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Sunday, March 31, 2013

Regency -- Easter and Churches


In Regency England, the church was an important and essential part of everyone’s life. Most likely the large London churches had more fashionably-dressed parishioners on Good Friday and Easter Sunday than would otherwise have attended, but they would be there – regardless!

In other areas, there might have been an Easter faire, and I’ll bet that many a fast was broken by indulging in the luscious Hot Cross Buns, so symbolic of that holiday.

Being a Regency nut, and nearly always having a camera in my hand, these are a few remembrances of my visits there. Jane Austen could easily (and might well have) visited any of these places during her lifetime.
My first trip to England was in September 1997, and I was desperate to see a Cathedral. It happened to be that of Wells – unique in its style and setting. And, what could have been more perfect than the happy coincidence that the day I was there was Colin Firth’s birthday? A tour of the Bishop’s Palace revealed many pieces of furniture which surely existed during the days of Jane Austen.
Sadly I never made it to Winchester to see her burial site, but did also spend time in Bath. On your first visit to such a splendid work of architecture as the Bath Abbey, your eyes don’t know where to look first: down, to note the many memorial stones marking burial spots, some centuries old, or up – at the gorgeous fan-vault ceiling.

  
 Or maybe the busy outside precinct immediately adjacent to the church itself. on a bright sunny September day, the happy visitors were being treated to an impromptu concert! (In back of where I was standing to take this photo are the legendary Pump Rooms!)

In London, the Tower of London is named after the White Tower, which was originally painted white. It dates back to William I (the Conqueror). No matter how busy the nobles of that era or how war-like, religion was of the utmost importance, and St. John’s Chapel is a beautiful example of their faith.
 Likewise in Windsor, the chapel there is named for Britain’s patron Saint George. Pennants hang in the small side chapel, denoting the members of the Order of the Garter. It is indeed beautiful when there is a slight breeze to stir them. In the foyer is a lovely white marble memorial to Princess Charlotte, who died in childbirth in 1817, and is buried there.
Among the most famous churches of London is Westminster Abbey. This is a side view from the adjacent garden. These photos may not be typical visitor photos, but I am devoted to ancient structures and architecture. 
 Try to imagine the complexity of building such a structure as these a thousand or so years ago! And they’re still there! 
                                                  

Saint Mary the Virgin Silchester is by far the oldest British church I visited on any of my trips. It’s late Saxon/early Norman era, dating to the early 1100s. Should you want to visit, it’s located near the Duke of Wellington’s country residence in Hampshire. The sense of peace here was incredible. 

Wherever – however – you --or your characters -- celebrate Easter or Passover, my very best wishes for a wonderful occasion! 


A perfectly splendid resource if you’re looking for British traditions of any sort is the book British Folk Customs by Christina Hole. Published in 1976, you may be lucky enough to find a used copy. It’s well worth the effort! 

Hetty St. James 












Saturday, March 30, 2013

When Life Gets Too Real

You've all heard the--ack!--cliches:
"You're never given more than you can handle."
"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
"That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

I've been having that kind of month--the "how much streeeeetch is left in this rubber band, anyway?" kinda day-after-day. I offered to trade w/Atlas. He said no thanks. If one more person mentions a light at the end of the tunnel or the end of the rainbow, I'm gonna scream! <LOL>

But weirdly enough, you can use it as inspiration for writing. Because all the "experts" tell you that whenever you get into a writing rut, "up the stakes." Which is basically, making it WAY worse for your characters than it already was. Up the stakes. Increase the tension and the drama. Make it way more interesting for the reader, even as your characters plot to stab you in your sleep...

You really have to look at the level in the cup and decide how the character would view it. The level of "can do." Because wallowing is human nature, but at some time the heroine has to put on her big girl panties and say, "Know what? This PITA situation's not gonna resolve itself, and I'm sick of the way things are." She either fixes it, or throws it aside and moves on. Change is scary, but the best kind of character to cheer for is the one who TAKES ACTION. Even if they don't succeed at everything (hard to relate to that perfect superwoman), you want your readers to recognize a character's humanity and be able to relate to them.

I want to be a good role model for my kids, be someone they can look up to and admire. I know my
situation's not the worst in the world, but it's causing some hard choices and that's not necessarily a bad thing for kids to see and realize that nothing comes without cost--for everything you get or do, something else has to be let go. Prioritize. Plan long-term. Teach them to survive. Teach them the difference between want and need.

