Lucy V. Morgan's Blog, page 6

Whored Short: Tremble

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Spoiler Alert: This short is set months after the end of The Whored's Prayer and will contain spoilers for both Whored novels. 

"Is this your girl fucking outfit?" -- Joseph

To: leila.vaughn@merchantdeity.comFrom: elise.nakamura-mccoll@gmail.comDate: 11 February 2012Subject: Stupid Valentine's!!

Hey chick ;)
Thought I'd better start mailing you from here because...well. You know.
I can't believe our men. I expected it from Joe, kind of (don't hate me! You know what I mean) but Kenji would never have organised to go out on Valentine's before we got married :( Now their stupid poker game is somehow more important? Bah. Like I gave him a get-out-of-jail-free card?Aaaaaanyway. You want to do something? We don't get in until the afternoon on the 13th so I'll have loads of time to sleep off the jet lag. I was kinda hoping we could meet up alone anyway (blushing here!) but what the hell...
Lise xxx
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To: elise.nakamura-mccoll@gmail.comFrom: leila.vaughn@merchantdeity.comDate: 11 February 2012Subject: Re. Stupid Valentine's!!

Lise.
Will you be my Valentine? :P

Leila VaughnSenior PartnerMerchant Deity at Law
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To: leila.vaughn@merchantdeity.comFrom: elise.nakamura-mccoll@gmail.comDate: 11 February 2012Subject: Re: re: Stupid Valentine's!!

Lol! I was worried you'd think I was corny or something because I know you don't do all the lovey holiday stuff. But I do. You know I do!And yes, I will be your Valentine!! Exciting. I can't wait for England again. What shall we do? Some place classy for dinner?
xxx
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To: elise.nakamura-mccoll@gmail.comFrom: leila.vaughn@merchantdeity.comDate: 12 February 2012Subject: Re: re: re: Stupid Valentine's!!
I booked us a suite here: http://www.athenaeumhotel.com/rooms/s...
Wear something pretty. I loved that purple dress you wore to Claridges last time.
We're going to play poker too ;)

