Demelza Hart's Blog, page 4

Funny haha

I write in a variety of genres, but I can’t help myself. Whatever I write, I usually include humour. It may not be the over-riding tone of the story, but it will normally creep in there somewhere, especially if I’m writing in the first person.

After all, sex is squelchy, messy,  awkward at times, body parts look odd, things make funny noises: it’s glorious and fabulous and wonderful, but it’s also funny. And, as a participant, it’s hard to ignore that. So my participants tend to comment on the humorous aspects. I hope it gives an added intimacy, and added reality. If you, as the reader, can laugh along with someone, there is an immediate empathy and understanding because you are sharing something. Not only that, but it is conspiratorial – it puts a slight distance between the two of you and the others in the scene, not to be remote, but to heighten the sense of empathy.

 Also, if too much emotional energy is invested in sex, there’s bound to be a let down at some point. Yes, a lot of the time, the sex needs to be deeply passionate or rough or intense, but it’s wise not always to take our involvement in it too seriously; that would inevitably lead to disappointment.

In this extract from Sated, Tara is having a jolly good time entertaining a multi-national football team, despite the language barrier.

Someone else moved in and instinctively I pulled off and turned to him. This guy had an impossible name too – Kicktheotherguysnutsovich or something – I couldn’t remember. Nothing wrong with his nuts. I sucked on them, one at a time. He’d been waxed and I appreciated the touch of male vanity – sweet as cherry pie. This guy was younger and louder and very vocal in his encouragement. His cock was lean and long and I appreciated a little less stretch. After all, a girl can get jaw ache.

‘Oh yeah, baby, lick it, lick it, suck it with your lip.’

Apparently, I only had one lip. He had a sweet voice with a lilting Eastern European accent. I think he was Serbian. I’d forgive his broken English.

While I was teaching him the finer points of British hospitality, I wasn’t being neglected. I felt fingers on each breast and exploring my pussy.

‘Jesus, she’s flowing like Niagara Falls!’ exclaimed the captain. I’m sure I was. His were the hands at my snatch and he knew exactly what to do with them. He started with a go at my pussy, deep up inside, scissoring two, maybe three fingers and finding my G-spot. I clearly responded well at the other end, as my sweet little Serb gave a positive groan as I instinctively tongued him rapturously. Then someone probed my arse, which was, as always, initially unexpected and therefore so phenomenally fucking good. My eyes shot open and I laughed around the cock on my tongue. And when rough but assured fingers then rubbed my clit, which was riper than a ready-to-eat M&S peach, I was set to cascade.

You betcha. x

Book One in the Suited to You trilogy

 

Book Two in the Suited to You trilogy

Book Three in the Suited to You trilogy

 

The Need for Pressure

The WIP.

The acronym alone has a suitable crack of onomatopoeia about it. It should conjure up feelings of relaxed, lengthy days of writing, free to finish it as and when …

But no, it creates in me the tension of some Sisyphean task. Just thinking about it alone makes me shudder.

I need deadlines. I’m great with deadlines. Recently I was asked to produce at short notice a story of about 15000 words. I was told they needed it within a couple of weeks. That was all it took. I had it for them by the end of the weekend.

But I have … oooh … four WIPs floating around my hard drive, just waiting. I have them all plotted out. I know exactly where I’m taking them, but they sit there daring me to finish them. Maybe it’s the fact that there are too many of them. Decisions, decisions.

If someone said to me, I want that by this date, that would be great. I’d do it. Why can’t I tell myself that?

My new month’s resolution (I sort of missed the whole New Year thing) is to pick a WIP, give myself a deadline, and finish it. It’s not like they’re in the early stages. They’re all over halfway there. And some of them are pretty good. I like them. Maybe that’s it. I’m scared to let them go.

I finished the trilogy in good time because I had someone telling me they wanted it and when they wanted it. So that’s why I have a completed trilogy. Suited to You. One, two, three, all ready to go.

                  

Just click on the covers for UK links.

Amazon US links here: Spontaneous, Exposed, Sated.

Here’s a little snippet of something produced to a deadline. This, from Sated. Tara’s just been to a football match. She gets to meet the captain and the team afterwards. And then some.

‘This is Tara.’

‘I thought it must be. Hi, Tara, it’s really, really good to meet you.’

