tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11662558765054918242024-02-07T22:24:11.898-08:00CJ LemireAdventures in smutwriting, kink, and domestic tranquilityCJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-85803994136054006372017-07-20T04:08:00.000-07:002017-07-20T04:08:28.075-07:00Revisiting Old WordsI recently had occasion to revisit <a href="https://cjlemire.blogspot.com/2014/01/all-i-want.html">something I wrote</a> a few years back. I had read the Remittance Girl piece that inspired it just before boarding a plane, composed the response in my head at 30,000 feet, and word-vomited it onto my blog shortly after checking into my hotel, without benefit of reflection or revision. I think it stands up well, but of course all words benefit from edits. Here's the version I wish I'd posted then. It's tighter than the original, having shed about 30 words, and, I think, stronger. I hope you enjoy.
<p>You think you know me, baby? Even before the door is shut and clothes come off, you have me sliced, diced, and sorted into your tidy categories. Man. Dick. Wanker.</p>
<p>That’s fine. Don your sex-kitten armor. Unroll it over your desire like a condom. I’ll enjoy your body and move on. Even soft-serve, dipped in chocolate to mask the vanilla, satisfies on a hot summer afternoon. Fuck you very much.</p>
<p>But don’t think I don’t notice the calm settle over you when my rope embraces your curves. Giving up control centers you, doesn’t it, baby? Quiets the voices in your head? I hear the mewl escape your lips when my clamp bites your nipple, see you squirm when I grab a fistful of hair and bend you over the sideboard, feel you press back against me as my lubed fingers invade your ass. Pain tolerance is harder to fake than an orgasm, baby. You have a taste for kink. The dark side whispers your name, and makes you wet.</p>
<p>I don’t pretend to know all that makes you tick. I barely know your name. But I already have trail markers to guide me as I set out for the edge of your comfort zone, seeking your buttons to push and knobs to twist, the ones that transform coupling by numbers into exquisite mindfuck. All I want, baby, is everything you have to give. And you don’t know Jack.</p>
CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-48683356321923129202016-02-08T21:00:00.000-08:002016-02-09T03:13:49.555-08:00Princess Games<p>In 2014 the opening to my story "Princess Games" appeared in Alison Tyler's <i>Never Say Never: Tips, Tricks, and Erotic Inspiration for Lovers</i>, which you can read about <a href="http://cjlemire.blogspot.com/2014/05/who-do-i-want-to-be-tonight-alison-tyler.html">here</a>. For Valentine's day I thought it would be fun to revisit that scene from the heroine's point of view. Oh, and in case it needs pointing out, this scene is NOT safe for work.</p>
<p><hr></p>
<p>Jason showed her the timer on his phone, set to sixty minutes, pushed the start button and set the phone down.</p>
<p>“Oh like I think you'd cheat, Mr. Stickler-for-the rules,” Allie said.</p>
<p>He made that half-smile, half-smirk that hit her right where she lived. “Then you should also know I'm a dotter of i's and crosser of t’s.”</p>
<p>“You do know I'm the queen of edging, right? I can hold off on coming for days. Weeks even. An hour will be a walk in the park.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Princess?”</p>
<p>“Someone who didn’t know better might wonder if this was a ploy on your part, so you could try submitting to me without having to admit you want it?” She was baiting the Dom big time, but it would be worth whatever price she had to pay later.</p>
<p>He put his finger across her lips, shushing her. “Then it’s a good thing you know better, isn’t it? You’re going down, Princess. Figuratively, and literally.”</p>
<p>She tried to playfully slap him. He grabbed her wrist, held it down, and planted a kiss on her mouth.</p>
<p>She became suddenly aware of the—not quite weight, but the presence—of his body over hers, of the scent of his after-shave, of the grip of his hand on her wrist. Rational thought slipped away, her focus narrowing to right here, right now, this moment. She squirmed.</p>
<p>“Are you wet for me, Princess?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>“Good girl.”</p>
<p>Jason picked up a length of rope, shook it out, wrapped it around her wrist in a single column tie. He repeated the process with another length and her other wrist. He unzipped her skirt, pulled it down and off, folded it, and set it aside. Why didn’t he just drop it on the floor, for goodness’ sake? Did he have to be so God damn anal about everything? Silly question, she knew.</p>
<p>He tied the remaining lengths of rope to her ankles. Jason was capable of elaborate, Shibari-style bondage, and she’d spent many a pleasurable evening wrapped in the embrace of his rope. This was not that. Tonight he tied her spread-eagled to the bedposts, like a couple of college kids experimenting with bondage for the first time.</p>
<p>He traced his fingertips from her wrists, lightly down her arms, along her sides. He did the same from her ankles, up the inside of her legs and thighs, toward her cunt. Rope space beckoned. She shuddered, and slipped away.</p>
<p>He picked up the blindfold, showed it to her, gently placed it over her eyes. “Say good-bye to being able to see what’s going on, Princess.”</p>
<p>Her sense of sight taken away, her focus narrowed further.</p>
<p>She felt him unhook the front of her corset. His hands worked their way under the steel-boned fabric and gripped her sides. He planted another kiss. Her tongue danced with his.</p>
<p>He moved off her. She heard him fumbling with something, and a crunching sound she assumed was ice cubes.</p>
