Justine Elyot's Blog, page 26

Covers and Contest

A bit of a cover theme going on this week, in various ways.

Two lovely ones for forthcoming releases here:

1. Total E-Bound sent me the cover for my novella Sempre, due out in February.

He is rather toothsome, isn't he? And more lusciousness here – the cover of Dream Lover.

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My story Love Resurrection will feature in this collection – out in May.

And, as if all this cover action weren't enough, today I have been tinkering with paint.net in order to make my own image for a self-publishing project. I may well have more information on that for you next week.

In the meantime, who'd like a copy of the Master Me anthology? Just put your hands in the air. Oh, except I won't be able to see them. So do the internetty equivalent and drop me a comment.

Masterful

Are you ready to be mastered? If you're anything like the female protagonists in the Master Me anthology, out tomorrow from Total E-Bound, you're more than ready for a bit of kink in your life.



(Click through to find details of all six stories.)

With stories by Lisabet Sarai, Trina Lane, Elizabeth Coldwell, Charlotte Stein and Jane Davitt, you can rely on some heat in the offing.

My story is called A Very Personal Trainer – here is a taster for you.

"I can't just spank you and leave, Lara. Domination and submission creates an intense experience that leads to a bond between the participants. I would be negligent towards you if I didn't offer a little bit more."

"A little bit more?"

"Let me put it this way." He put out a hand and pulled me over to stand in front of him, our knees touching, mine shivering, his firm. "Are you wet, Lara?"

I drew in a breath, colouring to the same red as my bottom. I could not meet his eyes, but eventually I nodded.

"Look at me," he said. The softness of his voice hid an edge of true steel. I dragged my eyes from my feet. "Tell me, Lara."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good. I need to test your obedience now, Lara. You can say no, but if you do, I will leave now and we will speak no more of this. Put your hand down inside your knickers."

The calm way he delivered the order sent further floods of wetness to stain the already damp cotton of my leggings. In a kind of spell, or dream, I held my mouth open, tried to keep breathing, did as I was told.

"Good girl," he said gently, waiting for my fingers to settle between my gushing lips, watching the outline of my knuckles stretching the fabric. "What do you feel there?"

"I feel…wet." I wanted to add 'Sir' but felt too self-conscious initially – but then I figured that he would love it if I did, so I bit my lip, looked him full in the eye and said, "Very wet, Sir."

His cheek muscles flickered; a smile of pleasure was being tactically suppressed.

"Why do you think that is?" he asked.

"I…don't know." I knew he wouldn't accept this cop out, but I needed a moment to compose the words into a combination that wasn't too mortifying.

"Of course you know, Lara. I must have an answer or I will have to punish you again."

Oh God, those words. I pressed a fingertip to my clit; it was swollen and it throbbed with need.

"Because…I get aroused…by submitting to you, Sir."

He tilted his head forward, acknowledging the truth of my answer.

"And what does that make you?" he asked lightly.

I swallowed, fingering my clit more urgently now.

"It makes me…I don't know…a bad girl, Sir?"

"That's right. It makes you a bad girl, Lara. Now I want you to stand there and finger yourself until you come. And while you do it, I want you to look me in the eye. And when you come, I want to hear you say my name."

A keen mélange of shame and excitement and unbearable desire held me in my tracks for a second or two. Then I began to rub and circle, to flick and flutter, watching him watching me, knowing that he registered every twitch and flush, knowing that he could see me lose my grip on myself inch by dirty inch, knowing that he saw what I was, reduced to my basest essence, brazenly bringing myself off under his command.

I wanted so badly to shut my eyes when the first sticky swirl of orgasm began at the pit of my stomach. I had to fight to keep the eyelids up, had to arm myself with some of his icy blue artillery and imagine the fearsome punishment I might earn for disobeying him in this regard. But once the climax blew through me, I forgot to care, and my eyelids flew wide and my eyes stared out in desperation while I panted and whimpered to the conclusion, remembering at the last minute to say the word.

"Dexter. Oh thank you, Dexter."

"My pleasure," he said, taking my wrists and bringing me to sit, gratefully floppy, on his lap. "Or rather, mostly your pleasure. But we'll rectify that another time." He stroked my hair, which was clinging to my forehead. "Good girl, Lara," he said into the crown of my head. "This could be a very…mutually beneficial arrangement. You know I have high standards, and high expectations of you now. Please don't let me down."