He took my hand in an impressive grip and fixed me with his deep brown eyes. His mouth curled into a smirk. There was something about the way he said “really, really”, as if he was rolling a toffee round his mouth, that made me cream. I may have whimpered. Under the circumstances, it was forgivable.

I think I slurred something like, ‘Ha ha ha! Yah, great to meet you and that goal – you were, like, wow! Amazing! Wasn’t it great the way it went into the net like that just from you, like, kicking it – so amazingly awesome! I was, like, wow ha ha!’

He smiled politely and diverted his attention from my brainless gushing bullshit by staring at my boobs instead. Fair enough. They were on prominent display after all, and together formed a downy nest of two plump pillows just demanding a look.

‘It’s really good you can come,’ he added. I wondered slightly at his choice of tense. Can come rather than could come? Was that deliberate?

I soon had my answer. The towel surrendered to the inevitable.

Right before my eyes, while he still held my handshake, it slid down to land in a defeated puddle at his feet. And in its place I was staring at the most stunning example of the male sexual organ.

‘Whoops,’ crooned the captain with a smirk.

Patrick immediately took hold of my dress – a slight little shift which clung to me – and pulled it off. My bra was unhooked and my thong discarded. I was left in only my heels. I was vaguely aware of a hand in the small of my back – Patrick’s. He gave me the slightest nudge forward – off you go, Tara. So off I went.

Now … off to WIP I go!

 

Sated but still spontaneous

It’s complete! My Suited to You trilogy, that is. The third part is out now and I can feel the heat from here.

We left Tara without The Suit. (I suppose we really should call him Patrick now. Depends on what he’s doing, really.) She’s trying to move on, really she is, but she’s not doing a very good job of it. Never mind. You know who’s about to turn up again, don’t you? And this time, it’s him doing the asking … and telling. Dear Patrick, he’s human after all.

But even as the layers are peeled back, Tara still enjoys some exquisitely spontaneous moments, orchestrated by her supremely inventive Suit. I don’t know about you, but this has never happened to me on the motorway. Here we join Tara, driving up the M4 as she talks to the Suit on the phone. He is urging her to speed away from some policemen.

I swallowed, summoned all my determination, and pressed my foot on the accelerator. The Audi responded instantly, surging ahead. I drew level with the cops and gave them a little glance. They looked, naturally. For good measure, I gave them a little wink, then floored the accelerator. I was propelled ahead faster than I’d bargained for and gave a whoop of surprise. The cops were soon disappearing in the rear-view mirror. It didn’t take long. I saw the flash of blue light and heard the distinctive wail of the siren starting up. A slight feeling of panic overtook me but Patrick’s voice sounded on the phone, focusing me.

‘What’s happening?’

‘What do you think? I’m doing 94. They’re after me!’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’ I was still racing along. Luckily, the road wasn’t busy. The cops were keeping pace easily.

‘Enjoy it. Lead them on, Tara. I know how much you like having men chase you.’

‘I’ll have to stop.’

‘You should be approaching the next junction.’

I looked up ahead. Sure enough, there was the exit. ‘Yes! What do I do?’

‘Come off. But don’t stop. Carry on along the A-road for a while.’

I veered off and sped off down the road, the police after me. Patrick was still on the line. ‘You should pass a road on the left with a sign to a farm.’

‘Yes!’ I yelled as I spotted it.

‘Take the next turning on the left.’

‘Ohh shit!’ I wailed, exhilarated and freaked out equally. I turned down the road. The flashing blue light and wail followed me.

‘Do you see a tumbledown shack in a field?’

I glanced over, my hands clutching the steering wheel for dear life. ‘Yes!’

‘Turn right after it.’

I did and had to brake fiercely. The road I was on was little more than a track, unpaved and rugged. The Audi jolted along it. ‘Careful with the car,’ intoned The Suit.

‘I’m fucking trying! I can’t break the law and protect your no-claims bonus at the same time!’

I thought I heard a slight chuckle over the phone but it may have just been the rumble of the tyres.

‘Are they still behind you?’

‘Of course they bloody are! I haven’t stopped yet!’

‘You’ll have to in a moment. It’s a dead end.’

‘How the hell do you know?’