Leila VaughnSenior PartnerMerchant Deity at Law
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To: leila.vaughn@merchantdeity.comFrom: elise.nakamura-mccoll@gmail.comDate: 12 February 2012Subject: Re: re: re: re: Stupid Valentine's!!
Oh wow. Leila. I like our version of poker so much better. Cough cough!
Guess I'd better go shopping, huh? (blushing again) Wait til I tell Kenji about this...
xxx
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"You," Joseph mumbled into my hair, "are unbelievable."I grinned, easing him away so he didn't spoil my loose waves. Then I threw my arms out and span around. "What do you think? Will she like it?"He gave me his sharp little once-over: shiny black heels, bare legs, and a flare of a black skirt from my dress's tight bodice. He, I think, would've added stockings...but then I wasn't dressing up for him."Is this your girl-fucking outfit?" he asked. "I hope so." I stepped toward him and toyed with the collar of his shirt. "Would you fuck me in this, Mr. Merchant?"He pressed his mouth to my ear. "I'd have you over the kitchen counter with that skirt pulled up around your arse.""How vulgar.""Of course. My mistake." He patted my bottom with enough force to summon a mew of pleasure from my lips. "Does Elise know she's being seduced?""I'm not entirely sure.""Little predator." He smirked with pride before he ducked to kiss me. "Am not. She and I, we've been playing for ages now...and we always wanted to be alone together...""Take pictures for me.""You wish." I swatted him around the head. "My car will be here. I need to get going."He drew me in for a goodbye kiss--slow, tongue-laced, sucking. "You be careful now. Don't go converting to lesbianism and running away to Tibet, or something.""Bah. You foiled my evil plan." With a final kiss brushed on his collarbone, I pulled my pea coat on and grabbed my overnight bag. "See you in the morning. Don't beat Kenji too hard at poker."Joseph stood back and folded his arms. "As if I would."
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Our suite at the Athenaeum was far more gorgeous in lamplight than it'd looked in cheery sun. On the website, daylight had poured through the huge glass windows to bounce off the gloss of the perspex four-poster or the mirrored chest of drawers. At night, with the pale glow of lamps in the near-dark, the shiny surfaces looked ethereal. Gorgeous. Coupled with the glass vases of lily of the valley, and the way its light, floral perfume rode the air, it was all a bit romantic.That should have seemed strange considering I'd booked this suite for Elise, but it didn't. Not at all.I knew she'd be thrilled. Joseph was right; I hadn't yet seduced her. Not out of her clothes. But over the past year or so, we'd kissed and fumbled at the end of each night out, curled up on the sofa while Joe and Ken watched. I think she felt safe like that, felt justified. This idea of liking girls--of them being more than friends--was still so new to her, and I hadn't ever wanted to push. But I missed being with women. Playmates were hard enough to come by--by my exacting standards, anyway--and I'd been teased by Elise for so long now, even if she didn't realise she was doing it. I wanted to show her what it was like to make love to another girl. It struck me that I should be more nervous than I was, because she could panic and say no...but I didn't think she would. I'd had my hand in her knickers more than once while we kissed, and I knew how hot and wet it made her. I'd arrived twenty minutes early and there was nothing to do but wait. So I kicked off my heels, lit all the cinnamon-scented candles I'd brought with me, and switched on the TV to find a movie. The Champagne and strawberries that I'd pre-ordered already sat on the table in buckets of dripping ice.Elise knocked three times and I sprang up to answer."Oh my God!" She squealed, launching herself at me the way she always did. Her Louis Vuitton evening bag landed heavily on the floor as we embraced in the doorway. God, she smelled good, even above the scent of the candles: like flowers and sugar. Her hair was soft and cool as ever on my warm cheek."This place is gorgeous," she exclaimed, stepping in. Her little sling back heels click-clicked along the wooden floor as she gazed about. "Candles! You got candles!"I carried her bag towards the bed. "Cinnamon. Like those doughnuts you like so much.""Aw. Leila, that's...sweet." She smoothed down the ruffle that scored the corseted bodice of her dress. The pencil skirt hugged her hips and flared out with her ass, and she wore a matching ruffled clip in her chocolate-coloured hair. "It's all so cute.""Told you purple looks good on you."Colour rushed to her cheeks. "Really?""Yep." Then it seemed she'd caught sight of the double bed, realised what it implied, and her blush deepened to scarlet. "Oh my God.""I'm going to make you drink a glass of Champagne every time you say that in future." I padded over to the table and held the bottle up. "And I know what you're like--drunk in no time.""Leila. Hotel suite and alcohol? You're like a frickin' teenage boy."I let the Champagne drop back into its bucket with a wet slop of ice. "Is that...bad?""Well. Rich teenage boy.""With excellent taste." I gestured to the candle-lit room as she strode over. "And I promise not to call you a cock tease."Elise lingered beside me, just inches away, for a moment. No matter how subtle I tried to be, she wouldn't look me in the eye; instead she chewed her lip and drew a pattern on the floor with the tip of her designer shoe. "Lise," I said softly. "Sit down."That did it. Magic words. She flushed again as she sank back on the sofa and I knelt to undo her shoes. "These are luscious. Choos?" I traced the slim little grooves of her ankle. "Ah...no. Marc Jacobs." Oh, how she watched me, all wide-eyed and trembling as if I was her very first. And how I watched her: the way her teeth played on that lip reminded me of my first hotel room with Charlie. I wasn't a virgin--far from it--but he sure as hell showed me a few new things that night. From him, I learned how oral sex is meant to be for a woman--slow and knowing, rhythmic until she comes. And I wondered, then, exactly what I could teach Elise."You've got the naughtiest look on your face," she said.I peeled her second heel off and skimmed my palm up her smooth calf. "I've missed your legs."She giggled. "Don't change the subject!""I mean it. They're like this perfect shade of tan that would just look silly on me." Or anyone red-haired, in England. "What do you do, wax them?"She nodded."Brave girl." I came up on my knees and inched towards her. When I took her face in my hands, she giggled again. "Is all of this okay?"Elise kneaded her hands in her lap, unsure what to do with them. I'd have laid them on my waist but I wanted the little shiver of a thrill when she finally decided to touch me, all by herself."Yeah. Um." She looked down. "I've thought about this a lot, you know.""I did wonder.""H-have you?""Yes." A devious grin made its way across my face. "Especially when we're doing our little show for the boys.""Mmm."I stroked the hair from her face, nudged her chin up to meet glassy eyes. "So...did you buy purple underwear for me, too?"She said nothing, but the returning riot of a blush said yes."Awesome."And then I kissed her. It was always me who initiated, but I got off on that. Fizzed and popped with the power. Joseph was the boss in our relationship and I wouldn't have changed that for anything, but knowing I could tell Elise what to do--could lead, guide, corrupt her--made me swell with heat and promise.She tasted as sweet as she smelled. You kiss a girl's mouth the way you kiss the lips of her pussy, and the symmetry of it takes me to dirty places. Soon my tongue met hers, and I nipped and sucked her top lip as if it was the plump bloom of her clit. Elise's whimpers died in our tangle of lips."Leila." Her hands finally found my shoulders as she eased me away. "I...I don't want to be drunk for this.""You're trembling," I whispered. "You want a glass to take the edge off?""No. I like the trembling." Her fingers played down across my breasts and came to stroke the erect bump of my nipple. "Keep making me tremble."She lowered herself beside me for our next kiss. I kept her hands on my breasts, moaned softly as she stroked there; we were well practised in this shy dance of petting. Before, I'd bitten her nipples through the fabric of her clothes and she'd slipped her hands down my trousers to cup my ass, but for the first time, we were more than experimental foreplay. I was going to make her come, and she knew it. That deserved an oh my God. A hundred of them. What would she say when I finally pushed her off the edge? I'd heard her come once, late at night on the roof of a hotel...but I was too busy falling into Joseph to commit her sighs to memory.Not tonight.I made the most of her bare legs, grazing my nails along in barely-there strokes. She relaxed against the sofa, parted her knees enough for me to reach her thighs, and it wasn't long before I began to rub the heel of my hand along the sensitive insides. "We've only been in the room for ten minutes." I dragged my tongue over her collarbone. "Look at the state of us.""I guess you really do like purple, huh?"I kissed her, mewing at her growing enthusiasm. "I think you just can't keep your hands off me.""It's the accent." She cupped my breast with more pressure, and a naughty smile spread to the corners of her eyes. "Gets me every time.""Oh. You want me to talk dirty to you, Lise?"She laughed. "God. I suck at that." "Mmm. Bet I could teach you.""Really, I suck. I bet you can't."I nipped her earlobe before whispering, "your kisses make me wet."She took slow, uneven breaths while I suckled tiny welts on her neck. "Oh?""Yeah." I returned to her mouth. "They make me think about going down on you.""I...Wow." Her little breaths took a lurch. "You...you know I've never done that before.""Don't worry, baby. I'm going to do you first."No more words. She moaned again, and our tongues quivered against each other with the force of it. "Do you like it? Does Ken do that for you?""Yes." She found my zipper, pawed at it like she couldn't translate her desire. "And yes.""Does it make you come?""Ah...sometimes."I pushed hair from her face in silky brown handfuls. "I won't stop until you do.""Then I guess we're wearing too many clothes." She paused. Grinned at me. Burst out laughing. "Yeah, I really did just say that.""You're right. Your dirty talk sucks.""Just shut up, Leila. And take your dress off.""Bossy, aren't we?" I got to my feet and reached for my half-open zipper. "Is this okay, or do you want to tell me how to stand, too?" Elise moved up to the sofa again. Falling back on her hands, she gave me that innocent, lovely scrutiny once more. "This is good."The tight neckline of my dress meant I had to stretch right up to peel it off. I hadn't worn a bra--no point in that outfit--and so I stood before her in just my knickers. And what pretty knickers they were.Men don't appreciate knickers like this: they might lie, might feign interest, might be grateful for whatever they get, but this kind of gorgeousness is wasted on them. They like tight and teasing. These were black satin and full-backed, though were cut to expose the little tendons at the apex of my thighs, and they tied at the sides with bows of thick black ribbon. Best of all were the frills that poured down the cheeks of my ass in a swishy tail: this was what I needed that flared skirt for. I felt like a burlesque whore.Elise gazed first at my naked shoulders, then dropped to the peaks of my nipples, stiff as they were in the air-conditioned suite. She followed the flat of my belly to my underwear, and it was then that I turned to wiggle the lace tail."Oh," she gasped. "So pretty.""I know.""Can I touch?"I tugged her up by the wrist, placed her hands on the ribbon ties, and kissed her with enough passion to usher another whimper. As she stroked and pulled at the fabric--and God, when it caught the swelling lips of my pussy, I wanted to yelp--I worked on her zipper. She wore a bra beneath the dress: strapless, seamless moulded cups. A lighter shade of purple, lilac maybe. She panted as I squeezed her there before flicking the hooks apart--I needed the soft mash of her breasts against mine. This was the first time we'd seen each other bare like this and every inch of me cried out to see, taste, smell. Feel. Her knickers--panties--were just ghostly wisps of matching lilac. And tight. I traced the hem over her buttocks, followed the strap along her hips to brush her mound. "Back on the floor, Lise," I said. "Lie on the rug.""Now who's being bossy?""I want to see you."Elise, almost naked: she reminded me of those eighteenth century paintings where the women are splayed and rounded. Hair pooled on the light brown rug, heavy breasts tipped with pale nipples, knees drawn up together; if it wasn't for the dirty-girl knickers, she'd have passed for someone's muse. Sitting beside her, I stroked her belly from hip to hip and teased at her navel."You look like dessert," I said.She giggled again. "I do?""Yep. And dessert requires garnish." I reached for the bowl of strawberries on the table. "These will be cold, baby.""I...ah--" I placed the first slice of strawberry between her breasts. Its tapered edges pointed below to her pussy in a red swell of suggestion. Before decorating her nipples similarly, I warmed each of them with light, teasing strokes.Elise went to cup my breasts as I leaned over, but I swatted her away."Nuh-uh. Hands by your sides.""Meanie." She grinned though. "If it's just you touching me, this kinda feels like one of those spa treatments--""There are treatments where they cover your girl parts in strawberries? Because I'm sure as hell getting one.""You know what I mean!"I laid little slices of red fruit down her belly, and they shook as she laughed. "I do. Now close your eyes.""I want to watch, Leila.""Oh you do, huh?" I climbed to straddle her, caressing her cheeks as I smiled down. "What is it you want to see me do, exactly?""I just...I like looking at you like this. With no clothes," she added.I toyed with one strawberry-topped nipple. "Want to see me kiss you here?"She sighed. Her back arched, ever so slightly. "Yes."I drew my hand away."Please," she whispered.When I kissed her this time, she returned it with confidence born out of desperation. She was probably already soaked, and though I longed to slip her knickers off and see for myself, this was her first time. I had to be patient.Becoming Charlotte had been very good practise for this, but tonight, I was all me. I took the strawberry between her breasts in my teeth, and we shared it. Its juices spread on her lips and I diligently licked them clean. Then I edged down, cupping her left breast in both hands, and pressed a thumb either side of her nipple. A gentle manipulation created a slow tease of a massage.She waited for me to suck her there. Though she'd finally closed her eyes, I knew. That was when I succumbed to the black too--when desire got too much and I couldn't stand the air against my eyeballs. Finally, I ate the strawberry from her nipple. I spent a long moment chewing and swallowing--God, how I loved to make her wait. When she arched further, pushed her nipple up right between my thumbs, I squeezed it just a little. And then I bent to lick and suck. Ah, this was so much better than doing it through her clothes. The helpless little mews flew from her, and her hips rocked beneath me, anxious for friction. I kept up the massage as I kissed her there."I'm going to do this exact same thing to your clit," I murmured.Elise's whole body tensed. "Oh God."In a moment, I switched breasts, maintaining the same light cupping and pressure. She'd lost any nerves about our naughtiness--the clean arch of her back offered the strawberry right to my mouth, and her moan as I suckled was exquisite. I had to pull away, needed a look at her. Already, a flush spread along