Please don't let me down.

Competition and Control

Still five days left in which to win a copy of Competitive Nature at the Erotica For All site. I just want to know about your early victories in exchange for a free PDF of the story – here you go.

I'd also like to remind everyone that a free copy of The Business of Pleasure is on offer to anyone who can send me a photograph of the book on an actual bookshelf in an actual shop.

Anyway, enough about me. Time to get the pompoms out and sing the chant!

2-4-6-8

Who do we appreciate

C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E

*does complicated twirly thing with pompoms*

S-T-E-I-N

*attempts big finish somersault and lands on face*

It's time to take Control. And by that I mean it's time to go to your real or virtual bookstore of choice and place an order for Ms Stein's new novel, out tomorrow in paperback and already available in ePub formats.

I've read the first five chapters, and I can exclusively reveal that it is packed full of Charlotte's trademark fluid prose, joyous humour and searing, scorching sex scenes. Here's the blurb:

When Madison Morris decides to hire an assistant to help run her naughty bookshop, she gets a lot more than she bargained for. Aggressive Andy doesn't quite make the grade, but continues to push her buttons in other areas, while uptight and utterly repressed Gabriel can't quite take Madison's training techniques. One makes her grasp control, while the other makes her lose it. But the lines are blurring and she's no longer sure who's leading and who's following. In the midst of kinky threesomes and power plays, can Madison work out what she really wants?

It really is as good as it sounds! Go here and press the buy button – you won't regret it.

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It's A Competitive World

Everything counts in large amounts.

And there are large amounts of all kinds of things – primarily sexy things – in my first ever release from the wonderful folks at Total E-Bound.

Competitive Nature is also my first published novella-length story. It's first in all sorts of ways, which seems rather fitting, given the title.

I'll give you the premise and, if that appeals, you can head down to Total E-Bound's site, where they have a hot excerpt just waiting for your attention, steaming gently.

"They competed against each other at school, but now that they are all grown-up and free to express their feelings of attraction, can three old friends turn competition into co-operation?

Elyssa, Jay and Patrick spent their school years in friendly but fierce competition with each other before drifting apart as adults. A reunion brings them back into each other's orbits, forcing them to acknowledge the old regrets and attractions they had thought long-buried.

Now the two men are in competition again—but this time it is for Elyssa's heart, body and soul. Will the best man win? Or is there a third way that will suit them all?

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of ménage sex and references to Oasis and Scrabble."

For further information, just clickety-click.

Mojo Sauce

I've been in Spain, specifically the southerly outposts of the Canary Islands, soaking up the sun and looking for my mojo. I found it in a dish – a speciality of local cuisine is the Canarian potato, baked and served in its shrivelled, salt-rubbed jacket with mojo sauce, which can be either red or green, but is fiercely redolent of garlic in either case. Look, here it is:

Heat and indolence are wonderful stimulants of the erotic imagination – expect some bearded Spaniards to be turning up in a story soon.

One serious disappointment of my trip was the Gatwick airport branch of WH Smiths. Despite a substantial erotica section, there was no sign of any copies of The Business of Pleasure (though plenty of The Initiation of Ms Holly). As I live beyond the back of beyond, miles from any indecent bookshop, I very rarely get the chance to see my works in the wild, so this was a major blow.

I thought, then, that I might offer a free copy of Business to the first kind reader able to send me a photograph of it on an actual retail shelf. Send your snaps to justineelyot@gmail.com. I would be ever so, ever so grateful, I promise.

Early Passion

On the shelves a couple of weeks ahead of schedule is Rachel Kramer Bussel's Passion: Erotic Romance for Women anthology, looking ravishing with its lustrous red title font.

I have a story in this collection – my first erotic romance venture in print – and the line-up is truly impressive. You can find tales from: Donna George Storey ; Jacqueline Applebee ; Angela Caperton ; Wickham Boyle ; Suzanne V Slate ; Isabelle Gray ; Lana Fox ; Rachel Kramer Bussel ; Monica Day ; A M Hartnett ; Annabeth Leong ; Charlene Teglia ; Lizzy Chambers ; Saskia Walker ; Emerald ; Teresa Noelle Roberts ; Delilah Devlin ; Portia Da Costa ; and Kathleen Bradean.