‘I told you, Tara, I know a lot. There’s a sort of turning area at the end. Stop there.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘No.’

I came to the end of the track, the hot cops in hot pursuit. The track wound down into some dense woods and came to an end at a gate. I turned as best I could into a wider area and stopped, panting with relief and dread at what was to come. Who was I kidding? I knew exactly what was to come. After all, The Suit had commanded it, hadn’t he? The heavy thud of my cunt grew steadily stronger.

There was a sharp rapping on my window. I looked up with a gasp. It was the dark-haired cop, Ray-Bans now off. He had the most penetrating blue eyes.

‘Step out of the vehicle, please, madam.’

And much fun is had by all.

Sated is available on Amazon UK and Amazon US, and wherever you happen to be in the world. Thanks for your interest, and, if you do spend the few pennies on it, please consider leaving a review. Happy reading.

D

x

My, how time flies!

Actually, it didn’t. It crawled by with malicious idleness, but it seems to have been an age since I blogged and so I felt obliged to put some stock expression of being too occupied and distracted to write.

I hate January. Not because it’s post-Christmas, or the weather’s awful (it is), or we’re all on a downer after the New Year, but just because it seems to go on FOREVVVVVVVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR … And it’s boring.

But it ended on a high. Two acceptances, one of which I was asked to write within a week or so. I did it in a day. 15,000 words in a day. Yes, I will allow myself a little glow of smug satisfaction.

But it happens like that, doesn’t it? It either flows out or it doesn’t (writing that is, not some bodily evacuation).

Thing is, I have a lot of other stuff I’d love to flow out, but there seems to be some sort of blockage. Maybe it’s due to all the trees that have been falling round here. I’ll use that as an excuse anyway.

God, this is a random post. Sorry. Sometimes stream of consciousness is all I can manage.

Umm … anything else? Err … Nope, don’t think so. Just to liven things up, I’ll stick in a picture of a bunny eating a buttercup.

And Paul Newman.

 

Byeeeee!

Set in Mind

As an adolescent, I read a particular book which got under my skin and enthralled me. It was a book called The Summer After the Funeral by Jane Gardam.

I read a lot and loved many books and authors, but, for whatever reason, this just settled into me and remained. It’s about a beautiful young girl, obsessed by Emily Bronte, who is packed off to stay with various people and in various strange places the summer after her eccentric father’s death. She encounters men who awaken feelings in her, and who, it seems, are just as enthralled by her as she is by them.

I guess at the time I related to Athene - a vivid imagination rooted in the past; not feeling like she fitted in; falling for older, inappropriate men and hoping they felt something too.

It’s a wonderful book and one that I’d recommend to young adults, girls in particular.

Anyway, I’d lost my copy of it and had never got round to getting another one. I finally remembered to do something about this and downloaded it.

It’s just as good as I remembered it, but the scary thing is that I realise how much it has influenced my own writing. The scenes of dialogue in particular - the glances, leanness of description, way the characters are rendered – are paced very similarly to what I aim for now. I hadn’t seen or opened this book for - what – it must be over 25 years, but I just read it again, open-mouthed at how obviously the style has influenced me.

I find it both comforting but a little scary that something I hadn’t given a second thought to for a quarter of a century has clearly lived with me subconsciously.

Beautiful, witty, touching.

 

 

Hot dwarves and all that (of the mythical variety)

Just seen The Hobbit – the Desolation of Smaug, and it’s happened again.

I’d kind of forgotten about it. It happened in the first film and took me completely by surprise. And it bloody well happened again today during the second film.

The hot dwarf thing.

I find myself undeniably and quite pant-wettingly attracted to a short man with big boots, large, stubby hands and a hell of a lot of hair. I’m not alone, of course, I know that, so there is a certain reassurance in that. But I go into these films thinking: ‘Nah. Ain’t gonna happen. He’s a mythical creature who’s at least a foot shorter than me and has a really weird preoccupation with hammers and fur.’

But then this happens:

And this:

and then strange things start happening to me in places I don’t normally think about while sitting watching a family film.

Is there a helpline for this? Or should I just go with it?

I think maybe I’ll just go with it. In fact, I may go with it so much that I have to go and see it again in 3D. I bet his sword looks really good in 3D.