her collarbone and her breath came in little pants. She needed me to take off those knickers. Hell knows, I was ready to oblige. "Bottoms up, Lise." I grinned as I slid off the slivers of lace, backing away to pull them from around her feet. Before she could spread and show me how wet she was, I sat beside her again and set to work on the slices of fruit on her belly. "Naked for me, now," I mumbled against her skin."I know."I tongued strawberry juice from her navel. "Nervous?""A little," she breathed."I'm going to help you relax, okay?""Okay." My own nipples sat against her thigh and I loved the way they rubbed. When it was finally my turn, I wouldn't last long. The liquid mess in my knickers told me so."Spread your legs for me, baby." Elise obeyed, and I sat up to watch as she exposed herself for me. Until now, we'd been playmates. Each other's toys. There was nobody else in the room to stimulate her desire but me, and we were about to become genuine lovers. Now I filled my eyes with the sight of her, drank every last detail in. She'd evidently waxed more than her legs; a neat little strip of hair led to bare, swollen lips, open and already sticky. "Am I okay?" she whispered."Gorgeous." I kissed her hip bone. "God, Lise. You look so hot.""Feels like it."Time to decorate again. I took a fat wedge of strawberry and pressed it right between her outer lips, over her clit. She yelped softly as the cold hit. "I've never been eaten like this," she said. "No." I climbed between her legs and dropped to lie on my belly. "You haven't."Then I spent a long time massaging her inner thighs. Occasionally, I pressed my palm over her mound with just an eensy bit of pressure, but quickly returned to the soft flesh of her legs and hips. She put on a little show for me like that, bucking and sighing her frustration, and the way her lips grew thicker and wetter was beautiful. It was all I could do not to plunge two fingers inside.Finally, I ate the strawberry covering her clit. She moaned before I even closed in, as she felt my breath, and then sounded her disappointment as I left the bud untouched. "Patience." I toyed with her outer lips to expose her clit. "I just...I just want...""I know." I teased her hood very lightly with a fingertip. "Here?""Please. Please." "Poor thing. I'm so mean to you.""Yeah, you--oh my God."She felt me then. Felt my tongue swirl over her firm, swollen clit. It tasted like strawberry and flushed, writhing girl. Delicious. I got comfortable, laid my hands on her skin and ate at her like a melting ice cream: pink lips, just inside to the wet heat of her pussy, and then back up to her beautiful clit. I kept to the sides this time to tease. There are few things more arousing to me than the scent of an open pussy just inches from my face. I love the soft little lapping sounds as I suck her, tongue her, open her with my fingers. I love the way she struggles to meet my touch one second and then darts to manipulate it the next. In the end, I had to hold Elise still, and her sighs grew louder when she had no choice but to accept my suckling kisses.A bit of me had worried that she'd bottle it at this point, that there was a reason she'd never let me go this far before. That maybe she liked the idea of it more than the reality. But lying here with her, listening to her struggle not to moan too loudly and watching her grow ever more ready, I wondered exactly how much she'd thought about this. Which fantasy I was fulfilling. How long had she wanted us to fuck?Now came my favourite part of all. I rubbed a finger around the opening of her pussy as I lapped her clit. "Good girl," I mumbled. Then I pushed down inside her. She closed in on me immediately and yelped as I stroked her inner walls. So hot, slick...she grew increasingly tight. With a second finger added, I curled them up towards her clit and slowly, slowly circled. "Ow." Elise jerked and pressed the back of my head. "Like that. Yeah."Any other time, I'd have paused now, made her wait and beg. But I had a feeling she'd beg anyway--I knew she was close, felt it in the way her muscles bore down--and it was our first time like this. I didn't want her orgasm to fall away, to spend another half hour building it up again; I wanted it to hit her like a ton of bricks. My own thighs shook now and my skin prickled with adrenaline-charged cool heat--you know the kind. She was so wet, so delightfully noisy, and her pelvis had pulled taut with need. "You close, baby?" The sound of the words vibrated into her clit. I knew the answer anyway but longed to hear her say it."Oh, yeah." She arched into me once more. "Please, just like that..."So I coaxed her. Walked my fingers against the rough spot inside. Pushed my tongue up beneath her clit and told the story of an hour: quarter past, half past, quarter to...She tensed, broke, tensed again. Knotted her fingers in my hair. Her inner muscles curved around me inside, squeeze squeeze squeeze. On the stroke of midnight--third hour--Elise came in my mouth.The yelps poured from her. I recognised every scrape of a movement: the rolling bounce of her hips, the ebbing clutch of her pussy. Her clit throbbed right against the flat of my tongue. As she came down, she sucked breath from the air, murmuring "oh my God, oh my God." I didn't let up until she dropped her fistfuls of hair, and when I nipped her inner thighs, she moaned again."I can't believe I just did that." Her voice trembled with the rest of her."I can't believe we waited this long." I kissed my way up her belly, cupping her breasts before licking my fingers. "Seems crazy now.""I...I know." I pressed the fingers to her lips and she paused for a second before tasting. The sight of her little pink tongue, the rough-velvet slide of it on my skin--it made me tighten."Leila--"I kissed her. I needed her to taste herself fully, to feel her slow against my mouth as she recognised the flavour. Now I was the noisy one, couldn't help it; we'd just had sex and the scent of her was over me. My turn next. Oh, please.As I settled beside her, the kisses turned lazy. Gluttonous. I couldn't resist nudging her legs apart and slipping a digit inside to see how wet she still was. When a girl is aroused, the way she tightens makes me shiver; but after, when she's soaked and more than a little slack, I love to rub back up into her spot and feel her contract again. Little aftershocks. Elise willingly opened for me and didn't protest when I massaged her clit."You feel amazing," I said."I bet you do too." She pulled away, her breath evening, her gaze coming to rest on my breasts. Then she nudged the hand that worked between her legs. "Let...let me do this now. For you, I mean.""Mmm." I sat back against the edge of the sofa, tipping my head from side to side to relieve some of the tension on my neck (you never notice at the time, but going down on a girl will totally give you a vague shadow of whiplash. Cumlash?). She reached for the strawberries, now swimming in ice-slush, and we shared another slice in a sweet kiss. "I want to do the strawberries thing," she murmured, "but it feels kind of unoriginal now." I laughed. "Do what you want, Lise.""Oh really?"I stroked her hair again--God, I wish I had hair as smooth and shiny as hers. "I'm yours."That made her freeze. Her eyes met mine, wide and expectant. "For tonight.""I'm yours for as long as you can make me come."Elise dipped her fingers into the strawberry ice and drew long, cold-sharp paths to my nipples."Oh--!""For as long as I can make you come, huh?" Her breath grew heavy again; I joined her, panting in anticipation. When her mouth finally fell on my nipple, I cried out. She worked a steady rhythm and I returned it, desperate for her tongue. "Trust me...it won't take long."She didn't share my patience; it was lucky I no longer cared for waiting. Perhaps she was eager to please too, because she soon tugged the ribbons on my knickers open and peeled the damp satin from under me. I spread my thighs immediately, ready to please myself if she didn't, but her hand slid right down to explore. She'd never touched my bare pussy before, hadn't been as brave as me during our sofa sessions, so I was surprised at how quickly she found my clit and delighted with the way she circled it--her fingers were clumsy, but there was something cute about it. "I like that," I panted."You're soft."Ooh. She's going to dirty talk me."And sticky," she added, her fingers dropping to pull on my pussy lips. I closed my eyes and nodded."For you, baby.""Feels...nice.""God. I know." We lay like that for long minutes; her mouth on my nipples, her hand between my legs. She never quite got the nerve up to touch me inside--just stroked, stroked--and I began to wonder if she was brave enough. If I should push."Lise...I need...""Yeah?"I tugged her hand from my pussy and suckled the fingers, hungrier than seemed dignified. Shock drew her eyebrows together before fascination separated them, and she allowed her thumb to rest in the cradle of my tongue. But she didn't buy the hint.I smiled as I finished. "I want your mouth on me.""Oh." She chewed her lip; yep, she was nervous. "Oh. I--how?""Sit up."I straddled her lap again, this time with her back straight against the sofa. When I came up on my knees, my pussy was just inches from her face. I could ride her mouth this way and do a little more of the work. Control things, if she needed me to. If.With my eyes glued to hers, I gathered her hands, brought them to my thighs. Then I bunched her hair up in my fists and nudged her toward me gently."Touch me inside," I begged.She inched her fingers around. Parted my lips, felt for the opening--not that she couldn't navigate, but I was so wet that she slipped and slid. At long last, two digits pressed me open and I couldn't contain the eruption of sighs--she found my spot right away. The relief was sweet, aching, euphoric. I needed this so badly. Ah. I needed to ride her fingers too, but before that I had to guide her further, so I dropped a hand down to expose my clit."Lick me here. I want to feel your tongue."Elise mewed softly. Right then, it was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard, this affirmation that she loved to look at such an intimate part of me. She coaxed me forward with a light spank and then the cool suite air turned into her warm mouth. I still wanted to ride--it was all I wanted--but I stayed still while she tasted me. Luxuriated in it. Her tongue was gorgeously coarse and slow.When she began to suck, I knew I could move. I rolled my hips toward her and let the first waves wash over me: jumpy little clenches, sweet and sharp as the sensations that she melted into my clit. Soon her fingers twisted and curved, and my pussy pulled them in with each hot, wet contraction. Though still hesitant, between her generous mouth and my rhythm, she was beginning to get me off...and those little noises she made as she licked me, those girly whimpers and grunts: God. "Lise." I tightened my hands in her hair. "I'm going to--ah, like that, I'm going to--"She corkscrewed her fingers into me. Suckled my clit as she lathed it. Mumbled "come on, baby," into my flesh, her tone so lazy and languid that it shoved me right over. I yelped and cursed and as I bucked into her mouth, my hips possessed with some desperate rush of a climax that needed to move, move, now. The wet squishing sounds told me I'd gushed a little...she made me do it. I couldn't help the way I'd let go.I steadied myself by grasping her shoulders. "Oh my God.""That's-that's my saying," she managed, still talking into my pussy. "Thief.""Thief yourself." With trembling legs--made of jelly, as the cliché told--I climbed back down to slump next to her. As I nuzzled her neck, she wiped her glossy chin with already-sopping fingers and and then gleefully licked them clean. My little protégée. Beautiful."So..." She played with my hair. "Did we just have, like...girl sex?"Her shoulder muffled my giggles."Yeah. We did." I brushed kisses from her left nipple to her mouth. "Did you like it?""I--" Another kiss cut her off. She tasted like me, all gin and sugar and lukewarm water. "Couldn't you tell?""I did notice a little," I teased, "but I wanted to make sure.""Not sure I could ever fake an orgasm like that.""I'd know if you did." "Lesbianism has its drawbacks then. What do you guys say over here? Bugger!"I laughed, my skin sticking to hers still with our gossamer sheen of sweat. "Like you'd ever need to fake it for me.""I could be tired, or sick. Or thinking of...England." She tugged me sideways so our nipples brushed together. "Though to be honest...can't see that happening.""Anyway. We're not lesbians." I gave her a playful kiss. "We're bi.""That sounds way too cool for me!""We're cool and bi." I wrapped my arms around Elise's neck, lost myself in the flowers-and-sex scent of her. "Which makes us completely awesome. And I haven't even whacked out the toys yet.""There are toys?" Her eyes widened."Mmm. But I'm going to get you drunk first because Joe said I have to take pictures."She sniggered. "Ken said that too.""Our poor, deluded menfolk. What do you think they're doing right now?""Pretending to play poker. And thinking about us having sex."I grinned at her. "I know what I'd rather be doing.""Me too, baby." Elise kissed me slower than she had all evening, dragging like way she'd licked my clit. "Girl power. Yay feminism. I like pussy!""Shut up, you moron."She patted my ass with her cool palm, and bent to whisper in my ear. "Make me."
****
When I got back to the apartment the next day, it was almost lunchtime. Joseph hadn't booked the morning off like me--he should have been at work. So why was he face down on the bed, completely naked, his thick legs tangled in the sheets?I shook his shoulder."Joe? You alive?"He groaned into the pillow. "Whuh?""Mr. Merchant. You were due at the office about three hours ago."He rolled over to display an impressive erection, swatting himself in the face. "Fuck.""Indeed." I kicked my shoes off and straddled his lap--maybe a little cock attention would wake him properly. "Exactly how much did you drink last night?""Not that much.""Pfft. I believe you. And when did you get in?""'Bout four hours ago."I stifled a fit of giggles. "What the hell? You played poker all night?""No." He cleared his throat and blinked at me with those lush green eyes. Even beneath the weight of sleep, they held sway over me. "We started reminiscing about uni stuff. Bought some cigars, put the football on...it got late...""Rock and indeed, roll.""Oh, fuck you, you little madam." He clutched me by the waist and pawed my skirt. "Take your knickers off.""Who says I'm wearing knickers?"A jolt. Now he was awake. "Are you telling me that uptight little miss Harvard went home with your underwear this morning?"I grinned. "Maybe.""You should be ashamed of yourself.""Yeah. That's why you look so damn proud."He hauled himself up to kiss my bottom lip. "Does my baby have a girlfriend?""Shh." I bit his earlobe. "It's a secret."His very strong, wide, male hand inched along my thigh until it cupped my bare pussy. He pressed two fingers just an inch inside me, enough to guide me forth on to his cock. "Tell me your secrets. You know how much I like those."I sank on to his cock with a strangled little moan. The way he stretched and filled me never failed to knock the breath from my lungs, no matter how rough or gentle he was--not that Joseph Merchant was gentle with me often."Come on," he urged, coaxing me into his thrusts. I closed my eyes, beginning to drift despite the sleepy pleasure. "I'm tired, Joe. You weren't the only one up all ni--ow!""Oh. Honey. Are you sore too...?"I thought back to the glass toy I'd taught Elise to stroke inside me. "Yeah.""You want me to be gentle? You have to tell." He pulled me further on to his cock, gave me no choice but to surrender. "Be a good girl.""Mmm..." I laid my cheek on his shoulder, my spine tingling from the blunt orgasm he'd begun to conjure between my thighs. "See. It started--ah--with a bowl of strawberries..."