Characters are the ideal--you can let them have the victories that elude you. You can tie up all their loose ends. No matter the setting or time period or scenario, people all have certain things in common. What Campbell used to call universal truths. Nothing's more inspiring than taking a bit of heart from a story or legend to get you over a bad spell. When things happen, how you respond is what keeps you growing and changing and moving forward.

Be the hero in your own story. Give yourself something to look back on with pride. Be the kind of grandma your kids tell tales of to THEIR kids!

Never quit.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Sabrina York Celebrates her Anniversary with Giveaways Galore!



It’s almost April. The birds are chirping in the trees and the skies are no longer filled with snow-laden clouds.

And I am excited because April marks one year for me as a published author. My first book, Adam’s Obsession, released on April 4th, 2012. It’s been an exciting journey ever since. I've met some of the most amazing people and made some really wonderful friends.

I want to thank my readers and my fans for all their support. It really means a lot.

I am excited to report that I now have ten titles out and four more coming soon…plus a bunch in the hopper!  

I've included a list below with links if you’re tempted.

I am even trying my hand at self publishing. Rebound, the first novella in the Tryst Island Series releases in April. I am so excited about that, you know I just have to give one away to a lucky commenter! Just mention the title in the comments section below and I’ll add you to the drawing.

Here’s the blurb:

Rebound by Sabrina York
Kristi Cross has had the hots for her friend, Cameron Jackson as long as she can remember, but she knows she’s not his type. She’s nothing like the women he dates. So when he suggests they play for a kiss over a game of Hearts, Kristi can’t resist. Even if she loses, she wins. Because she’s finally going to taste him.

Of course, one kiss can quickly become something altogether steamier, especially when both parties are on the rebound…








And if you’re in the mood for a super quick, steamy read, check out my most recent release, Man Hungry, a Quickie from Ellora’s Cave:

Man Hungry by Sabrina York

Blind dates are hell. At least that’s what Justin thinks before he’s set up with Jessica, a sizzling-hot schoolteacher who captures his heart—or at least his lust—at first sight. He can’t let their date fail so he does what any sane, rational prankster would do—he pretends he’s there to meet someone else. A man-hungry schoolmarm.
Jessica knows full well that Justin is her date, so she decides to have a little fun and show him exactly how man hungry a “schoolmarm” can be. And Jessica’s hunger is all for Justin. On the dance floor, atop a table, up against a door…she just can’t get enough.
A Romantica® erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

And yes, if you mention the title in the comments section below, you could win a copy of Man Hungry as well!

***ENTER TO WIN SABRINA’S TIARA***
Oh, and this is important! March 31st is the LAST DAY to enter my Tiara Giveaway.

Well…until I decide to give away another. My bling closet is getting kind of cluttered. (But darling, if you’re going to be a hoarder, shouldn’t you be hoarding bling?”)

To enter, just sign up for the Royal Hotsheet (Sabrina’s Newsletter). Newsletter subscribers are eligible to win all coming contests as well as random giveaways. Because, have I mentioned? Tiara closet? Cluttered?
Send an email with "Enter Me" in the subject line (this is erotica, after all) to sabrina@sabrinayork.com. If you want to win a copy of Man Hungry, mention that in the body of the email!

The drawing will be March 31, 2013. It is a completely random drawing. I made it a point to have the one person on the planet who ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT CARE about the results draw the winner.

That is, after all, what teenage sons are for.

Remember, only one entry per person, but if you refer your friends you will earn bonus entries.

Refer Your Friends Bonus Entries
Tell your friends about Sabrina York, Her Royal Hotness. If they sign up for Sabrina's Hotsheet you earn another entry, plus a chance at a Referrals Only drawing for more bling. (NOTE: They must tell me that you referred them in the message box so I can give you credit).

Good luck!!!

About Sabrina York
Sabrina is an award winning author of erotic romance with nearly a dozen titles available, ranging from sweet & sexy erotic romance to BDSM to erotic horror. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york or Facebook.

Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on her webpage (www.sabrinayork.com) or explore on Amazon or at Ellora’s Cave.