<p>He traced around her left nipple with his fingertip, eliciting a warm glow. Peppermint oil, she realized. He blew on her nipple, his breath cool on her skin. Bastard had an ice cube in his mouth. He sucked gently on her nipple, confirming her suspicion as the cube came in contact with her sensitive nub.</p>
<p>He twirled the cube around her nipple with his tongue. The combination of peppermint oil and ice brought on a “Too hot! Too cold! Too much!” sensation that made her squirm.</p>
<p>His mouth withdrew, replaced by the bite of the clover clamp. She’d never been able to apply those to herself. It inevitably ended with, “Ouch! Hurt! Bad pain!” But when he used them? After warming her up like this? Exquisite. As if an electric current were flowing from her breast directly to her cunt.</p>
<p>He repeated the procedure on the other side, as she’d expected. <i>Sometimes you’re a bit predictable, darling.</i></p>
<p>His hand cupped her cunt over her panties, his finger tracing lazily up and down. Her hips rocked. She pushed up against him, wanting more, craving a harder touch. The bastard withdrew, keeping the pressure constant.</p>
<p>“Fucking sadist.” she hissed.</p>
<p>He laughed. “You say the sweetest things, Princess.”</p>
<p>A second finger joined the first. He bore down harder, pressing the gauzy fabric against her opening. Her panties were soaked.</p>
<p>She felt him shift on the bed. His fingers withdrew, replaced by the feel of cold metal on the side of her hip, between the panties and her skin. A shiver ran down her spine. It had to be just scissors. Right? She’d worn panties to taunt him, deliberately picked a pair she wouldn’t mind him cutting off. That had to be what was happening. Whatever it was felt sharp though. Cold. Menacing against her skin. Please, please, please just be scissors.</p>
<p>Snip. <i>Thank fucking Christ.</i></p>
<p>Another snip on the other side.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Princess. Did I make you nervous?”</p>
<p><i>Oh right, like you didn’t know precisely what you were doing.</i> Fucking bastard. “No, not at all.”</p>
<p>His fingers returned, more firmly this time, pushing the fabric inside her cunt, soaking up her arousal.</p>
<p>“Funny. Your cunt says otherwise.”</p>
<p>He took the panties away, exposing her nether regions, then he shifted on the bed again. She felt his fingertip against her mouth.</p>
<p>“Open, Princess.”</p>
<p>She opened wide, knowing better than to disobey. He stuffed her balled up panties into her mouth. “Now close.”</p>
<p><i>Oh fuck.</i> She hadn’t anticipated this. The sensation itself wasn’t pleasant. She enjoyed neither the taste of the fabric nor the taste of her own juices, but the fact he was making her do it slammed her hard into subspace.</p>
<p>He slid down her body. She felt his thumb on her hood, retracting it, then three drops of liquid landing directly on her clit. The burning confirmed it was peppermint oil.</p>
<p>More clinking of ice, then the feel of his cool breath against her cunt. If the sensation had been intense on her nipple, it was ten times more so on her clit.</p>
<p>His tongue, cold from the ice, lapped against her lower lips, tracing designs around her clit and probing into her cunt. She trusted him not to push the ice cube inside her, risking frostbite, but he was pushing this indirect ice play for all he could.</p>
<p>“Edge, Master.” With the panties in her mouth it came out as “Ej, Mafteh.”</p>
<p>“Don’t stop on my account. Go right ahead and come, Princess.”</p>
<p>“Mmmphf.”</p>
<p>His tongue resumed its work on her cunt. She tried pulling her legs together to hold the impending orgasm at bay, but the ankle ropes prevented her from doing so. She tried breathing exercises to push the edge away.</p>
<p>Sweat dripped off her body. She was about to fail when, mercifully, he stopped. The edge had slipped away just enough for her to regain control when his open hand smacked against her cunt. <i>Fuck!</i> The rope cut into her ankles as she tried to slam her legs together.</p>
<p>The first smack was followed by four more. <i>Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!</i></p>
<p>He slid up her body. The head of his cock pressed against her opening. He impaled her cunt with a single stroke. She pushed back against him, wanting to be fucked.</p>
<p>He pushed her down against the bed with the weight of his body, frustrating her efforts to thrust. His thumb found its way to her clit, tracing small circles. She cried out in frustration. <i>Fuck me, damn it.</i></p>
<p>He removed the clamp from her right nipple, then the left. The pain washed over her in waves as blood flow returned.</p>
<p>He started to thrust, vigorously, the full length of his cock withdrawing from her, then slamming back in.</p>
<p>“Now, Princess. Come for me. Give me your orgasm.”</p>
<p>Her body obeyed before her mind could intervene. She shattered into tiny pieces.</p>
<p>She floated in the bliss for the longest time. When she came back, she found he’d removed the panties from her mouth and the rope from her wrists and ankles. He lay by her side, cradling her in his arms.</p>
<p>“Still with me, Princess?”</p>
<p>“Oh fuck. That was amazing. Well-fucked is an understatement.”</p>
<p>“Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess. I do believe that makes it my game though.” He showed her his phone, with thirty seconds remaining on the timer.</p>
<p>“If that’s an example of what I’m in for, I don’t even care.” An errant though crossed her mind, and her brow furrowed. “You didn’t come though. Was it okay for you?”</p>
<p>He squeezed her tight. “Winning is never a bad thing, Princess. And now I’ve got the rest of the night to use you however I please. In fact, how about you wait here while I go fix us a bite to eat? Then I’ll get you repositioned. I’d really like to use that bratty mouth of yours for dessert.”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmmm, sounds yummy.”</p>