Whored Short: SHE LOVES ME KNOT

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A Whored Short by Lucy V. Morgan
 Spoiler alert: this "alternative ending" short begins right after the end of the second Whored novel, The Whored's Prayer. It will contain spoilers for both novels. This short is told from Matt's perspective.


“God. I’d forgotten how gorgeous your bed is.”
Leila gazed up at the carved four-poster that dominated my beamed room, her eyes like petrol puddles reverberating with traffic. Her hands sat on her hips as she paced around.
“I’m sure you’ll make it even more gorgeous.” I gestured to the bin liners full of expensive linen that we’d piled up beside her boxes. Sequins winked at me in the sunlight pouring through the window; a girl lives here now, they said.
Weird.
“I seem to remember making a mess of it, last time,” she murmured, throwing me a coy, knowing little smile.
Oh, fucking hell. I wish she wouldn’t do that to me.
Only when I let myself look at her--really look at her--did I realize she was crying.
“Hey.” I strode over, wrapping her against my chest. She leaned in willingly, all warm and smelling like marzipan and flowers. “Why’re you crying?”
She shrugged as she sobbed on to my rugby shirt, her tears soaking into the creases.
She knew why, really. So did I. But we were off on the yellow brick road to our shiny new jobs; maybe even a shiny new us. It didn’t feel right to belittle that. I stroked her back with flat palms, trying to ignore the way her breasts melted against my ribs.
Then I bit my lip hard and edged away before she could feel my hard-on.
“Just…just stuff,” she managed eventually. “It’s all still sinking in, you know?”
“I know, babe.”
Leila wasn’t supposed to be here. She should still be in London, getting ready for her posh-arsed City career and buying overpriced sandwiches from Pret. She should be exhausted in Joseph Merchant’s bed.
Until recently, she should also be fucking men for money.
She didn’t realize that none of that would make her happy. I knew--we'd trained together for the past two years. London‘s cool and everything, don’t get me wrong (Shepherd’s Bush Empire is the best gig venue ever) but when you strip away all the things that money brings…it’s empty. Hollow. A bit like how Leila was going to turn out if she kept up with that horrible night job. As System of a Down once said: somewhere between the sacred silence and sleep…disorder, disorder. If you stay there too long, London will fuck you over.
Just like it fucked the pair of us.
“Shall we unpack some stuff, make you feel at home a bit?” I suggested.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Actually…would you mind if I went to bed?”
“No, course not.” I smoothed the curls from her face; it felt natural to do it. Made me ache that she let me.
“I haven’t been sleeping very well lately,” she admitted. “Weird dreams.”
“You’ve had a shitty time of it. But it’s all sorted now, okay? Onwards and upwards and all that crap.”
“Happy ending, huh?” She gave me a tear-stained smile.
Lyrics echoed in my head; let’s pretend, happy end…
“Yeah.” I nodded, my forehead just brushing hers. “Let’s put you to bed then.”
I tucked her beneath the throw my mum had stitched when I was in primary school; quilted squares in the colors of my favorite football team (back when I thought football was cool). She seemed to belong there, in my bed.
“I’ll knock later, okay?” I said.
She wriggled beneath the covers and made a sleepy little sigh.
Downstairs, her father was having tea with Dad and Amy in the kitchen.
“You didn’t tell me that Leon makes wine,” Dad said, beckoning me.
“Never thought to. Sorry.“ I nodded at Amy as she pushed a mug into my hand and spooned in three sugars. I watched muddy liquid coil as I stirred.
“Is Leila unpacking?” said Leon.
“She’s having a nap. Said I’d wake her up for dinner.”
“Poor mite. She’s knackered.” He laughed. “You’ll give her a hand later, Matt, won’t you?”
I had to lower my eyes--he was her dad, and if he saw the look in them, he’d know exactly what I wanted to give her.
“Right. I’m going to give Leon a tour, show him the orchard,” Dad announced, clapping a heavy hand on my back. “He’s going to give us a hand with the raspberries. See you out there in a bit?”
“In a bit.” I gulped lukewarm tea as they strode out of the stable doors, silently ticking off another box on my morbid game of bingo. Our parents get on. I bet they wouldn’t get on with Joseph’s--they’d be flashy, pretentious cunts. As for her clients’ parents…yeah, there was a place I never wanted to go. Like Primark.
“Penny for them.” Amy, nudged my shoulder. She slid a plate of biscuits in front of me, and I reached for one, shaking away the crumbs.
“Just thinking about…starting the job.”
“Ah, right. Of course.” She leaned back on the counter with her arms folded. She read me like a book—gah, so annoying.
“It’s going to be nice, being somewhere small and…” Not soulless?
“It’s nice to have you home.” She smiled. “I’ve got a pie on for dinner. Will that be alright for your Leila?”
My Leila.
She wasn’t mine.
“Yeah, she loves stuff like that.” I dunked half a biscuit into my tea. “Cheers.”
I walked out through the garden as I chewed, wondering whether to phone Charlie and let him know that everything was going well. He was my stepfather. He was also Leila’s old lover. Between the two of us, we'd rescued her career and sorted everything out (also, I may have punched him when I learned about the lover part. I tried to pretend I felt guilty but seriously--it was the best rush of my life. Take that, adulterous porkshit! Funny how landing a swift upper cut can lend you a sense of inner peace for a good…ten minutes).
I felt like a prize cunt when two girls from our office stole Leila’s escorting photos from my laptop. They used them to bribe her out of a boyfriend and a job. For a while, it looked like her life was beyond fixing.
Seemed to me, though, that Leila and I could solve eachother’s problems. She needed a job. I needed…her. With a bit of help, I convinced the partners at my new firm to take her on, and now she'd moved into my room until she could sort a place of her own.
I didn’t intend for her to move out, but it wasn’t the right time to say that. Not yet.
I joined Dad and Leon in the orchards, rolling up my sleeves and hauling buckets of fruit as they picked. It was the beginning of the berry harvest, this time of year --I used to love it. I remembered Mom making reams of jams and pies, decorating the jars with checkered fabric and ribbons. She always asked me to write the labels because my handwriting was the neatest.
Amy's probably a better cook than Mom, but it can't be the same.
The afternoon squelched by in red-stained hands and tart berries on my tongue. Dinner time loomed, and I excused myself for a hot shower, scraping the last of London away. When I peeked in on Leila, she was still asleep.
“Hey.” I shook her gently. “You’ll never sleep tonight, at this rate.”
She yawned, her back arched in a stretch that pushed her nipples right through her t-shirt. “That time already? Crap.”
“Dinner’s in ten, okay?” I lingered by the door. “I’ll see you down there.”
She nodded, her smile lazy and framed with disheveled ringlets.
Leila’s dad joined us at the table, and it turned into something of an event, dragged out with coffees and Amy’s home-made petit fours. I swapped glances with Leila across the table. We weren’t really part of the conversation, but we had our own going on regardless, made of cocked heads, knowing grins and nudging knees.
At the end, I gave her space to say goodbye to her dad in the hall, and then followed her upstairs.
She tugged the clip from her hair, and it fell down her back in a sweep of flashing russet. “Would it be okay if I had a bath?”
“Yeah, course.” I glanced at my old chest of drawers, now heaving with girlie potions and jars. “I’ll sort it for you. What shall I put in…?”
She passed me a little vial of oil. “Thanks.”
The old farmhouse plumbing made the bath water chug out in lumps. I drizzled in the oil, and the scent of spiced apricots rose with the steam, blurring the mirror. As it got warmer, I tugged my collar loose.
“Oh wow. Smells like autumn in here, doesn’t it?” Leila slid in from behind the door, dropping towels and bottles on the padded old chair. Her features had mellowed; she seemed relaxed, and the tension in my limbs eased at the sight.
“Autumn smells like mud and rain to me,” I said wistfully.
“And sweaty rugby changing rooms?”
“Those too.”
She bent to test the water, dashing the foam lightly with her fingertips. Then she twisted the old tap off and looked up at me expectantly.
I stayed perched on the side of the bath.
“Are you watching…?”
She asked me that once, when we were dating. She was getting changed in my bedroom and I drank in her little body as she peeled away her clothes.
I hadn’t expected her to ask me tonight, not when she mourned the loss of another relationship. Maybe not as much as I thought…?
“I can do better than that.” I stood over her, reaching for the hem of her t-shirt. “Arms up, babe.”
While I undressed her, she gazed up at me with glassy, stoned eyes. Leila’s response to me was one of the best--and worst--things about her: she wanted me. Our bodies played the same tunes, and like the Pied Piper, I teased her with them for weeks as if it excused the uncomfortable origin of us (I paid, she obeyed). In the end, though, just wanting me wasn't enough for her. I wasn’t enough and that was hard to understand; we were good friends, doomed to desire each other. What is love, if it isn’t that? Can you tell me?
As she stood there in the steam, I wondered who took advantage of who. In the end, I didn’t care--if she'd have me tonight then it was pointless trying to resist it. I'd do the having, would fucking own her.
“Are you coming in?” She cocked her head towards the water.
I drew a fingertip down between her breasts. “If there was room, I would,” I said, my voice full of longing. There really wasn’t space for the bulk of me. “Don’t be long, okay?”
“Okay.” She bit her lip as she sank into the bubbles. They swarmed around her shoulders and began to feast at the line of her collarbone.
Then I closed the door and fell against it, dragging my breath from the air.
I could've spent hours analyzing this. I was ever the scientist, in love; it was how I’d known with Niamey, my ex, and how I knew with Leila. Only last weekend, she had admitted how much she missed Joseph. She told me that we’d never get back together, but had she changed her mind now we were alone?
Or did she just want a good, brisk fuck?
I had to pull myself together. I could stand there and brood like a glittery, homo vampire or I could be a good boy scout and get prepared. (I was a brilliant Scout, by the way. Probably why I tie myself in so many knots).
I marched into Toby’s room, currently mine. I ransacked the underwear drawer and then my hand hovered over the strip of condoms. I fantasized briefly about taking Leila back to London for a visit, watching Joseph’s eyes bulge as he noticed her swollen belly: mine, mine, MINE!
I wasn’t that brand of dickhead though. Was I?
I took the condoms. It’d be dark in the bedroom and if she didn’t ask me, didn’t notice…I could always say I forgot. Feeling her like that, nothing between my cock and the sticky mess of her--it’d be another thing all those clients never had.
No, no. I really wasn’t that bloke. They lived on chat shows and I lived in…well. Salisbury.
