”.

This is something I knew nothing about, until I read Marlene Sexton’s blog, and was horrified to learn that earlier this month, PayPal began dictating the content of first BookStrand, then All Romance ebooks and, most recently, Smashwords.

In case you are unaware of what’s going on, PayPal is refusing to do business with these companies, if they continue to publish certain material. The material in question (at the moment) is pseudo-incest; the most popular of which being ‘Daddy’ stories around step-father/step-daughter relationships and ‘barely legal’ erotica; barely legal referring to young women, who are only just passed the age of legal consent.

Consequently, BookStrand AR and Smashwords have all adjusted their ToS to rid their virtual shelves of ebooks containing this content.

Now, of course, PayPal is a company, which can choose to do business (or not) with whomever it wants.

And, on the face of it, these demands by PayPal shouldn’t bother me. I’ve never written any pseudo-incest or barely legal material and, to be honest, neither genre appeals to me as a reader, but that is absolutely not the point. The point is, where does it end? Bear in mind, consenting sex between step-relations or with an 18-year-old woman is perfectly legal. So, what about illegal stuff? Should kidnap, murder, burglary, bank robbery, assault and white-collar fraud be banned from all forms of literature? If so, we’re heading for very bland times boys and girls!

As a writer, or simply as a human being, we have the right to free speech, to freedom of thought and to express our creativities without censorship. There may be many people who find pseudo-incest and/or barely legal erotica distasteful, but once we open the floodgates to censorship, there is no stemming the flow.

Moreover, where does PayPal get the notion that it, in some way, has to police its customers’ and users’ morals? Aren’t we all adults, able to make up our own minds over what we find morally acceptable?

However, my main ‘beef’ with this whole issue is that it’s indie/erotic authors and readers who are being targeted and victimised. After all, will PayPal prevent you from buying a film with sex, violence, rape - there are plenty of ’em that are very ‘mainstream’ - from a big entertainment retailer? My hunch would be not.

PayPal is a huge company that is quite within its rights to refuse to do business with any publisher it chooses. However, the irony of this does not escape me. In attempting to take a moral stance, PayPal is actually behaving in an immensely immoral way, by preventing creative freedom and bullying indie authors and publishers, who are powerless against the might of a huge corporation.

Snippet of Better Off Forgotten

Cover Image for Better Off Forgotten

Better Off Forgotten is an erotic suspense novella, which follows Faith Toulson’s attempts to come to terms with a tragic event in her past. The only problem is, thanks to a bout of trauma induced amnesia, she only has fragmented and disturbing dreams to go on.

In an attempt to escape the nightmares, she spends an evening drinking and is more than a little tipsy by the time her boyfriend, Ben, gets home.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he stated quickly, taking the glass from my fingers. “You’ve had enough.”

“Well, I think you need to unwind a little yourself, Benny,” I suggested, reaching out my bare foot and rubbing it against his ankle, before sliding it up the outside of his calf all the way to the knee.

This caused him to smile, but I could see he was trying to fight his wayward lips, as they quirked. “You can’t get round me like that, you know?”

“Oh, really?” I asked softly, leaning forward and grasping his belt in my left hand.

He immediately, placed his hand over mine and began to remove it from his waistband. “You need to get some rest,” he said, seriously. “You’re going to feel this in the morning.”

“I want to feel something right now.” I told him, while my right hand moved to grope at his crotch. Unfortunately, my reactions were a little sluggish and he took a step back before my hand reached its goal. “Ben,” I whined in frustration.

“You are very drunk,” he stated, keeping a firm hold on the glass that still contained the last of the wine.

“So what if I am?” I moved around to his side of the table, but he matched each step with one of his own, keeping the small obstacle between us.

“I’m not making love to you when you’re too drunk to remember it,” he said, keeping his eyes on my face.

I quickly realized that I wasn't going to win this way, chasing him around the table was undignified and it was making me dizzy. So I stopped and stood motionless. “Oh, come on, Ben,” I began. “It’s not as though you’re taking advantage of me.”
“That’s exactly what I’d be doing,” he spoke in a tone that suggested he couldn’t understand why I didn’t see this the same way he did. “Just because we’re in a relationship, just because we’ve made love before, that doesn’t make it all right.”

It was at that point, I glanced down and noticed that his body was far from disinterested. His head may not have been willing to succumb to it yet, but there were parts of his anatomy that were definitely not taking the moral high ground. All I had to do was tip the balance of power, until his brain had no choice but to follow the demands of his body.

Lifting my hands to my blouse, I began to slowly unbutton it, while I spoke. “If you came home and I was passed out drunk, I’d agree with you,” I told him softly. “But I am still very much aware of what’s going on and what I’m doing.” By the time I’d finished speaking, the blouse was completely open. I pulled at the edges, yanking it down my arms and throwing it to the floor.

“Faith,” he said, finding it difficult to swallow.

A Little Taste of First Blush

Cover of 'First Blush'

The following is a small excerpt from my latest release, First Blush, it was my first crack at a Regency erotic story and was both challenging and fun to write. Please feel free to let me know what you think in the comments below. Enjoy!

“Maria,” he called. “I asked you to turn around,” his smooth voice gently reminded. Even though I had my back to him, I could tell he was smiling.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I braced myself. This was not simply about facing him, it was about facing my future. A future that would require me to become an obedient, dutiful wife. A future in which Thomas would have possession of me, of my body. Tearing my eyes from the bedclothes, I twisted my head towards him, as if in slow motion.

He smiled, as he lent against the closed door. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” he asked, pushing his weight onto his feet and taking a step towards me. “Well,” he continued, not waiting for a reply. “You are incredibly beautiful.”

For reasons I could not explain, I was unable to hold his gaze and my eyes darted to the floor. It was not as though I had never heard those words from him before. Now, however, they were imbued with something more; these words were an opening gambit in a game I was unfamiliar with. Oh, I understood the mechanics of what was about to happen. My sister, who had married two years previously, shared the secrets of her own wedding night when my marriage to Thomas was announced. She warned me that the first time he entered me would be painful, but assured me that it would be over quickly.

What troubled me, was not the fear of discomfort, but the fact that the act was clearly an indication of dominance; a man claiming his wife as his property. Elizabeth did not articulate this, but it seemed implicit to me, by the very fact that a woman is quite literally impaled by her husband. Every rebellious instinct indicated that I should be disgusted by the notion of being dominated and possessed by any man. However, the thought of Thomas doing so, created a quivering sensation between my legs that belied my desire to reject accepting him as my lord and master.
“It is going to be all right,” his calm voice nudged, as I continued to examine the patterned carpet at my feet. “Tell me something,” he said, suddenly changing his tone from the soft, lover’
s voice to a lighter, conversational quality. “Is this the Maria I am going to be married to for the rest of my days?”

My eyes lifted to see him unbuttoning the black tailcoat he wore and shrugging it from his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” I asked, raising my left eyebrow quizzically, a habit my mother had been unable to deter me from.

“I thought I had married a headstrong, passionate, insatiably curious, fiercely wilful woman,” he explained, throwing the tailcoat over the back of a nearby armchair. “Suddenly, she has turned into a shy, introverted mute.” His eyes sparkled, as they met mine and his lips rose into a broad beam. “It is perfectly natural to be nervous,” he added.

“I am not nervous,” I snapped, scowling in response to his grin.