Fan fiction, freedom … and that Sherlock Q and A moment

Caitlin Moran, a woman who I’d try to like in normal circumstances, has pissed me off. No, she has enraged me.

As you may or may not know, I started out as a fan fiction writer. I’m very proud of my fan fiction; it’s amongst the best stuff I’ve written. A lot of people read it. A lot of people really love it.

But more than anything, fan fiction is an intensely private communion between people who share, or have the willingness to try, a particular idea or fantasy.

By forcing Benedict Cumberbatch and  Martin Freeman to read aloud Sherlock slash fiction live at a Q and A session, Moran has shown gross disregard, disrespect and ignorance for, not only a huge fandom (of which, incidentally, I am not part of), but for the creativity and generosity of women who choose to write fan fiction. And she calls herself a feminist? Seems to me she doesn’t understand the half of what makes her sex tick.

Fan fiction is not aimed at the actors or writers of canon stories or shows. It’s not necessarily even aimed at most fans. To be honest, it’s not aimed at anyone. I warrant most fan fiction stories are written simply because they can be written, because they are itching to come out. They are the manifestation of a spark: something you may have noticed between two characters but you know will never emerge in canon; something which ticks away inside and makes you think of a story; something which takes your mind off the drain of your daily grind.

You may well say – That’s all good and fine, but why put it online? Why not simply tuck it away in a bedside cabinet to take out when you need? Perhaps you could, but who are we to deny anyone the chance for feedback for something they have created. Once created, our works, our babies, demand a need to share, even if that wasn’t the driving force behind it.

I know people will say the internet is a public space. If you put things on the internet you have to live with the consequences of that. Of course you do. But, for goodness sake, the internet is a vast place. Let’s face it, unless you go looking for ‘John/Sherlock slash fic’ you’re not going to just stumble across it on your BBC home page. Most fan fiction writers can safely assume that people who find their work have wanted to find it. And if you don’t want it, don’t read it. The fan fiction writer in the Moran case had her work, the fruit of her imagination and hard work, plucked, taken entirely out of context, and placed into a situation which she would never have envisaged or allowed. It was offensive to her, to her writing, and to the actors and creators of Sherlock. Luckily, it has backfired. The person looking worst out of all this is Moran herself. What a phenomenal misjudgement on her part.

Of course, it has led to the inevitable debate about the merits and myths of fan fiction, with the usual comments about most fan fiction being crap written by teenagers who warp the characters beyond any recognition.

A lot of fan fiction fits that bill, yes (and so what if it does, anyway?). A lot of it doesn’t. Considering that there are millions of fan fiction stories out there, like anything else in life, 90% of it will be crap, 10% of it will be decent, if not brilliant. 10% of 2 million is 200,000. That’s a hell of a lot of wonderful, worthy fan fiction.

And, anyway, how dare we turn to a young writer and say: Don’t write anymore. You don’t know how to write and it’s so bad that you need to stop now.

I’m sorry, but WTF!?

How dare we be so conceited and snobbish that we would deny ANYBODY the chance to write and express themselves creatively? So what if it has John and Sherlock as roommates at a US college, and John gets Sherlock pregnant? Don’t fucking read the thing if you don’t like it, but don’t you bloody dare deny the person the right to form it into words (of whatever quality) if they want to. It’s not exploiting or hurting anyone and they are not demanding that you read it.

Any creativity should be commended and encouraged. We all have to start somewhere. And we can all improve and develop.

The fan fiction extract read out at the Q and A session sounded like a decent piece of writing to me, and it has since emerged that it was written by a mother of young children who, like all of us in that situation, took a moment or two to let her fancy fly and was generous enough to share it with those of a like mind. But it was taken out of context and by doing so it broke the fourth wall between fandom and canon. Big no no. Shame, shame on you Caitlin Moran for taking somebody’s baby, holding it up for derision and trampling on it.

Ultimately though, the joke’s on her. And at this moment, I for one am only to happy to point and laugh.

 

 

Having your cake and eating it … or not

I’m over at KD Grace’s today discussing the apparent inability of some of us to take pleasure and go with it.

http://kdgrace.co.uk/blog/having-your-cake-and-eating-it/

Head over and have a read.

Erotica – a gift, my precious

I’ve written sex for a while now – five years at least. And I’ve read sex from the first chances I had once I’d found out what it was (see two posts ago).