I put the condoms under one of the pillows in Leila’s room. The whole place smelt like her now, and her spicy bath oil wafted down the corridor. It was still strange, thinking that we lived together, but in an exciting, dizzy way.
I stripped off, kicked my clothes under the bed and slid beneath her velvet comforter. My pulse was a half-cut drummer and I hoped desperately that I’d judged right--that this was where she wanted me.
I flicked on the lamp as I heard her pad down the hall.
A thick, plum-colored towel clung to her breasts and hips as she grasped it. Damp waves fell over her shoulders and stuck to soaked skin. Her mouth was pretty as ever, slightly pursed in a cute little pout. Her lips parted when she noticed me.
“Matt?” she whispered.
I sat up on my hands. “Thought you might want a bit of company, first night and all.”
“In case I get scared?” Her voice was soft with amusement.
“Something like that.” I picked up the lotion bottle she’d left on her side of the bed. “Want some help with this?”
She paused, smiling faintly. “Suppose I should be gracious to my host, hmm?”
“Too right.” I found myself grinning as she sat beside me. She let me tease the towel away, and I poured lotion into the palms of my hands. “I owe you a massage, anyway.”
“Oh?” She twisted her hair into a rope as she pulled it out of the way.
“New York, remember?” I injured my leg on a business trip, and after much cajoling from our friend, Aidan, Leila had eased the cramps with her warm fingers. Now I did the same for her, kneading the cream into her skin.
“Ah. Are you planning on behaving yourself, like you did then?” She was teasing me now.
I swallowed. “No. Are you?”
Silence.
Oh fuck.
“Matt, I...” She inched away from my slick hands. “Why do you still want me?”
Well. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Of course I want you.” I leaned forward, scooping her back against my chest and my straining cock. It prodded her arse with a blunt thump. “I was thinking the same thing about you, actually.”
She peered up at me in the lamp light. “I said we’d never do this again, didn’t I?”
“Yep. There was a nicely inappropriate backing track of bad guitar.”
“Trust you to remember that bit.” She laughed.
“So…you changed your mind?” My fingers walked around to cup her breasts, and she sighed as I weighed them, my grip firm.
“I don’t know. Is that okay?”
I pinched her nipples. Another glorious little sigh. “It’s fine, babe,” I lied, drawing a neat line of kisses along her shoulder, “but I think you should let me help you decide.”
“I can cope with that,” she breathed.
I turned off the lamp.
Now, I talked to Leila in her own language.
She half-fell against the pillows; I half-pushed her. I found her mouth and she tasted like toothpaste and honey, her tongue warm as it coiled against mine. Already, she moaned weakly in my ear. Her thighs were beginning to part and I ran my palm along her damp skin, deliberately steering towards her hip bone instead of the soft mound between her legs. I knew she got wet for me, there. I wanted her soaked before I even went near her pussy.
She gripped my cock, and I shuddered as she stroked along the length with her knuckles, followed by her full hand. My balls pulled tight towards her and she tugged on them, milking slowly up and down, giggling as I groaned. She knew where my buttons were and just how to press them.
I’d discovered hers when she wasn’t even looking. That’s how a scientist works, see…we have to be sly.
“I forgot just how big you are,” she murmured.
“Enough for you?” I said gruffly.
“Enough to spoil me, I think--” She broke off with a little cry as I took a nipple between my teeth.
If she wanted to be spoiled then oh, yeah. I could manage that. “What about him?”
“I never needed him like this. Mmm. Please…?”
“I won’t let you down, you know.” I squeezed her arse. “He’s a twat, Leila.”
“Yeah.” She pressed her face into my neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for…now shh.”
I'd leaked all over her belly, and my hand skidded through on the way to her clit. I pinched around the hood just lightly, rolling the flesh between my finger and thumb. She was a mess of contractions as I held her like that and she rocked against me in her own little snare. She wanted to be stuffed with fingers, wanted to bounce her way to the end and make a drenched wreck of my bed, just as she did the last time she was in it. I already knew I could do that to her, and it wasn’t really where my power lay…but Jesus, it was good to watch her get into that state, and I needed a closer look.
I kissed her hard, my tongue dragging down towards her mound. She pushed herself up and I lapped at her open slit, still teasing with my fingers. I let them rest at the gape of her pussy while I sucked her plump clit. Now, she shoved at the back of my head.
“Will you…? Oh, please.”
I inched a finger inside her. “Like that?” I was talking into her clit.
“Yeah, but…more, I think…”
She rode my face. Tried to guide my fingers in. Slowly, I gave her more and more, until she was stretched over my two thickest digits and her spot throbbed above them as if it had its own heart and a beat to match. Knowing Leila…it probably did. I rubbed her there in ebbing circles, working her to a frenzy and then edging away. Her clit practically bulged into my mouth, begging for tongue kisses and all the other things a boy can do that make a girl hoarse.
“Matt.” She panted. “Stop being such a mean tease, and fill me already.”
I peered up from her mound; she was flushed and writhing, a thin sheen of sweat dusting her breasts and forehead. That image coupled with the gin-like sweetness of her pussy on my lips--I felt drunk. I’d never seen her quite so ready.
“What did you say again?” I smiled and slid up to kiss her.
“I want…” She trailed off, moaning in complaint as I bumped against her clit. “That.”
“You want me inside?”
“Oh, please.” Her teeth grazed my shoulder and her nails chased, the pain fizzed. “Please, Matt.”
I sucked her bottom lip. “I love the sound of you begging.“ What I loved even more was that like this, she fucking meant it.
I splayed her thighs up as I entered her. I went slowly, counting the inches and watching the smile bloom across her rapt face. When I was done, she was spread so that my shaft rubbed right into her spot on each stroke and I crushed her clit when I bottomed out. Weird equations flashed in my head, as if her orgasm could be quantified and played out like algebra: formulae…form you lay…shit. Lasting more than a few minutes like this was going to be excruciating…
…and I had a very long time to last.
I barely moved inside her, just rocked my hips. She was desperate to come and already so frustrated, but here, my game really began. This would be my revenge for the days and weeks I had missed her, the nights spent agonizing over what she took from me.
I did love her. I had lessons to teach, we had demons to purge…if you know a better way, do tell me. Answers on a postcard and all that shite.
When I could bear it, I worked myself harder, thrusting all the way in. I knew when to stop because she gripped me like a honeyed fist, her muscles twitching along with her pulse. She grew loud now--begs turned to pleas--and I pressed my hand over her mouth so she could bite down. Dad and Amy were just downstairs; it was like being a teenager again but I knew what I was about, on top of Leila in this bed. I felt powerful in ways I hadn’t before.
She grew aggressive, the more I denied her. She squeezed her thighs about my hips to hold me in place.
“Matt, please.” She whimpered.
“Not until I say.” I gave her a few moments of rough, deep fucking before relenting to torturous slowness again. Now she balled her hands, and they fell on my back (bless her--she hit me like such a girl). I ducked to kiss her, and she arched up, her pussy trying to swallow me whole; I licked along the hollows of her neck instead, tasting clean skin and hot sweat.
I don’t know how many times I pushed her off the edge only to catch her a few breaths down, but it took longer to get her there and she soon, she wasn’t as frustrated as she was just confused and distressed.
“Why are you punishing me?” she whispered.
You think this is punishment? I will fucking show you punishment.
“Shh.” I stroked curls from her hot face and braced myself to pound again. My balls were bruised from the effort, the constant back-and-forth of the tease.
As she hit me, her little grunts melted to sobs and then finally, the tears came, fresh and fat on her pink cheeks. I kissed each one as I thrust harder and winced as I held myself off--it bordered on painful. Just when I thought I couldn’t go any longer, she broke. Properly broke. The sobs grew louder and she screamed through my hand. She scratched and clawed and bit in a cock-gorged tantrum, all the pain of the past few weeks gushing forth.
I wanted her to take it out on me. Wanted her fresh and new. If this was what she needed, if I had to hurt her like this--so be it--but God, it was brilliant and terrifying.
I let loose, driving until she yelped and went rigid. Then I fell down and we rode out the last waves of our orgasms together, her jutting hips carrying us both. When I looked between her legs, she was sore and engorged, leaking already. My fucked little sundae. I couldn’t bring myself to pull out--she felt so warm and wet still--so I rocked again, waiting for her eyes to roll open.
“Babe,” I whispered, “are you all right?”
“I think so.” Her eyelashes trembled with glassy tears. She looked so vulnerable, gazing up from beneath them. “Matt…w-why…?”
I kissed her--a slow sampling, as if she might taste new. “You know why.”
She cupped my cheeks with damp hands. “No, I don’t.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, and spoke dark things to a dark place. “I love you.”
Pure silence: no breaths, no rustle of sheets, no annoying little riff in my brain. Nothing. I blinked.
Then her brows sank together, and she glared. “Don’t ruin the mood, you tosser. You and your bloody feelings. Put them away and finish your pint.”
“Um...what?”
“I said, put your phone away and finish that pint,” Jude demanded. “You’ve been nursing it all sodding night. If she’s going to ring then you’ll hear it.”
Then the real world flooded into focus: quiet pub, the dregs of Saturday night already gone on to clubs. A group of students played cards in the corner. In one hand, my knuckles were white around my phone, and a beer mat sat shredded beneath the other.
Fuck.
“She promised she’d text me when she knew what was going on,” I said weakly. “I mean, she’s given her flat away--”
“Matthew!” Jude snatched my phone away and tucked it into his jeans pocket. “She’s a big girl. She can look after herself. Don‘t you think you‘ve done enough, sorting out that fella of hers?”
I remembered the moment Joseph had put his arms around her in the street this morning. Tell her you love her, I’d said to him, knowing that it was what she longed to hear. What a sopping twat I am, eh?
Jude took a long swig of beer.
“All very Prince Valiant though, mate. If you love something, set it freeeee--!”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“We should go on to the Cathedral,” he suggested. “They’ve got a rock DJ on. We‘ll play Grab a Gash, find you a fit little piece in fishnets or something.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Jude rolled his eyes. “You’ve been dumped, you wet shit. Not castrated.”
It felt like it.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Leila Vaughn: beautiful, addictive and the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.
Even in my own fantasies, she was still fucking me over.