Books by Sabrina York
Five Alarm Fire (Erotic Contemporary for the High Octane Heroes Anthology, Cleis Press)—coming soon
Lust Eternal (Erotic Fantasy, Ellora’s Cave) —coming soon
Making Over Maris (Erotic Contemporary, Ellora’s Cave) —coming soon
Rebound: A Tryst Island Erotic Romance (Erotic Contemporary, Available soon on Amazon)


Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Reading glut, eye-strain alert, AKA why doesn’t an indie author’s spell check or punctuation check work any longer?

My new novella coming soon
with proper punctuation and spelling!

Yes, I am an addict. I read till my eyeballs scream, but ignore their protests and continue to read with my fingertips, anything to finish a good book.

So why do I allow some authors to abuse my precious time, my precious body and my pocketbook by posting books with BAD (really, really BAD) punctuation and horrible (OMG!) spelling? And why oh, why do these folks make it to the best seller lists?

I am stumped. Stupified. Flummoxed.

I am outraged at their sloppiness and disregard for my reading experience, which by all means should focus on their story NOT their hideous lack of professionalism! (And their rush to collect my money in their bank account for what is a sloppy product!)

Last week, I bought a book on the NYT list by an indie author.  (Really, she is a HYBRID author who has been pubbed by a traditional publisher. Therefore, her punctuation and spelling “feet” have been held to the proverbial fire and she should know better than to do this to her readers.) I was curious as to the reason for her success. (Topic? Plot? Unique conflict? What, what?) I had to know!

Dear Reader, I read this book, and cursed each page, sometimes 10 or more lines per page for the hideous punctuation and spelling! No, it was not that she failed to provide proper formatting for her indie book. She did not understand the use of any of the following:
comma
ellipses
M dash (and lack thereof)
N dash
Quotation marks (Please, shoot me.)
Scene breaks

Why did I endure this to THE END?

After 20 or so pages of this insult, l should have stopped. Shouldn’t I? I should have said, no more, you are killing me softly. I should have thrown it across the room (or deleted it from iPad) and asked why I take my precious time to turn in perfectly spelled and punctuated pieces (even those I have self-pubbed) and I read this???

But I will never do so again.

Why?

My iPad, darling creature, has so much on it that is luscious, transportive reading. Courtesy of all those wonderful authors, many of them good friends of mine, I have wonderful hours awaiting me. Furthermore, because pricing in the industry is so competitive lately, many of them were discounted. Most were not. But I bought each on that wonderful literate whim that comes to us when we see a novel we MUST read. I have stored many for that rainy day when my soul needs to be fed with divine tales that I have neither the time nor the proclivity to create myself.

So this author is no longer on my iPad. Her works—and I had 2 more of them on there—I eliminated.

I called up my best friend and screamed about the audacity to insult me as a consumer, a reader and an author!

I have written of my outrage here.

I feel better.

And the next time, I see this in a book, I hope to god I have the intelligence to end my torture sooner. And may you too end it so that somewhere in the universe, authors who don't learn or don't take time to do it right, hie themselves off to a place we cannot find their works for sale...anywhere.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Even Muses Need Inspiration


 Sometime after last Thanksgiving, my muse began to harry me to finish my most recent work-in-progress: Duty, Honor, Murder. Since I’d started to write—that is, plot it—years earlier for an online class, I was equally anxious to finish the first draft. I did, in fact, write The End on December 31, 2012.
 
I gave myself a round of applause, a few pats on the back and mentally added another glass of champagne to my New Year celebration. My mouth started to water, anticipating the extra large chocolate bar I’d get at my next RWA chapter meeting as a reward for finishing.

On January 2nd I reviewed and posted my critique partners’ comments and suggestions. (I try not to start revisions until I finish the first draft—otherwise I keep fiddling until even I can’t recognize the story I intended to write.)

About the middle of February I finished adding a bunch of scenes in my latter chapters and handed everything off to my cps for what I hoped was a final review, but I found myself making excuses not to post what they’d already given me.

Now, every writer is used to the muse taking off for vacation—sometimes for far longer than we like. This time, however, my muse was waiting on me.

I looked at other stories I had started, but those were pages and pages (and pages)—all handwritten. Have I mentioned that I really hate to type? Typing is at the very top of my least favorite writing tasks—a fraction higher than trying to teach my dictation system to understand me. I have the same issue with my cell phone not recognizing commands, so I can’t blame the software—even though I’d like to.