<p>He kissed her on the cheek, then got up from the bed. As he walked away she lay on the bed, watching his fine ass, content with their evening so far, and anticipating what was still to come.</p>
<p>“Hurry back, my prince.”</p>
<p><hr></p>
<p>Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this retelling of the scene from "Princess Games"! The next stop on the hop is <a href="http://alexisannebooks.com/2016/02/09/valentinesrewind_alexisanne"
>Alexis Anne</a>. Be sure to comment on each story to be eligible for the massive giveaway at the end. Thanks for joining us for #ValentinesRewind! ♥</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioM_9gBRHL6impMLvn04D7nroW-jfzLhTLfwynIC4UN9MKWDjmZ2l01DxZRrJ0FY6772meIirSUCE1D5hOrRCR4x4X6o6R3vXGNdhVsRre24B-oNny8uuMPesc-4P1gLZNOp4mJkqzn0U/s1600/Valetine%2527s+Rewind+Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioM_9gBRHL6impMLvn04D7nroW-jfzLhTLfwynIC4UN9MKWDjmZ2l01DxZRrJ0FY6772meIirSUCE1D5hOrRCR4x4X6o6R3vXGNdhVsRre24B-oNny8uuMPesc-4P1gLZNOp4mJkqzn0U/s320/Valetine%2527s+Rewind+Banner.jpg" /></a></div>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-42161468201090570712014-05-28T04:05:00.000-07:002014-05-28T04:05:30.215-07:00Who Do I Want To Be Tonight? — Alison Tyler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhqbrhkrtbbYhJ3khBX6TI_TA4Kxho6omqKo5RYZlfqOVp19J4nDpIzsmEPDhPz0XK_OT9GEYTpOMzJkKP17gqwZapM2yv4skzs-j01Ps7DWUXpWc2Ld9BGMfVuUBeVtAkZkBLZe1id5A/s1600/never.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhqbrhkrtbbYhJ3khBX6TI_TA4Kxho6omqKo5RYZlfqOVp19J4nDpIzsmEPDhPz0XK_OT9GEYTpOMzJkKP17gqwZapM2yv4skzs-j01Ps7DWUXpWc2Ld9BGMfVuUBeVtAkZkBLZe1id5A/s320/never.JPG" /></a></div>Last week I was fortunate to welcome Sommer Marsden to CJ's Place. This week Alison Tyler is stopping by to talk about her new release from Cleis Press. I'll keep the intro short. You already know she's fabulous, right?
<p>Although I’ve never had the urge to be on stage—I adore role-playing in the bedroom.
(Or at the restaurant. Or in the car.) To this end, I dedicated an entire chapter of my
spanking-new guide—<i>Never Say Never</i>—to the genre.</p>
<p>Here’s a peek:</p>
<p>I’ve been a waitress, a nurse, and a bombshell. I’ve been a stripper, a streetwalker, and
a dancer at the Crazy Horse. Trust me, I am no actor. I stutter and stammer on stage.
Public speaking is my personal hell. But I love role-playing. Why? Because role-playing
gives you permission to be anyone you want. And as you might have predicted, I have a
wicked imagination. I’m an ace at thinking of new characters to be in the bedroom…and
beyond. When I’m not creating ones from scratch, I’m embodying the characters of
strangers I’ve seen in my travels.</p>
<p>Happily, you don’t need much to start this sort of game. A fantasy the two of you
have shared. A movie scene you’d like to make real. A passage in a book—you only need
to be on the same page.</p>
<p>One of the best things about role-playing is the fact that nobody is trapped. You
can be one character one night, and someone new the next.</p>
<p>Andrea Dale’s “His Lady's Manservant,” plays with roles in a delicious manner:</p>
<i><p>Melina tended to be a screamer, and her orgasm solidified our roles: she as the
lady of the manor and I as her manservant, the besotted lover kept secret because of
class boundaries.</p>
<p>When she rode me (of course she’d take the dominant position), my thoughts
truly were for her pleasure. My hands at her breasts, my hips bucking to her rhythm, it
wasn’t until she was falling over the edge again and gasping “yes, come for me” that I
was finally allowed—that I finally allowed myself—the relief I’d craved.</p>
<p>She didn’t banish me to the servant’s quarters that night, although for the
remainder of my roles she stayed in character.</p>
<p>As I loaded our suitcases into the car, I could only think ahead to when we’d
reprise our parts…in private.</p></i>
<p>Cora Zane’s “Bad Kitty” shows that you don’t even need to be human when
you’re playing a part.</p>
<i><p>She watches me unzip my pants, and I recognize that look of majestic
indifference. Sasha meows and stretches her sleek body across the unmade bed. Her
vinyl-red claws rake the black satin sheets as a proper pussycat is want to do. The little
bell on her studded, leather collar is a soft chime marking her every movement. I step to
the edge of the bed, hard cock in hand, and in defiance, she lies on her side and flicks her
cheetah-print tail at me.</p>
<p>“So that’s how it is, is it?”</p>
<p>She lifts her chin in dismissal.</p>
<p>“Bad kitty.” I slip my finger under the edge of her collar, and pull her toward me,
the motion forcing her to her knees.</p>
<p>Annoyance flickers in her emerald eyes.</p>
<p>“You know master wants his cock sucked.”</p>
<p>To soothe her, I stroke her black hair, and reluctantly, she nuzzles her face
against my hand. That’s when I press the head of my dick to her lush mouth, smudging
her wet, red lipstick.</p>
<p>She bathes my cock with the tip of her tongue then sucks me in deep.</p>
<p>I fuck her mouth for what feels like hours. When I’m close to coming, I tighten my
hand in her hair, and Sasha digs her claws into my thighs. Moaning, I explode into her
mouth. Good kitty, she licks up every drop. When she finally releases me, I’m shaking
and weak—and she’s grinning at me. My smug little cat who got the cream.</p></i>
<p>CJ Lemire takes a page from a fairy tale in “Princess Games”:</p>
<i><p>Sleeping Beauty lies sprawled across our canopy bed, dolled out in ruby-red
corset, long black skirt, and fuck-me shoes.</p>
<p>Acoustic guitar plays from the speakers. An orangey scent wafts across the room.