THE END

Let Me Tell You About Fuck Me Shoes...

...and a The Whored's Prayer giveaway, over at Coffee And Porn In The Morning. 

[image error] You know you want to go look...

Release Day: THE WHORED'S PRAYER

It's out!

Branded. Backstabbed. Bloodthirsty. Ready for one more kiss of the knife?
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You can read the first review here:

"...Filled with jealous ex-lovers, bitter jealous business associates, a bit of blackmail and incredible dark erotic sex scenes...I LOVED this book! Sexy and erotic, just the kind of thing to read before bed." Good Choice Reading

And you can find it at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, with more vendors to come.

I'll also be blog touring this week at The Forbidden Bookshelf, Coffee and Porn In The Morning, and a couple of other places. Keep your eyes peeled on Twitter for any updates and giveaways :)

Poor, Unsuspecting Dude Reads CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED

...to poor, unsuspecting Lucy. I got a series of texts earlier. They went a little bit like this...

13:10  So I'm in Pizza Hut. And reading your book.
Oh...well. Erm. Enjoy the salad bar.

13:24  It is not appropriate to stand just now.
Please don't scare any children.

13:27  How much of this is you? Are these your dreams?
Yes, I am all the characters in my book. Or I was, until the doctor gave me some nice medicine.

13:40  Managed to stand. I am corrupted. I owe my mate a fiver--do you think there's a book in that?
I suppose it depends why you owe him?!

13:44  "He shoved his fingers inside me, dragging them along the bottom wall."
Then I suspect you owe him more than a fiver.

14:12  Home now. May have to go upstairs.
I'm really not sure what to do with that.

14:23  Almost ruined my phone! That was better than tea with the Queen.
But not Pizza Hut? No...didn't think so.

Win an Advance Copy of THE WHORED'S PRAYER + Alternative Ending

See this old thing?

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(Yes, that's Mr. Joseph "Chairman of the Whored" Merchant).

It releases on June 4th, but I thought it would be just a little bit awesome to give an e-copy away a few weeks early. How's about it? No...?

He guided the scalpel, still in my fist, back to the rise of his hipbone. A neat wedge of flesh and sinew made an uneven crescent as it curved above. Here. So it was. With a breath drawn from heavy air, I bent to lick the spot, anoint it with a sucking kiss. He caressed me as I prepared him, swirled fingertips in circles on my scalp. His own breath came in short little jerks now. I sat at his feet and tasted the blunt flat of the scalpel, an acolyte of his own making.“Are you sure?” I whispered.“Yeah.” He caught my eye. “Are you?”
 Okay. How about now? :P

To coat the deal with extra fuck-yeah, I'm throwing in a sneak peek at the novel's "alternative ending" short story, which won't go up on here (along with a couple of other WHORED short stories) until the second week of June. This is something not even the advance reviewers have seen.

If you're wondering if you can read THE WHORED'S PRAYER if you haven't read CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED, the answer would be yes, you can. There's a sharp little prologue to drag you right up to speed. You will get way more out of it if you've read the first one, though. And the men will seem hotter. Priorities, people.

You can use this handy little widget to enter, and I'll be posting the results on Sunday 13th May. Now...go forth and clicky:


a Rafflecopter giveaway
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Change of Release Date for OLLY HARRIS: WEDDING WRECKER

This is just a quickie to explain that due to some unexpected and unfortunate personal circumstances, OLLY HARRIS: WEDDING WRECKER will be delayed until July. I'm very sorry for the wait, but sadly this can't be helped. I hope to be back writing soon.

There is no delay for THE WHORED'S PRAYER, however, and now you can even read the first few chapters by downloading a sample right here.

Romantic Times reviews CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED

Here's a post where I squee a lot. It's not very British, squeeing. And it rhymes with weeing, so it's not very eloquent either.

Fortunately, I don't think you're under any illusion that I'm eloquent. I am a bit street, though. Exhibit A:

[image error] It's got a frame and everything. I'm too cool for school, bitchios. Anyway...

So here is my 4.5 star RT Review. Quote:

"This is an alluring and beautifully written contemporary tale...a must-read for genre fans and readers who are new to erotic fiction." And here's the extended RT blog review, because it's longer and therefore must be even better. Quote:

"I feel like whatever good words I say about the story will not do it justice. It was that good...If you're a fan of British chick lit and enjoy beautifully-written erotica with a slightly kinky edge, do yourself a favor and enjoy a copy of Chairman of the Whored." I'm having a very smug weekend. Y to the ay, people. Have a street Easter, and I hope to see you afterwards with giveaway copies of OLLY HARRIS and THE WHORED's PRAYER.