Anyway…I was mired in a morass of my own making. Reduced to watching television reruns while my muse whispered foul names and threatened to leave me—this time forever.

It was while watching a program I’d recorded that inspiration struck. I realized I’d procrastinated because I didn’t have something brand new to work on; now I did! And I can type it in small increments.

If only I knew where the story was going! But that’s the joy of being a pantser—the unexpected is such fun. And the muse is celebrating with me.

Am celebrating my ménages. Check them out at deebrice.com.

Dee Brice
Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Mutual Release: The Excerpts



My latest book, Mutual Release, is a project I am proud of for a lot of reasons. It comes at a time in my writing and publishing journey where I feel that I have learned so much, but yet still have so much to learn. It allowed me to stretch back and capture a protagonist couple's full teenage back stories, so it could be considered amongst that New Breed of Erotic Novel: The New Adult.  It has elements of the currently trending BDSM and Dom/sub life but mostly it is a growing up story, about how 2 people who nurture deep, abiding emotional pain find each other, and while that is definitely not "perfect" (because really, what is?) it definitely feels "right."

MUTUAL RELEASE IS AVAILABLE FOR PRE ORDER NOW ON ALL ROMANCE E-BOOKS. The e-book version will be live on April 4, 2013, with print copies available about 10 days after that. It is the 7th book in my popular Stewart Realty series but is a stand alone, novel. You don't have to know the characters or anything about the series to appreciate it but I warn you, you may be hooked after reading it.

Pre order link: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-mutualrelease-1145557-147.html


Click here for the Trailer.


The Blurb:

Can two dark souls ever make a light?

As president of her own distribution company, Julie Dawson has all she ever wanted -- money, power, and respect. But her carefully crafted façade conceals a  torment of abuse and helplessness.  After years remaining emotionally aloof, she is finally independent, but alone. Because she refuses to rely on anyone but herself ever again. 

Evan Adams is no stranger to success, or personal demons. The horrific trauma that destroyed his twin sister, and tore his family apart, forced him to craft a new life from the ashes of the old. He's content enough, focusing ahead and not dwelling on his murky past. But something important is missing. He knows what that thing is but refuses to acknowledge it.

When a chance encounter brings these two strong-willed but damaged people together , what seems like a long, erotic journey through hell could lead them to a match made in heaven.

MUTUAL RELEASE:
A coming of age novel about trust...on the long road to love.