Reflected candlelight tangos across the bedroom walls.</p>
<p>I set the ice bucket on the dresser, kiss her, take in her perfume. Boyfriend. The
one that makes her smell like she’s just come from some other man’s arms.</p>
<p>My hard-on strains against my suit trousers. Wait till my mouth gets to your
other lips, Sweetheart.</p>
<p>From the hope chest at the foot of the bed I select four lengths of rope, the
blindfold, lube, peppermint oil, and a pair of nipple clamps, which I toss into the ice
bucket.</p>
<p>Anything else I might need? Once the lid’s closed I can’t go back, my selections
are made. Perhaps the vixen has panties on, cleverly tucked under her garter straps? I
add a pair of EMT scissors to my pile.</p>
<p>I have an hour to get Sleeping Beauty to rouse and respond. Fail, and I’m hers for
the night. But if I win, and I intend to win, she’s all mine.</p>
<p>Game on, Princess.</p></i>
<p>Although you really don’t need anything in order to role play, costumes and
other accoutrements (say a sex toy or two) can ratchet up the pleasure immediately. If
you open that door in your mind, you’ll find all sorts of unusual uses for rubber gloves,
ties, ace bandages, spatulas… Then ask yourself: Who do I want to be tonight?</p>
<p>Alison Tyler is the editor of fifty erotic books for Cleis Press. Her novellas have been
published by Harlequin, Go Deeper, and Pretty Things Press. “Dark Secret Love,” her
first in a series of meta-novels, recently won the Gold Ippy for Erotica. Please visit her at
alisontyler.blogspot.com for coffee and snark 24/7.</p>
<p>Buy link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1627780262/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=prettythingsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1627780262">Amazon</a></p>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-41541458778621354592014-05-19T04:00:00.000-07:002014-05-19T04:00:00.443-07:00Sommer Marsden — Poster Boy for Fabulous<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkCINld648eucqquOUZMLs9Gnuf5VadJhFjn-5fIVr_USunlVpl098-kRfUg-HkFdzeEDG95zlzM7AMJ6fG3fPxQgS89Ke5rR7JejjcoWcB09v7dgLqKNz_SMx03hUsg3RJwzt_Raoj0w/s1600/PosterBoyForAverage+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkCINld648eucqquOUZMLs9Gnuf5VadJhFjn-5fIVr_USunlVpl098-kRfUg-HkFdzeEDG95zlzM7AMJ6fG3fPxQgS89Ke5rR7JejjcoWcB09v7dgLqKNz_SMx03hUsg3RJwzt_Raoj0w/s320/PosterBoyForAverage+copy.jpg" /></a></div>
This is me, dusting and polishing the blog, and doing my best not to fanboi all over the place. Some of you may know what a fan I am of Sommer Marsden and her writing. She has a way with slightly goofy heroines, controlling heroes, and the hot—and often kinky—sex they have together. Anyway, Sommer's <i>Poster Boy for Average</i> was released earlier this month from Ellora's Cave, and I'm happy to welcome her today to tell us a bit about it. Without further ado!