Cover and First Page Reveal: OLLY HARRIS: WEDDING WRECKER

This is one (b)romantic comedy you'll want to save the date for... [image error]  COMING MAY 2012
Lewd, crude and bursting with 'tude: who says guys can't plan weddings?
Life's sweet for reality TV star Olly. He's got the London apartment, the girlfriend, the fame. But his show mate, Linc, is sick of all the attention, and just wants to get on with life--including proposing to his girlfriend, Bailey. The paps won't leave them alone, so the wedding will have to be small. Understated. Or in Bailey's words: a disappointment, slathered in crap.
Olly's not having any of it. His friends deserve a day to remember, and if he's got to buy some tasteless stationery to help them out, he'll just have to make that sacrifice. But everyone wants to step on the awesomeness of his toes: their TV crew want to film everything, Bailey's tight wad mum wants to plan everything, and Linc's new stalker wants to trash everything. If these cocktoads know what's good for them, they'll stay out of Olly's way.
Then all the planning leaves Olly no time for his girlfriend, Chan. He'd talk to her about it, but he's got to find out what the hell a fascinator is, and whether or not he can say tit muffin in the best man speech. Surely a wedding can't wreck his relationship? That would just be stupid...

First Page Teaser  
I know admitting this is like shitting on my own gender from a great height, but we totally picked our hot lesbian manager, Alison, because she's a hot lesbian. And before you call me a predictable chauvinist clungewhore, she's good with it. In fact Alison only hired her assistant, Sergei, because it's pronounced Sir Gay.
Anyway, Alison is an awesome manager—scary, but awesome. Not only have Linc and I gone from Z-list YouTube celebrities to C-list reality stars under her watch, but a few months back, she scored us a London bachelor pad that looks like a high class brothel. This would be ironic and wicked if we were actually whores. Or bachelors. As it happens, we're just two ruggedly handsome dudes who like to dress up like werewolves and sing annoying songs, and fortunately, our girlfriends put up with it.
Of course, it helps now that we're (kind of) stinking rich. We're living the dream, baby! Or almost living the dream. You'd think when you hit this grade of sweet life, your balls would stop itching all the time.
"Olly." Alison lowers her iPhone to shoot me one of her Death Glares. The light in the conference room is all artful and dim, but it doesn't lessen the impact one bit. "Stop messing with yourself. Jesus, we're trying to have a meeting."
"Dude." Linc shifts about, awkward despite the stoic fold of his arms. "They're filming, you know."
I glance over at Steve, our cameraman, who gives a shrug. "We can edit it out. Or I'll scroll up, or something."
"See?" I finish readjusting and put my hands behind my head, resisting the urge to sniff them. "Steve gets it. He understands that sometimes, you just have to see to the boys."
Alison rolls her eyes. "Anyway. Let's talk new season, shall we?"
New season, bitches! That's right—Linc and I are headed back to the small screen for six fat episodes of catchy songs, relationship dramas and screaming fan girls. We got the news just a few days ago while we were filming our latest YouTube skit (vampire talent show. Linc was a bloodthirsty young hopeful with the pipes of George Michael; I was Simon Cowell with fangs, and leather trousers pulled so high they skimmed my nipples).
"We need to talk strands," says Alison, scooping back handfuls of her blonde hair. Beside her, Sergei nods and pretends to write something important on his tablet. "It would help if we could score another film deal. Any progress on that script, Ol?"
"There was nothing wrong with it," I scoff.
"It like last time," says Sergei in his Russian accent. "You not relate well to American audience. They not know what minge toad means."
Linc begins to snigger beside me and I throw a swift elbow into his ribs. "It's hard to write without all the cool words."
"There are cooler words than arse bagel and tit muffin," says Alison.
Pfft. Well I beg to differ.
Linc manages to get control of himself. "You could switch to ass bagel."
"Or donkey bagel," I muse. "It's catchier."
Steve jerks up from behind the camera. "What the hell's a donkey bagel?"
"Well see, a bagel kind of looks like a bum hole, so--"
Alison clears her throat and cranks the Death Glare up a notch. "Strands, people. I haven't got all bloody day."
A strand is like a plot, by the way. I'm learning all this posh TV speak as we go. You get strands that last for just one episode, and strands that run for the whole series. Like--
"Linc. Have you still got that stalker?"
He chomps his bottom lip and looks away from Alison. "Kind of."
"She started a Twitter account," I say. "Calls herself Mrs Linc's Bitch." Secretly, I'm jealous that Linc has a stalker. He might be all geek chic and shoulder-tastic, but I am Olly Harris, the Cunt Whisperer. Where are my rabid fans?
Alison's eyes turn the shifty shade of green that always surfaces when she's about to play dirty. God, I love it when she plays dirty. "Well. You need to goad her into doing something exciting."
"That's not right," Linc mutters.
"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" I say. "What if she goes all psycho and turns up at the flat with a chainsaw?"
Alison sighs wistfully. "Imagine that."
"I'm not messing with someone potentially batshit for the sake of a good scene," says Linc. "Besides, the whole thing already freaks Bailey out. Almost as much as all the cameras about the place. It's bad enough I'm spending Valentine's in a flipping meeting."
Everyone around us is still getting used to our reality show entourage. When we moved to London, we brought Linc's girlfriend Bailey, my girlfriend Chan, and our good mate Tom with us. Secretly, I think Chan loves the excuse to wear heels and that glossy red lipstick every day (oh yes, I can live with that). Tom spends most of his time stitching people up and shit at the hospital, so as long as the fridge is well-stocked, he doesn't really care. But Bailey hates it. I think she only puts up with it for Linc, and really, he only puts up with it for me. He was bemused enough when our YouTube stuff took off and all of a sudden, we had actual fans.
"I'm not suggesting we endanger anyone's mental health," says Alison. "Of course not. That would be most unethical."
"Dees-gusting," says Sergei.
"But you know..." She glances at Steve. "Turn that off a sec."
"I'm not supposed to--"
"You want to wreck the suspense for the whole series?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Now." She waits for the sound guy to put his switched-off equipment down. "All I'm suggesting is that you acknowledge her a bit, boys. And talk it up in front of the cameras. Let's get people a bit worried, create some tension."
"I don't want any more weird letters," Linc protests. "I got to the end of the last one and it said she'd licked the entire page." He shudders. "Fucking horrible."
"Be grateful that's all she did." Alison titters. "And speaking of ladies, Lincoln—we need to talk proposals."
This book has a "GlossOlly" feature--your guide to deciphering Olly's rather, er, "individial" British slang.

Crap On Me Once, Crap On Me Twice: How Pull-To-Publish Fan Fiction Hurts The Small Time Author

[image error] This would be Aidan, the dancer-slash-manwhore from my Whored novels. He's got a vested interest in fan fic, so I've asked him to interview me today about--

Aidan: I do not have a "vested interest." I am BITTER! I was totally left out in the Whored fanfic! Alternate universe, my ginger arse--

Lucy: I'm not sure that's relevant, Aidan.

Aidan: Er…no. Well. Shall I start?

Lucy: Please do.

Aidan: Start us off, then. What's this problem with P2P fanfic?

Lucy: Small Time Author, whether they're a mid-lister from a traditional publisher, with a small press or they're self-publishing, faces a minefield trying to get their work noticed. They often receive little promotion and have to do it all themselves.

When a Pull-To-Publish Fan Fiction work comes along, being sold on the same vendors and perhaps to the same audience, it's usually there because it has a ready-made fandom audience who are adept at creating a lot of hype. Readers take note. Reviewers want in on the hot topics. When Small Time Author enters the same market, they really can't hope to compete. It's quite possible that they're losing sales, review opportunities and blog promo space because rewritten fan fiction is becoming prominent in the market place.

Aidan: That blows goats.

Lucy: Blows for me and a lot of authors.

Aidan: Maybe the P2P books are just better than others, and that's why they get so much attention?

Lucy: "Better" is subjective. There's really no way to tell. But let me compare a P2P book launch to a Small Time Author launch, just so you can see how uneven the playing field is:

Small Time Author Launch

1) The only people who have previously read the work are a few friends/beta readers, your editor, and maybe your agent and publisher (if you have those). They're the only people who can start telling other people that it's awesome and "spreading the word."

2) If you're lucky, you'll get a few advance reviews. They probably won't all be on high traffic sites.

3) You might arrange a blog tour. Again, this probably won't be on particularly high traffic sites.

4) If you're very lucky, your publisher might advertise you on a website or print venue, or you might even stump up for this yourself. For the majority of small time authors, this doesn't happen.

5) You could do a lot of blogging and networking, but you're an unpublished author, and your main access is to writers, not readers.

Basically: you rely strongly on word of mouth, but like most debut authors, you're starting small.

P2P Author Launch

1) Your work has been on a high-traffic fan fiction site for a reasonable amount of time, where it has gained enough readers for you to think it worth pulling to publish. In some cases, the numbers can be in their mid thousands.

2) When you put your work on sale, a lot of these readers will rush off to buy it. They'll review it on the vendor and on GoodReads. And they'll tell all their friends that they must read this book. It's the promotional equivalent of a ten ton truck crashing into your living room: very hard to pass by.