2 excerpts:
PG13: The First Meeting
Monday dawned bright, clear, and cold, even for an October morning. Evan ran his usual route around the west side of his newly adopted town, relishing how strong he felt and looking forward to his workday—the one where he had a tight grip on his own destiny for a change. After a long hot shower, two huge cups of coffee, and an apple, he grabbed his presentation thumb drive and laptop and headed out.
One of the things he’d inherited from his father was a love of classic English cars. He had sold two of the Jags, keeping his favorite and purchasing an MG Spyder, not giving a shit at how much it cost to keep the damn thing running properly. As he sped in his sportscar across Interstate 96 on his way to the far-flung Northern Detroit suburbs to sweet talk, finagle, and wow the big-time distributor, he was on top of his own personal mountain. Nothing would spoil the day. He refused to allow it.
He pulled into a visitor’s parking spot, tucked his Ray-Bans over the visor, and smoothed his hair before jumping out and striding to the glass front doors. “Dawson” was etched in the glass, nothing more or less, as if it were a boutique law firm or ad agency. Nothing out front indicated that it was one of the most successful craft beer and domestic wine distribution companies in the Midwest.
Tucking away a shiver of intimidation, he pushed the door open and saw a small shrine to Michigan craft beer. The front receiving area was full of faux six packs, cases, kegs, and displays representing every brand, including some that were nationally known. A single desk sat near another set of doors. Through its clear glass he could see a bustling group of people, men and women, all dressed in top-notch suits, getting ready to go out on their sales day. The place oozed professionalism, even a bit of snootiness that surprised him.
But he shook it off, walked up to the stunningly attractive blond woman at the front desk. She sat frowning at a large computer screen. He stood for a few seconds, thinking she would acknowledge him. Finally he had to clear his throat to make her look away from whatever had her mesmerized.
“Oh, hello. Sorry about that.” Her smile made her already gorgeous face light up and left him slightly breathless. Looking back, he figured he must have looked like a complete ass as he stood there, unable to form coherent words, his brain awash in sensations he had not allowed himself to experience in a damn long time. She arched one perfect eyebrow. He gulped, knowing he should say something.
“Uh, so, I have an appointment?” He winced at the upturning of his sentence as if he were asking her a question. Clearing his throat, he started over, pasted on his best “Evan Adams, Charmer” smile and held out a hand. “Evan Adams, owner of Big House Brewing in Ann Arbor, here to see Mr. Dawson. I’m a little early.”
She tilted her head, then shook his hand matter-of-factly. But he had to stop himself from stumbling backwards at the thoughts that coiled up in his lizard brain at her touch. His mouth dried out and an odd yet familiar roaring sound fired up between his ears. She frowned. “You okay, there, Evan?” Her lips caressed his name, making him repress a shiver.
“Yeah, sorry. So, anyway, I’ll just sit… over here… until Mr. Dawson is ready. You know, since I’m, uh, early.” He winced, marveling at the depth of his dorkiness. She put her elbows on the desk, eyeing him closely. He observed that she seemed a little overdressed for a receptionist but figured this place must have a strict dress code.
“Sit here,” she said, patting the seat nearest her desk. “Keep me company for a while.”
“Um, sure,” he said, flushing red to the tips of his ears, then moving closer to her while trying to look cool, casual, not ready to jump up and escape.
She smiled. “So, tell me about your company. You know, while we wait for Mr. Dawson.”
He relaxed and launched into the tale, thankful to have a reason to talk and not sound like the world’s oldest high school geek trying to flirt with the prom queen. She asked a lot of questions, kept him talking. And after about a half hour, he was laughing with her at his tale of trying to empty a brewing vessel full of wet grains and dumping about ten pounds of the stuff all over himself.
At one point she brushed her hair back, and his breath caught in his throat at the glimpse of her long neck and the small indent between her collarbones. He had no idea what that was, that soft spot that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. But he wanted to put his tongue there very, very badly. Allowing his eyes to flicker over her profile, the striking angles of her face, he gulped, looked away.
Getting a grip, he pulled a business card from his portfolio and handed it to her. “I’d love to talk with you more,” he said, trying to ease his voice down from its high-pitched nervous whine to a sexier, more natural tone. “But since I don’t even know your name….” He looked at the nameplate on the desk. It was blank.
She leaned back, propped her high heels on the desk in a strange move that had him instantly on edge and practically panting with horniness.
“Uh, so,” he glanced at his watch, his nerves dancing up and down his spine once more, “if you are interested, maybe we could, you know, go out. Have a beer? Keep chatting?” He closed his eyes, unable to bear his own flop sweat another minute. “Never mind.” He slumped back in his seat. Where the "Master Dom" Evan Adams had hidden he did not know, but damned if the guy was staying there and leaving this ridiculous, stuttering loser in his place.
The silence spun out about a minute longer than was truly polite. He finally looked up at her. She was staring at him over the tops of her shoes, her head tilted to the side as if wondering why the hell he was even cluttering up her space. Finally, the doors to his left opened and a tall, good-looking guy in a suit stood there, surprise clear on his face. “Julie,” he said. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Your nine o’clock appointment isn’t here yet but….”
The woman held up a hand, silencing the man but keeping her eyes pinned on Evan’s. His heart sped up and that familiar, yet nearly forgotten, roaring sound started up in his ears once more.
Julie Dawson. J. Dawson. The person he’d been communicating with through his… or her… secretary.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He stood, furious that she’d sat there and let him babble on like a bloody idiot for nearly forty-five minutes. “Well, that was fun,” he said, staring her down, or attempting to. But his skin was both on fire and cold at once. Something about the woman made him have to hang on to his laptop case tight, just to keep from stepping close and kissing those full red lips so hard she would be his in an instant. “Or not. Thanks for your time.”
“No, no, don’t go,” she said, getting to her feet in one fluid, sexy move. She was over six feet tall in her shoes, curvy, womanly, and sending out the sort of signals he had not intercepted in a long time—too long, if the way he was overreacting was any indication. “Really, I want to know why you think my company would be in any way interested in yours.”
He processed her barb, clenched his jaw, and poured out the reasons behind why Dawson would benefit from jumping on his bandwagon now, in the early days, so they could grow the brand in a key market together. She listened, standing behind the stupid receptionist’s desk, her assistant wildly typing notes on his tablet.
Finally, she held up a hand again. “How very… creative.” She walked around to the front of the desk, giving him an eye-popping full view of her. She was like sex on two perfect female legs, the exact body type he craved—full breasts and hips, cinched in but not obnoxiously small waist, long hair, and legs that went on and on… and on. “And, um, Evan?”
He jumped back, hearing his name again.
“Yeah, my eyes are up here. But never mind. I’m used to being ogled, and by way more successful brewery owners than you.” She held his business card between thumb and forefinger, as if it were made of dog shit. “Tell you what, why don’t you let me ponder your… proposal. And assume that your eye-fucking session won’t happen again.”
She turned from him and walked away without a word. Her assistant shrugged and followed her back in, leaving Evan breathless, furious, and never more aware of his neglected libido.