<p>There’s something heart stopping about that moment you’re around someone you’ve had a dirty fantasy about. Someone who’s been your mastubatory fodder. Especially if there’s even a slim chance it could go beyond the fantasy point. That’s a lump in your throat moment, even more so if they’re on to you. Or as I like to call it: <i>don’t look at my nipples, don’t look at my nipples, don’t look…</i>
<p><b>Blurb:</b></p>
<p>Indie photographer and book cover artist Aubrey Singleton is living up to her last name. A long summer at the lake has cured her of her recent breakup, and she’s embracing life as a single woman. What she’s not prepared for is to come back home to find she has a handsome new single neighbor.</p>
<p>Mike Sykes is a roofer—though he’s afraid of heights—a father of two and recently divorced. Oh and one might classify him as smoking hot.</p>
<p>The photographer in Aubrey is smitten, the single woman in her is breathless. She’s ready to make Mike a star—on book covers and, though she’s wary of a broken heart, in her life. He’s not so sure. Mike sees himself as a life complication due to his younger son’s illness, and not hot by a long shot. In fact, he thinks he’s the poster boy for average.</p>
<p>But a “business” trip to Key West, rife with hunky models, sets a backdrop for a shot at true love…</p>
<p><b>Excerpt:</b></p>
<p>“Didn’t you just run?” Just the running in place was getting to her. She felt her heart give that little fish-flop thing it did sometimes. She had decided to do this to get away from thoughts of Mike. Now he was going to come with her?</p>
<p>She stifled a groan.</p>
<p>“I did. But I could go for a bit longer.”</p>
<p>This time she did groan.</p>
<p>“You sure you’re okay?”</p>
<p>Aubrey moved forward as tan, glistening Mike kept pace with her. His legs were as nice as his arms. “I’m fine. Just out of shape.”</p>
<p>He grinned, staring straight ahead. Aubrey was glad he wasn’t looking at her because the grin did strange things to her. Made the sensation in her pussy seem to hum through her entire body. Despite the warm autumn sun, her nipples peaked hard inside her sports bra.</p>
In her head the mantra <i>don’t look at my nipples, don’t look at my nipples, don’t look…</i>was on a constant loop.</p>
<p>“You look pretty in shape to me, Aubrey.”</p>
<p>“Ugh. You won’t say that in another block or so.”</p>
<p>“No?” He seemed to be gaining energy instead of losing it and Aubrey hated him just a little for it.</p>
<p>But then she thought of the stamina he must have and had to cut off another surprised squeak. She could feel it wanting to bust free of her.</p>
<p>“Nope. When I’m hanging off you and begging you to kill me, you’ll see me for what I really am. A part-time wannabe runner at best.”</p>
<p>He laughed and she pointed right to Ruby Avenue. “Up there,” she gasped.</p>
<p>It was a hill and why she’d chosen it she had no idea. But it started to seem like a good idea when he took the lead, running just ahead of her. His legs were as nice as his arms, and his ass, in those worn gray athletic shorts, was pretty much biteable. She did her best not to picture it naked and walking across her bedroom toward the bathroom and failed. It would probably be slightly sweaty in their postcoital glow. Possibly even sporting her teeth prints.</p>
<p>That made her giggle and the giggle made him pause.</p>
<p>He glanced over his shoulder, cocked an eyebrow. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, only slowing a bit.</p>
<p>“Nothing. Trust me.” He kept staring. She added, “You don’t want to know.”</p>
<p>“Oh but I do. Is it dirty?”</p>
<p>“Yep.” His grin grew and she realized she’d just blurted out the truth. “I mean…oh fuck,” she sighed.</p>
<p>“Will you tell me?” He put some more speed in his stride and she had to do the same to keep up.</p>
<p>“Maybe one day.”</p>
<p>He glanced over his shoulder at her again. “Is it about me?”</p>
<p>Again Aubrey found herself confessing. Kind of. “Maybe.”</p>
<p>“Oh I think it is,” he said as she somehow managed to pull up alongside him. The hill was behind them now and Aubrey knew she’d feel a momentary—fleeting—amount of relief. Her speed would pick up. At least until she realized that she was running.</p>
<p>That always slowed her down.</p>
<p>“And what makes you think that?” She tried to look fetching but figured she probably just looked apoplectic.</p>
<p>“I know a leering look of lust when I see one.”</p>
<p><b>Buy links:</b></p>
<p>• <a href="http://www.ellorascave.com/poster-boy-for-average.html">Ellora's Cave</a></br>
• <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00K0J0LLO/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00K0J0LLO&linkCode=as2&tag=sommmars-20&linkId=W3DYE53RUZ5AWARZ">Amazon</a></br>
• <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-posterboyforaverage-1498148-149.html">ARe</a></p>
<p><b>About the Author:</b></p>
<p>Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. Called "one of the top storytellers in the erotic genre" by Violet Blue, Sommer Marsden writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora's Cave, Excessica, Xcite Books and Resplendence Publishing. She's the author of numerous erotic novels including <i>Poster Boy for Average, The Accidental Cougar, Lost in You,</i> and <i>Learning to Drown.</i> Visit http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com</p>
CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-83892360312146499102014-05-15T17:08:00.002-07:002014-05-15T17:08:43.356-07:00Erotic Clue: The EntriesBefore I left on vacation, I posted this <a href="http://cjlemire.blogspot.com/2014/05/writing-prompt-erotic-clue.html">writing prompt</a>. Three writers decided to participate, and I loved reading the different approaches each took to the assignment. Lovely, all three!