My story is called Lingua Franca. Here is a short excerpt:

"Instantly I am caught up in his embrace once more, my legs held up by his in case they give way, which is not unlikely. He walks me backward, painstakingly, until I fall on to one of the red plush sofas, and then he is looming over me, one hand next to my head, preventing my escape, and the other takes hold of my white uniform blouse and rips it open. A pearl button pings on to a nearby table and I gasp, part thrilled and part outraged. "Karel!"

"I sew it," he grins, then his head is down there, his hair brushing my throat while he explores my cleavage with the full force of his lips and tongue. His hand works busily at my other buttons, undoing them in a less destructive way, until my lace bra is exposed to him, and his stubble prickles downward, seeking out the overspill of my breasts.

He lures my nipples out of the cups using the tip of his tongue, licking and sucking, taking his time, savouring the flavour. I plant my fingers in his hair, which is reddish-brown and falls over his brow, plentiful and sometimes a little lank. I stroke and knead automatically, my wits absent, everything of me concentrated at my nerve endings – especially those between my legs.

He seems to understand instinctively that attention is needed there. He lays me down along the length of the sofa, pulling off my skirt and burying his face in my belly while his fingers stray down beyond the elastic waistband of my knickers. They almost dance, they are so light and nimble. I arch my back and squirm, inviting him to increase the pressure and move on downwards, but he loves to tease me and to watch my expression as it grows more frantic with need, laughing softly, looking up at me through the valley of my breasts.

"Touch me," I gasp.

"No talk," he admonishes, almost-but-not-quite delving into the folds of my vulva. The fingertips are barely-there on my outer lips and I try to buck so that he is tricked into the fast-flowing juices, but he is wise to me and simply gives my thigh a light slap, laughing again, a laughing demon. "OK," he says eventually, relenting, and I ease out a low sigh at the sudden invasion of his fingers, properly in and on and around me, pressing and pushing, finding me more than ready for whatever he has in mind. While his fingers work, he watches me, intently, catching every nuance of my response to him, every pained twitch, every flutter of eyelid. "I see what you like," he tells me, now using two fingers to skewer me, in and out, getting coated with the evidence of my arousal. "I like it too. You want me? Inside?"

It seems a redundant question, given the rate at which I am flipping about on his fingers, but I am glad that he has asked it. He is not – as I vaguely feared – using me for some kind of sexual revenge. My pleasure matters to him just as his does to me."

Winning and Sinning

Well, I put my fingers of fate into my competitive hat and I swirled the two many, many names around inside it until I drew out that of…Miss Scarlett deWinter. Congratulations, Scarlett – email or DM me on Twitter with your address and I'll put a pristine copy of The Business of Pleasure in the post for you. (Psst, tsuu, keep your eyes open and you may well find another chance to win in another place soon.)

In the meantime, let me introduce you to a debut novel by a wonderful erotic writer, due on the shelves tomorrow. The Initiation of Miss Holly is by KD Grace. Here's the lowdown:

Sex with a mysterious stranger aboard a train leads Rita Holly to an initiation into the exclusive and secretive Mount club. Sophisticated and deviant rituals await Rita, as do the endless intrigues and power struggles deep within the heart of the organization.

Sounds great, no? And I happen to know that KD grows her own vegetables – nature lovers frequently make the finest eroticians. So I would say this book will be well worth a punt.

Giveaway Day

I have author copies of The Business of Pleasure here now – if you'd like one, drop me a comment and I'll put your name in the titfer.

Other news of the week – I get quoted in Rachel Kramer Bussel's book trailer for Orgasmic here.

And George W Bush precipitates Virgin Books' War on Erotica (well, maybe) – full story here.

It's Been A Pleasure

Last appetiser from The Business of Pleasure for a little while – but look out for upcoming competitions at other blogs, which I'll flag up as they happen.