rated X: One of Evan's early lessons ....

“Welcome to Club Piquant,” the voice spoke near Evan’s ear, startling him. “As a newly invited initiate, tonight will be merely a show for your titillation. Once it is determined that you are an appropriate addition to our group, based on member evaluations, you will be contacted for another visit. In the meantime, please relax and enjoy.”
A leather chair appeared from the gloom. Evan looked around, then took the seat, disappointed but intrigued. He could hear Jack’s voice, his laughter low and inviting. What the fuck? Was Gordon getting in on action while he had to watch? Then he heard Jenna’s annoying giggle and realized the club must be making her watch too, only she got to do it with her date. He sighed, leaned back, and prepared himself to be underwhelmed.
“No,” a sexy, rough female voice broke through the clamor in his head. It must have surprised everyone because all the people on the couches glanced up. “I want him. Out here.” Evan looked straight at her and saw the hot-as-shit Domme point her bullwhip right at him. He gulped, actually looked around like a dork, thinking there must be someone behind him. He was no sub.
She crooked her finger, her ruby-red moist lips drawing his gaze and making him feel positively hypnotized. His cock kept up its painful pressure along the inside of his zipper. A drop of sweat formed on his temple but he couldn’t move his arms to brush it away. All he knew… was her.
“Mr. Adams,” the disembodied voice said. “Your presence has been requested by our Mistress. Please. Do not make her wait.” The sheer curtain separating him from the crowd parted as he stood. Shoving his hands in his pockets and no longer aware of anything at all but what he wanted right now, he took the few steps down to the main floor.
“Stop!” She held up a hand. “Do not come any closer until I tell you.” She snapped her fingers. A tall man dressed only in leather pants emerged from somewhere to her left. A woman approached him, smiling and holding out a tray filled with…. He stared, then shook his head, backing away, his brain on fire and his body in flight mode. “Where are you going, slave?” The woman cracked her whip. Evan sensed its bite near his cheek.
“I am no one’s slave,” he croaked out, sounding like a whiney kid.
“Perhaps. But I am not just anyone.” Before he could catch a breath, the woman was in his space. He kept his hands at his sides, knowing if he touched her he would be punished. Her full lips were inches from his. She leaned in, placed a tender kiss on his cheek, then stepped back.
“The Mistress has chosen!” the voice boomed and the room heaved a collective sigh. Evan whipped his head around, suddenly terrified and hornier than he had been in his entire existence. He closed his eyes as a loud whooshing sound started echoing around in his head in perfect time with his heartbeat. He held his ground, biting the inside of his cheek raw to keep from falling to his knees and kissing his way up her shiny patent leather shoe. The woman stood, the cape-like cloak draped around her tall, perfect body. He couldn’t move and had no idea what to do now anyway.
She took two long steps and was back in his space, tugging his tie, lifting it free of his collar and letting her lips linger over his, tempting, teasing, and bringing his body to full attention from his scalp to his toes. What in the hell was going on here? He was a sub? But the whooshing sound would not stop; it deafened him and he started to shake. The woman put her hands on his shoulders and kept kissing him just enough to make him insane. Disembodied hands removed his suit coat. Then, with a powerful jerk, She ripped his dress shirt into two scraps of expensive cotton that hung from his wrists.
His nipples hardened, his skin broke out in goose bumps. More bodiless hands unfastened his cuffs and took what remained of his shirt away. The woman kept smiling, trailing her fingertip down his chest. Evan’s lungs hurt he was breathing so hard.
“You are very….” She leaned in and touched her tongue to a nipple, making him gasp. “In need of….” She licked her way across his chest to the other hardened nub of flesh and bit, hard, making him yelp and grunt to distract himself from coming in his trousers. “A lesson in what it means to wield control.”
She unfurled the whip, keeping her lips on his skin, licking and nibbling her way up his neck as he stood, fists clenched and teeth grinding. Then she bit down on his lower lip, bringing tears to his eyes and yet more urgency to fuck. What was happening to him?
“Sit.” She shoved him down. Evan dropped, hoping someone had put a chair there. His ass hit leather and wood. Watching mesmerized as she dug a sharp heel into his still-covered thigh. The pulsing behind his zipper had reached a level he’d never experienced. It was as if he were already coming, in his head, trying to relieve the pressure without actually ejaculating. This was a total goddamn trip. He sighed, looked up at the ceiling.
“Don’t look away from me, slave.” Her rough voice made the whooshing sound return between his ears. She snapped her fingers. Two nearly naked women scuttled to his side, undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled off his shoes while removing his trousers, leaving only his tie and boxers.
“Holy fucking mother of… ah!” he cried out, unable to stop when the woman stood over him, her warm, inviting sex right at his eye level. Other hands rubbed, teased him through his underwear. But he kept his eyes trained up as he sucked in a lungful of her heady scent.
“You think this is all there is, don’t you, boy?” The woman’s voice filled his head. “Your giant cock and what you can do with it.” She stepped away from him, flicking her whip at his inner thighs, breaking up the pleasure with a bite of pain that made him curse and lean forward. The lovely, soft hands that had been on his aching shaft disappeared. “Oh no you don’t. You sit; you take, and you do not come. For any reason. If you do, I will make you very,” she slid the handle of the whip along his reddened inner leg, “very sorry. Are we clear? Dear?”