What I write has always been detailed, explicit and not stinting on evoking the senses of sex – sight, sound, smell, taste and touch. You wish to draw out a powerful response in a reader akin to living through it themselves. That’s what erotica is – it is designed to elicit a physical response, be it a full-on orgasm, or simply a sensual sharing of what the writer has imagined.

I just had a message from somebody who has followed my fan fiction writing to say that she wouldn’t buy my book as it looked like ‘guy porn’. Hmm. She’s perfectly entitled to feel that way, but I admit to feeling a little bemused.

If a guy reads my stories and gets off on them, then great, but I write first and foremost for women, and my publisher expects that. And I don’t consider that I write porn. Yes, much of what I do will have the same effect. In what ways?

a) Porn and erotica are designed to turn you on.

b) Umm …?

c) Struggling for a third …

d) Nope. Just the one.

In what ways are porn and what I and countless other erotica writers do different?

a) Porn has no need for character. It can use character, but character largely becomes redundant once the close-ups of knobs and labia  take over. Character is a means of getting to the sex, rather than explaining the sex, or having the sex explain the character.

b) In erotica, the sex reveals plot or relationship or character. Even if it is the dominant force of the narrative, it is at least a force – it drives the story forward. In porn, the narrative sort of stops at the sex.

c) In erotica, sex is precious. It remains something almost sacramental shared between two (or more people). We should never lose touch with that. Be it kinky, vanilla, of questionable motive (albeit consensual), for varying purpose, erotic sex is something to cherish, and hence something which defines us and helps explain us as humans.

So, to the lady who declares that my books look like ‘guy porn’ – maybe read them properly and then decide. I could not and will not write a gratuitous sex scene which does not tap into the very nature of what makes us tick. And all the grunting, grinding, sweating, moaning and thrusting will always remain a gift from me and my fellow erotica writers to our readers. After all, it’s kind of kept humanity going for a few millennia now. Why not celebrate it?

If you wish to celebrate it right now, here’s a little festive fun for you.

Featuring ‘Willing Spirit, Hungry Flesh’

The cover may be a garish feast of scarlet whatever, but inside the cover lurk twenty outstanding stories by some of erotica’s top authors, all for the bargain price of 49p or 80 cents. My World War One Christmas ghost story, Willing Spirit, Hungry Flesh, features in there too.

And Exposed, Book Two in the Suited to You trilogy, is also out. UK link here.

Book Two in the Suited to You trilogy

Here’s a little gift from me to you for a rainy day here in the UK. An extract from Exposed:

He kept his word. Just after three, I heard the key card in the lock and The Suit returned to the room.

I had to physically restrain myself from leaping off the bed and wrapping myself around him. Christ, he looked stunning. He was wearing the same Savile Row suit he’d had on that night on the Tube and, despite a day in the heat and dust of New York, he looked as perfectly groomed as ever.

The Suit put down his case and stood at the end of the bed, hands in pockets, feet slightly apart, staring down at me. I could see the shift in his eyes. God, I was wet already.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Lark, how has your day been so far?’ I inquired with a wicked cock of my eyebrow.

‘Busy. Tedious.’

I mimicked the tones of the receptionist and drew myself up on my knees, fixing him with my most seductive gaze. ‘Well … sir … is there anything I can do to make your experience more … satisfying?’

His mouth curled up slightly but he still stood as he had been. Then, with aching indolence, he pulled his jacket off one shoulder then the other before placing it on the back of a chair, then tugged his tie slowly from his collar.

‘Miss Kingsley, do not concern yourself with me. You, on the other hand … There is a matter we have yet to address.’

‘Oh?’ I asked coyly. ‘What would that be?’

‘Your behaviour on the aeroplane yesterday.’ He took a step closer to the bed and undid one cuff and then the next before rolling up each sleeve in turn with his skilled and ready fingers.

I creased my brows in mock confusion. ‘What? Did I do something wrong?’

‘Exhibitionism, deliberate provocation, gross sexual licentiousness, excessive craving of pleasure.’ He tutted. ‘I really cannot let that go unchecked.’

He looked steadily at me, his mouth bending up a tantalizing amount. I waited while my breath came fast and my skin prickled with the heat of uncontrolled lust. I wanted his hands on me, in me. I wanted to feel any part of him.