<p>First up was <a href="http://gwenmarieporter.tumblr.com/">this entry</a> from Jennifer Porter. Professor Plum in the library with the... well, you're just going to have to read for yourself.</p>
<p>Jodie Griffin went with some <a href="http://jodiegriffin.com/2014/05/flash-fiction-game-for-you/">f/f rope bondage</a>. These are a few of my favorite things.</p>
Finally there's this from Mermaid Sharon. She asked me to post it here, as she doesn't have a blog of her own. She also went a bit long with it. Some people have a hard time following the rules.</p>
<p><b>Bee Loved</b></p>
<p>The Keeper in the Garden with the Honey.</p>
<p>Claudia stretched her arms above her head, craning her face towards the noon day sun. Summer was finally here and she was determined to enjoy every minute of it. Starting with her long neglected tan.</p>
<p>She reached for her homemade honey sweetened strawberry lemonade and took a long, deep sip. A large drop of condensation dripped off her glass and onto her skin. It left a trail down her naked breasts and pooled into her navel. She spread the cooling moisture down into her mound of light brown curls.</p>
<p>She could hear the bees busily working and thought about what a success her honey crop had been this year. After her accident this winter, in which she broke her wrist, she didn't think she would have any honey for her homemade products. Thankfully Rafael had been there to help her get her garden ready for spring. And to plant more than a few fantasies in her mind.</p>
<p>Looking around her garden she couldn't help but think about Rafael now. His quiet but hard work checking her beehives. How he would look at her and smile after a long day in the sun side by side. The flex and strain of his muscles as he pulled weeds by hand. His hands tilling the soil, turning it over and over. And now, as if she was his earth, her fingers started moving purposefully across her opening. She swirled them in a circle, collecting the moisture that was quickly gathering between her lips. She pushed the wetness up to her clit and started kneading at that little bud with her fingertip. She closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing further into the plush garden couch.</p>
<p>She was so lost to her own pleasure that even the sound of the outdoors became muted. It was a crashing sound that yanked her out of her reverie. Her eyes popped open quickly and zeroed in on the cause of the sound. It was Rafael, standing a few feet away from her and eyes locked on her hand between her legs. At his feet was the remnants of a shattered terracotta pot. The contents of which lay in a lump on her tiled patio.</p>
<p>Neither of them said anything for the space a few seconds. Claudia stared at Rafael. She saw his breathing speed up, his mouth open wider. He was quietly panting. Rafael's eyes never left the beautiful sight they beheld. A woman's most intimate parts, open and inviting. It was Claudia who broke the spell when she closed her legs and threw them over the side of the lounge to stand up.</p>
<p>Rafael's eyes flew to hers and he blurted out,”You're naked!” To which Claudia replied, hands on her hips,”Yes, Rafa, I'm naked in my own private backyard. Why, exactly are <i>you</i> here?”</p>
<p>“I, uh, um, I brought you a, uh, gift. Um, a p-pp-plant,” he stammered. When Claudia cocked her head to the side and continued to stare at him he started trying to explain more, “A, um, tree, a Manuka tree. For the, um, bees? For the honey. I remembered you had said something about it once.”</p>
<p>Claudia's eyes widened and she looked at Rafael with something akin to awe. “You remembered some off hand comment I made weeks ago?”</p>
<p>Rafael nodded and looked at her toes as he felt his cheeks redden. Even her toes were perfect in his opinion. As he saw her take a step towards him his gaze traveled upwards. He admired her delicate ankles, defined calves and muscled thighs. The sun glinted off of something a bit further up and his eyes latched onto it. “You've got a piercing!”, he cried, meeting her eyes in shock.</p>
<p>Claudia stopped in her tracks, threw her head back and laughed that deep throaty laugh he so loved. “Yes”, she said ,”A belly button piercing. I got it for my birthday this year.” She smiled at him and he expelled a breath he didn't know he was holding.</p>
<p>”Did it hurt?”, he asked.</p>
<p>“Not at all, actually. I had always wanted one but I didn't like the idea of inflicting intentional pain on my body. I was surprised at the lack of it.”</p>
<p>“I've got a piercing.” he stated bluntly.</p>
<p>Claudia's smile curled up at the corner of her mouth. “Really? Well, since you've seen mine it's only fair I see yours.” She took a few more tentative steps towards him but he didn't back away. In fact, he proceeded to unbutton his pants.</p>
<p>“No...”, she whispered.</p>
<p>His fingers stopped unzipping at her utterance. “But,um, you said you wanted to see it.”</p>
<p>“I just didn't think it was <i>there,</i> Rafa. If you're not comfortable with showing it to me...”</p>
<p>“No, I definitely want to show you. I've wanted to show it to you even before I saw yours. I just .. I just needed to know that you wanted to see it. I needed your permission.”</p>
<p>“My permission? Well, you have it. My curiosity is piqued. I absolutely must see it now.”, she said with a laugh.</p>
<p>He grinned at her warmly as he unzipped the rest of the way and pushed his shorts and briefs down to his ankles.</p>
<p>His erection, and piercing, were pointing straight at her as she closed the gap between them. He was staring at the ground again so she took his chin between her forefinger and thumb and raised his face to hers. She looked into his eyes and said,”A Prince Albert. Nice. Did it hurt?”</p>
<p>“Nn-uh-h.. No.”, he stammered. “I was scared but .. but .. I enjoyed it.”</p>