Saturday, March 23, 2013

Naughty Sleepover


Cole with Cornelia
In their erotica/romance anthology, Naughty Sleepover, authors Allie Standifer, Brenna Zinn, Cerise DeLand, Desiree Holt, Nicole Austin, Regina Carlysle, and Samantha Cayto put the sexy in San Antonio and the Menger Hotel. More of a party than a convention, the Naught Sleepover was held 02/22/13 - 02/24/13 at the same Menger Hotel all the stories take place at. The sassy seven authors and all their guest were very naughty.

The decadence began when six of the Sassy Seven shared humorous antidotes and answered interesting questions from the readers. Then the evening turned sinfully delicious with a chocolate fountain and a sexiest shoe contest. A lap dance competition completed the evening. Attendees danced for our  yummy host, David Nieves and Cole Reilly, who in turn also lap danced for them.  Don’t you love the caption on their muscle tee shirts, “Property of The sassy Seven Authors”.


The games began on Saturday morning with adult versions of pin the tail on the donkey, hot potato, and ring toss. The main object involved in all the games proved far more interesting than a potato or a donkey.

Everything's bigger in Texas







Then with 
everyone pretty in pink and generous with the basket raffle, the money raised at the pink luncheon went to The Rose, meeting the needs of uninsured and insured women in the Houston area for quality breast health care. I myself benefited from their services last year when I had to have a biopsy. They are a wonderful organization.

The luscious treats didn't stop with the luncheon and the basket giveaways. We were given demonstrations of wild, wicked additions for our goodie drawers at home with a Pure Romance Party. The fun continued with an amazing, intriguing, live BDSM demonstration from the don and owner of the local dungeon. What could follow that?

 Well, a yummy fiesta dinner buffet. Then the night only got spicier when the male dancers came to play.  

We spent the rest of the night at the Dungeon. Leading members of the local BDSM community welcomed us into their home, (their dungeon). With true Texas hospitality they made us feel so comfortable and answered all our questions. We were able to explore the rooms and watch scenes in play. I found the amount of trust, honesty and communication involved in negotiating BDSM play intriguing and enlightening.  

Sunday morning began with a delicious breakfast while we all chatted with each other and bid fond farewells as the naughty sleepover, the ultimate girls only weekend, came to an end. If you didn't get a chance to attend the Naughty Sleepover, you can still enjoy the book that started it all, Naughty Sleepover, featuring the sassy seven, published by Decadent Publishing Company.