Walking up the final flight of stairs, she had smoothed her skirt down over her thighs, feeling the telltale bump of the stocking snaps beneath the silk-lined wool. Bryant's phrase had stayed with her – 'the suggestion of wantonness' – and she hoped she had captured the effect. The skirt was a dark red tartan with golden thread in the pattern; the stockings were seamed but nude; the shoes were black high-heeled slingbacks; the shirt was white silk, two buttons undone at the top. Was it a mistake to wear knickers? If so, she would have to accept the consequences – for she was wearing her favourite red and black lingerie set from the expensive knicker shop down the street. The black and red meant that the bra was plainly visible through the gossamer-thin blouse – perhaps a bit more than a suggestion of wantonness there. But somehow she doubted her employers would mind. Leeway might not be given in the other direction, though, and she hadn't bought a pair of tights since that fateful day in the forest.

Naturally, she was nervous – as anyone on their first day in a new job might be – but she was also excited. The lace stocking-tops rubbing together beneath the tight skirt might have been having an effect as well. Stopping to compose herself at the door, she realised that her nipples were pressing against the lacy confines of her bra. She took out her mirror compact, checked that her make-up was just that crucial bit overdone and tarty, and knocked on the door.

'Enter.' Both voices, dark and light, in shiver-inducing harmony.

She grasped the handle with both hands and turned it, standing in the doorway for a moment to assess how best to reach their twin desks, set at diagonal angles to each other, without tripping on the carpet fibres. The morning sunlight streamed in through the window, catching the imposing pair, who had stood to receive their new handmaiden, in its radiant beams.

'Good morning, Charlotte.' Collins was the first to speak. 'Are you going to stand in the doorway all day?'

She took a hesitant step forward, but he shook his head and frowned, tutting slightly, making a downward motion with one hand.

'Hands and knees, Charlotte,' he instructed.

'Oh!' She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling dizzy and giggly. They really were going to continue with this dynamic, even in the office. How…interesting. Wondering if it would be possible to sustain total submission over the course of a working day, Charlotte dropped to her knees, thankful for the embracing plush of the carpet. She moved forward, unable to look her bosses in the eye, moving between chair legs and pot plants until she reached the desk interface, at the apex of which her new colleagues stood, side by side, smiling down at her if she had but known, though she imagined them to be stony-faced.

'Up,' said Bryant gently, and she perched up on her knees, back straight and shoulders back, breathing a little unevenly. She felt Bryant's hand cup her chin and lift her head up so that she was looking up his long torso to the overhang of his head, right into his clear blue eyes.

'Make-up is good,' he said, but to Collins, not to her. 'Nice shade of lipstick. What's it called, Charlotte?'

'Harlot.'

They chuckled in unison. 'How perfectly appropriate,' approved Collins. 'Charlotte the harlot. It's the very shade that always looks so good around a cock. Don't you think?'

'I certainly do,' replied Bryant. 'Good girl. You may stand, for the rest of the inspection.'

Doing the Business

Another little snatch of the day for you from The Business of Pleasure – now available in the Antipodes.

Justus was appreciative of my disinhibition; he threw off his suit jacket, slipped out of his shoes and hurled himself over me, crouching with his knees outside my hips, his tie swinging over my face, his teeth flashing predatory intent from a great height. He was so big and so beautiful, I just wanted to strip him down and feast on him while I could. I clutched at his belt and he clamped a hand down over mine.

'In a hurry?' he enquired.

'Yes, I'm in a hurry. I've been in the desert and you're the biggest, coolest drink of water I could ever have dreamed.'

'That's nice, Naomi. But we've got all night.'

'Don't make me wait.'

'The journey is the best part. Don't you think? Reaching the destination can be overrated. Let's have a good, long journey. First class. Great service. Great views.'

'Take off your clothes!' I yelped, tormented by the way his finger was travelling down my stomach to the elasticated border of the only garment I now sported. I wanted him to rip them off, to wrench my thighs apart and dive, clothes flying from him, into my canyon. Finally I understood the ridiculousness of my long abstinence; finally I knew what I had been missing. To make up for all those years, I would have to drain this poor man dry, to have him take up residence between my legs for the indefinite future, to have his cock lodged within me morning, noon and night. Oh, that would be fine. In the cab home, in the supermarket, cooking the dinner, with Justus joined to me at the groin. I could live like that. If only I could get him to take off his suit and fuck me in the first place.