<p>“Being scared?” she asked.</p>
<p>“No. Yes. And the feeling. During and after. The feeling of it being down there. I feel it all day.”</p>
<p>“May I touch it?”</p>
<p>“Oh, God...” He moaned and closed his eyes.</p>
<p>“Does that mean no? Open your eyes. Look at me.”</p>
<p>He opened his eyes slightly,“No, God, yes. Yes. Please. Touch it.”</p>
<p>She looked down as she fingered the tip of the ring where it came out on the underside of the shaft. Then she traced the curve of the circular barbell where it went into skin all the way to where it came back out at the top of his glans. She flicked the piercing with her fingernail and Rafael pushed his hips towards her as if wanting more contact. His eyes were closed with his head thrown towards the sky as Claudia stared at lust slackened face.</p>
<p>She grasped the head of his penis with her thumb on the underside and two of her fingers on top. She started to slowly pump his tip with them. All the while she stared at his beautiful visage of surrender. When she felt the precum at the tip she took some off and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. “Watch me,” she demanded in a whisper. His head snapped forward and she looked at him intently as she put her fingers in her mouth and took a long, slow suck. He tasted just as she thought he would. Like the earth. His eyes were locked onto her mouth as he said,”Please, will you let me kiss you? I want to so badly.”</p>
<p>“No.”, she stated. “I want you to get as naked as I am. Then go lay down on the chaise lounge. I need something from inside.” As she passed by him she gently brushed her breast against his upper arm. “Be a good boy and you'll be rewarded. Go.”</p>
<p>Claudia glanced at Rafa's back as she made her way into the house. She stifled a giggle as she watched him trip over his own pants trying to take them off and walk to the chaise at the same time. She walked quickly into the house and grabbed a jar of honey that had come from her garden. She wanted to give Rafa a taste of his hard work.</p>
<p>The sight that greeted her as she walked through the back door took her breath away. Rafa was on his back, gloriously nude and reclining in the sun. The noise as Claudia popped the cap off the sealed jar of honey made Rafa open his eyes and sit up straighter. She couldn't help the way her hips swished as she closed the distance between them. The way he hungry way he looked at her made her feel desirable.</p>
<p>With her foot she pushed his legs a bit off to the side and sat down near his hip. His eyes flicked to the jar in her hand and she said,”You never did get to taste my honey did you? After all the hard work you put in you should be able to enjoy the fruits of your labors, don't you think?”.</p>
<p>He nodded and said, ”It looks delicious.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it is.” she replied. She dipped her finger into the jar and pulled it out taking a long sticky string with it. She curled and cut off the remnant and put her fingers at his lips. ”Here, have a taste.”</p>
<p>Rafa tentatively flicked the tip of her finger with his tongue. When he started licking in a circular motion around her digit Claudia's breath hitched. Then he opened his mouth and took her finger into his mouth all the way to the knuckle. Suckling on it he gazed longingly into Claudia's eyes. Claudia grinned and pulled her finger out of his mouth with a pop. “My turn for a taste.”</p>
<p>She stood up and handed the jar to Rafa.”Hold this in your left hand and keep both hands on the arms of the chair. No touching me.” The sound he made sounded almost like a whimper. After he had taken the jar from her Claudia placed her knees on the chaise on either side of Rafa's thighs. Straddling him she pulled more honey out of the jar he was holding and let the drips fall at will. She put her finger up to his mouth and said,”Suck” and he happily did. With her finger still in his mouth she leaned over his body and started lapping at the incongruent trail of honey. Some had landed just below his nipple and she was careful to not give in to her desire to take that sensitive nub into her mouth. She knew she was torturing by not taking the initiative because of the way his hips fitfully pushed his erection into her belly. “Stay still.” she commanded firmly. “It's not time for that yet.” Rafa groaned in anguish but ceased squirming underneath her. She continued to drizzle the heat warmed honey all over his chest and stomach. And she made sure to lick up every Rafael flavored bit of it. Even though Rafa had stopped his thrashing below the waist his head was another matter. His eyes were screwed shut and his face was twisted in a grimace like he was in pain. His hair was tousled from tossing his head back and forth so forcefully. Claudia decided it was time to stop torturing the poor boy and give him his reward.</p>
<p>Scooting back so that her behind rested on his shins Claudia admired his erection and the jewelry it sported. She took the bottom of his shaft in her left and and squeezed softly. “Rafa, look at me. Watch me. This is for you. All for you.” He watched her then as she smeared honey around his tip and took it into her mouth. Sucking on his head she flicked her tongue on his piercing and into his slit. She squeezed his balls with her hand and traveled upwards towards his shaft. She looked at him then. Her brown eyes meeting with his green and he felt a shudder run up his body at the connection.</p>