But he made me wait. At last the command came.

‘Turn around, Tara. On your hands and knees.’

Merry Christmas from me to you!

Exposed

It crept up on me. Caught me by surprise. My book that is, the second one. Yup. Book Two of the Suited to You trilogy is out! In the craziness of Christmas preparations, here it is, all exposed and ready for tasting. Just in time for Christmas.

I loved writing the last two even more than the first as I could really look into the complexity of Tara and Patrick Lark’s relationship: the subtle control he exerts and the way she responds – unable to stop herself yet knowing she wants even more from him despite her misgivings.

In the first book, it’s all sudden and spontaneous and there seems no grounding for a future. Here, Tara gets little hints of what the future could be, which in fact makes things more complicated and intricate.

But through it all there’s sex. Spankingly sudden sex with each other, sex with strangers, sex which is tried and tested, sex which is new and extraordinary. And it’s all thanks to The Suit. How does this affect Tara? Is great pleasure all there is, especially if it’s controlled by one person?

Here’s a taster for you. We all know what it’s like to be bored on a long flight. Tara finds a way to pass the time with a friend of The Suit’s who just so happens to be sitting right beside her.

His lips were smooth, warm, and certain, and nuzzled me gently, like the hottest boy in the fifth form stealing a moment after the school disco. Oh, I loved the nostalgia of it. And, like the hottest and horniest fifth former, he inevitably took it further. Pushing open my lips, he slid his tongue in and let it dip and delve. I opened wide, enjoying his assured exploration and the faint taste of cinnamon.

He undid my shirt and was soon stroking the down-soft flesh of my boobs. My nipples were tight and needy and I arched forward, wanting him to find them. He did. Long, strong fingers grazed over my right nipple and flicked it, gently at first. I moaned appreciatively and he drew away from my mouth to murmur in my ear, ‘You like that?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘You like those sweet little tits to be teased?’

‘More.’

‘You know he’s watching, don’t you? Lark. He’s watching everything we’re doing,’ he continued to whisper in my ear, his low Chicago drawl making me drip for him.

‘Uh huh.’

‘He wants you to come as much as you do.’

‘Oh yes.’ I sighed as his thumb and forefinger closed upon the nipple.

‘Lark always liked the naughty girls. And you really are a very, very naughty girl, aren’t you, Tara?’

‘Fucking pinch me,’ I groaned, desperate for more. The dragging heat between my legs was agony. Luckily, at that moment, his fingers squeezed tight on my tit and beautiful pain shot through me, searing itself on my mind only as pure sensation. I reared up in the seat with a groan, causing his fingers to twist. More sweet agony.

‘Whoa, steady!’ Carter chuckled. ‘People are looking.’

The man in front had again turned right around for a proper view. I fixed him with my lust-bleary eyes and dragged in a short gasp as my nipple was held even tighter.

Carter dropped down, pulling back my shirt and lifting my breasts from my bra. He smirked as he saw the red torment he’d exacted on the nipple before taking it in his mouth. His tongue soothed and cooled the agonised nub, but soon enough he grew fiercer, and when I felt the bite of teeth, the sheer brilliance of it thrilled me. Thank fuck his fingers were at last working their way under my skirt. I wriggled to help him dispose of my underwear and he finally found my snatch.

‘Fuck, that is soaking,’ he slurred as his hand became coated in my juices. ‘Hell, you’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you?’

Oh yes, I was, and I didn’t care if he told me. He pushed two fingers quick and hard up into me and my cunt clenched on them as hungrily as if they were his cock. He pumped and thrust them inside while the palm of his hand rubbed on my clit. His mouth now found my other nipple and teased and nibbled and sucked it to the same raw pertness as the other.

Then his fingers were out, sliding and grinding over my clit. My eyes flew open and locked with the man in front. Judging by the vibrating of his seat and the glazed look in his eyes, we were providing him with a fine distraction to the tedium of a long-haul flight.

And they don’t stop there.

Exposed – Book Two in the Suited to You trilogy is out now from Xcite Books.

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

If you fancy a little breather from pre-Christmas preparations, you’ve come to the right place. Sit back, put your feet up, and relax.

With warmest wishes for the season,

Demelza x