3) P2P fanfic is a controversial subject, so people start talking about your book online. It all creates a buzz.

4) What with all these reviews, reviewers and book bloggers want in. They want to know what the fuss is about. Whether they say good or bad things, they're making the work more visible to the public…all of this is a heck of a lot more promotion and blog space than Small Time Author could hope to get.

Aidan: This is starting to sound a bit shady.

Lucy: There's a shadier bit.

Aidan: No shit?

Lucy: When a work is posted online as fanfic, it is under the assumption that it uses the characters and other elements from somebody else's work. A lot of people think that it's wrong to make money from a work which blatantly states--by nature of where it is posted--that it is derived from something else.

Aidan: How is it different to, like, Bridget Jones's Diary? Didn't that do the same thing with Pride and Prejudice?

Lucy: Some people say that everything is derivative, and to an extent, that's right--but only on a macro scale. Fanfic tends to stay loyal to its source material on a very micro scale, such as character mannerisms.

Yes, Bridget Jones's Diary derivative. But firstly, Pride and Prejudice is in the public domain, so it's deemed okay by law to use it. Secondly, Bridget Jones's Diary directly acknowledges its source material by calling one of the characters Mr. Darcy. It's not "pretending" to be anything else.

When these P2P fanfics hit the marketplace, they're edited to get rid of all the original work's character names, title mentions and other recognisable elements (in theory). They're dressed up as non-derivative works, basically.

Aidan: That actually does suck. Although some people say they can't tell that some of these P2Ps are fanfic.

Lucy: Some people say they can, others can't. But when it's originally posted as fan fiction and uses character names, even if they're written differently, it is very hard to see how they aren't related to the original subject matter in some form. Further more, these fics are posted on site areas specifically designated for fans of the original work. If they aren't "really" fan fics, why are they in that area, using the original work's elements and names? No matter how "alternate" the universe, there's no getting away from this point. If you want to say your work is not fan fiction, don't post it on a fan fiction site where you're invoking the assumption that you don't own any of the characters you use. Changing character and place names doesn't suddenly erase any derivative quality the work might have, even if it makes the work "unrecognisable" from its source material.

And if you're wondering how this is different from derivate works like Bridget Jones's Diary…see above.

Aidan: Huh. So you could say writers who P2P are kind of crapping all over people who've attempted to write and release original stuff, couldn't you? They're pretending to do the same thing when really, they've got a massive leg-up because they publicly used somebody else's characters and story elements to make their work more appealing.

Lucy: You could say that. Yeah.

Aidan:  Some of these guys are making a lot of money. I bet they crap solid gold. You could say that you're just a jealous harpy.

Lucy:  Am I envious of some of the sales figures and other opportunities some of these P2Ps are pulling in?   Yes. Am I jealous that they've done it in the way they have? No. (I get to stay in this place called the moral high ground. You're usually a lot poorer there, but at least you can also be satisfyingly sanctimonious. It's a small plus, but a plus).

 Also, if somebody craps solid gold on me, it hurts more than normal crap. Just saying.

Aidan: And what about people who say these P2P writers have earned their success?

Lucy: I say they've earned their success as fan fiction writers, and as much as I'm sure readers want to see their favourite works published and acknowledged, the writer waived the right to publish as original fiction when they posted the work as fan fiction. This doesn't make them a "lesser" writer, but it does create an ethical dilemma that is distasteful to a lot of people.

I think those who love the P2Ps often assume if the original author doesn't object, it's not hurting anyone--but it is. It's hurting authors of original fiction for all the reasons I've listed above.

I don't think for a minute that most of them write fan fic with the intention of becoming horrendously famous and "exploiting" their fandom market. But when they publish and charge for the work, then their intentions are questionable.

Why not just respect the original author, zip the work up as a PDF and distribute it for free? You can still read on e-readers, people can still tell their friends where to find it so they can read and enjoy it. Then write something new and fresh for your audience; earn your stripes.

When you put fan fiction on a vendor where it technically competes with the original work, there's an element of farce to the whole thing.

Aidan: Couldn't a small time author take a similar route, like, posting their original fic on a site where they can build up an audience before they publish?

Lucy: Yeah, they could. And they have. It's something I've done myself on original fiction sites, and I've written about someone else who's done it with success right here. But people who do this don't seem to attract the same level of fanaticism or excitement that P2Ps do.

I can think of one incidence when a YA author scored a big six deal for posting her novel online. We certainly didn't hear about her like we are for P2P stuff.

Aidan: Why do the debut P2Ps attract this attention that debut original authors can't seem to get most of the time? They can't all be infinitely better, even if some of them are shit-hot reads.

Lucy: Nope. But we can make an educated guess that some who are part of a fandom are likely to get more excited and supportive about their favourite stuff, and we can also speculate that fan fiction gets a larger audience to begin with because it's trading off the original source material.

However you look at this, it's not good for Small Time Author, whether the attention the P2Ps get is deserved or not. You can't even say that the P2Ps are boosting genre sales because I don't think we have the figures yet (or do we? Any authors noticed a significant sales rise?).

Aidan: There's [cough] another reason this debacle hurts original authors as well, isn't there? [/Cough]

Lucy: Yes, and it hurts Small Time Authors most of all. They don't have a big press to fight their corner, most of the time.

There are a lot of people who are cool with P2P fan fiction, but there are also lots of people who aren't. Since P2P exploded, some are actively looking for it in order to stamp it out. The problem with this is that sometimes, they decide something is rewritten fan fiction when it isn't. This is what happened to me recently.

Somebody labelled my novella, Beautiful Mess, as fanfic on GoodReads, on the basis of some erroneous "research." I laughed, at first. Then I saw I'd been shelved on a Pull To Publish group, which meant anybody who clicked on the book could see it had been publicly categorised as "Rewritten Fan Fiction."

Aidan: Huh? If the P2Ps are doing really well, surely that was a positive thing?!

Lucy: Funny thing about a "P2P" with no fandom to buy it and defend it is that it only attracts attention from people who don't like P2Ps :P

I thought the review would sink down, that the accusation would go away. But it didn't. People started labelling my book as "will never read/fanfic" and similar on GoodReads; I was evidently losing potential readers because of a false claim. My reputation as an author was evidently being affected in a negative way, too. I could have asked people who knew the truth to challenge the review and the shelving, but as an author, I have to be very careful about arranging stuff like that to happen. (My GoodReads reviews were not half as good as my Amazon reviews. I hadn't solicited any of the Amazon reviews so I saw them as fair comparison. I have to wonder exactly how much the P2P accusation on GR affected people's opinion of the book).

Then my work started being tagged as Rewritten Fanfiction on Amazon. Word was spreading. Small time authors like me rely on word of mouth to sell books, and every sale counts.

I tried to get Amazon to remove the tag, and GoodReads to remove my place on the public P2P shelf. They both refused. I tried politely messaging someone in the group on GoodReads to state my case. Didn't work.

I'd reached the point where I felt that the negative association was affecting my career, and I took legal advice. In the end, a message to a P2P group mod--something I'd been wary of doing for fear of an accusation of "bad author behaviour"--resulted in a polite apology, and my removal from the group. But sadly, for many people who might have picked up my books, they won't come back to the page to see the retraction, and the damage has been done.

Aidan: So you've actually been crapped on twice by P2P.

Lucy: Yup. And I'm probably not the only one. If the practise didn't exist, this wouldn't have happened.

Aidan: Well I s'pose there's not a fat lot you can do about it, is there? People are evidently allowed to publish this stuff, and authors aren't really meant to talk about it.

Lucy: Yeah--for whatever reason, they're allowed. And it's deemed ungraceful for authors to talk about other authors, a lot of the time.

The thing is, Small Time Author has to talk a lot when they promote. We're not allowed to keep quiet and be mysterious anymore. We have to get out there and let people know about our stuff. So I figure if this is a big issue for authors, we should talk about it. And here I am…talking.

Aidan: Can I go now? Because my leg's kind of dead.

Lucy: What, no more questions?

Aidan: These are your questions. Guys…I'm totally reading these off a sheet.

Lucy: You do actually want me to write your book, yes?

Aidan: Siiiiigh. Yes. Okay. What does all this mean for readers? I mean, they're important, right?

Lucy: Readers are the most important thing of all, but they might well end up with less choice in terms of reading material, and in the end, they could miss out on some cool original authors if it becomes harder for said authors to succeed.

Small Time Author already has to compete with Big Time Author. But hey…at least Big Time Author hasn't deceived anybody about the nature of their work (usually) and we're proud to sit next to them in the book store. In the words of Kevin the teenager: it's not fair.

Aidan: Well you know what, Lucy? Publishing isn't fair. Life isn't fair.

Lucy: That doesn't have to stop me complaining about it :P

Aidan: Surely this time would be better spent by writing my awesome book?

Lucy: I have a kick-ass idea for your book. But do you mind if I change your name to Spock? Or Edward? How about Katniss?

Aidan: Ho ho ho. Very funny. Now skedaddle already and write me into some filth.


This is a contentious subject. For this reason, I won't be answering comments personally below so I don't end up in a big debate (I think I've said all I can). Please feel free to leave your own opinions, though. Thanks for taking the time to read.