<p>Claudia surprised him then by hooking three fingers into the honey jar and smearing a large dollop of it down his erection starting from the head. She fisted her hand around his cock and stroked up and down spreading the sticky sweetness all around. Rafael had never felt such a sensation before. He watched in wonder as Claudia worked his shaft with her hand and started sucking on his head. She tapped her tongue on the underside of his shaft and he could feel the tacky honey being pulled from his cock onto her tongue. When she took him fully in her mouth he moaned loudly in pleasure. Claudia moaned around his cock in response. She found her rhythm between hands and mouth. Rafael dug his fingernails into the arm of the chair and curled his toes. This was too much for him. He could feel where the honey had been on his chest. A sticky annoyance that reminded him of the way Claudia had looked as she licked him. He could feel where the honey had dripped down onto his balls and he hoped she'd lick him there. While looking at her head moving up and down on his cock he saw the first bee land on his chest. “Bee!” he grunted. As Claudia looked up she pulled his shaft from her mouth. “Just don't move. They're not interested in you. They smelled the honey.” Rafael didn't move a muscle as Claudia went back to work with her mouth on his cock. He could feel the bee's little feet as it walked across his chest. It was the oddest sensation. He was freaked out by the chance that the bee would sting him but at the mercy of the pleasure Claudia exacted with her mouth and hands. He had never been so scared and aroused at the same time. He didn't think he'd last long without coming if his emotions stayed at this heightened state. He was right. The bee ceased exploring his body and took off flying back towards the hive. The relief Rafael felt in that moment was followed quickly by the tension gathering in his balls. “Claudia, I'm gonna come!” he cried. “Mmmmhhmm” she moaned in acknowledgment. As the first spurts of it landed on her tongue she swore it tasted like honey. As he arched his back and threw back his head more wetness flooded into her mouth. Now it tasted of Rafael. Earth and sweetness. It was a taste she knew she'd never forget and never get enough of.</p>
CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-33263848587698164342014-05-03T04:00:00.000-07:002014-05-03T04:00:37.951-07:00Writing Prompt: Erotic ClueI'm turning into a pumpkin for the next couple of weeks, so I thought I'd leave y'all with a writing prompt inspired by a recurring conversation on Twitter: erotic fiction, of 500 words or less, employing a creative twist on the board game Clue (such as this gem from @mharvey816: "bum love in the shed with the garden gnome"). Let's try to keep the usual no-nos in mind: No sex with relatives, animals, dead people, underage people, or people who have not consented to it. Other than that, be as kinky or vanilla as your muse takes you. Post it on your blog, including a link to this prompt, then come back here and post a link to your entry in the comments. I'll check in on 5/17, once I'm back in the land of the living, and see what everyone came up with.
<p>Happy writing!</p>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-6648670504118896802014-04-29T12:30:00.000-07:002014-04-29T12:30:59.767-07:00Red-Letter Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOV8VKmajI3a96OxKyt7V82nBqAzrkD4zRbCS41vv4FGD5SWA6g5OJ6k8j5oxo1XS_3KVEZqEeu53JatIl2R-C1e0eRARtOrx_GPw85hnoJqH46D0AqhpAh8BdyTu4I9c3o_Ci5EIBeAs/s1600/NeverSayNever.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOV8VKmajI3a96OxKyt7V82nBqAzrkD4zRbCS41vv4FGD5SWA6g5OJ6k8j5oxo1XS_3KVEZqEeu53JatIl2R-C1e0eRARtOrx_GPw85hnoJqH46D0AqhpAh8BdyTu4I9c3o_Ci5EIBeAs/s320/NeverSayNever.JPG" /></a></div>Do kids today still use that expression? Have any idea what it means? No? Oh well.
<p>Yesterday afternoon I walked to the end of my driveway to fetch the mail. In the mailbox I found a manila envelope from Cleis Press, Berkeley, CA, containing two copies of Alison Tyler's <i>Never Say Never.</i> Author copies. I'm ridiculously excited about this, out of all proportion to the number of words in it that are mine (a 200 word excerpt from one of my stories at the end of Chapter 8).</p>
<p>First of all? I had words accepted. By Alison Tyler. How cool is that?</p>
<p>Second? I'm in there alongside so many of my writing idols. Sommer Marsden. Shanna Germain. Donna George Story. Teresa Noelle Roberts. Thomas Roche. Kristina Lloyd. Charlotte Stein. Angell Brooks. People whose words I've been reading forever, who inspired me to try my hand at this writing thing in the first place. When I grow up, I want to be able to write like them.</p>
<p>Red-Letter Day: A memorable happy or noteworthy day. A day with personal significance. Yesterday definitely qualified as such around here. How about you? When was your last personal red-letter day? What were you celebrating?</p>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-36406972191501482282014-04-20T17:17:00.000-07:002014-04-20T17:17:26.292-07:00The blog tour comethOnce upon a time, the inimitable Alison Tyler wrote a <a href="http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2008/11/thrilled-beyond-measure.html">non-traditional sex guide for couples</a>. Then she found she had a sequel in her, so she decided to do it again. Calls for submission were posted, writers responded, Alison poured her blood, sweat and tears (cue ear worm) into bringing it all together and wrapping it up with a pretty pink bow, and tomorrow the e-book comes out <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Never-Say-Tricks-Erotic-Inspiration-ebook/dp/B00H6UOD2S/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1398038513&sr=1-1&keywords=alison+tyler+never+say+never">on Amazon</a> (paperback is already available). An excerpt of one of my stories is in there, plus words from many other talented erotica writers, alongside those of Alison herself.
<p>So now of course it's <a href="http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2014/04/never-say-never-tour.html">blog tour</a> time. The title of this post probably gave that away, huh? Anyway, Alison Tyler will be paying a special visit RIGHT HERE TO MY OWN LITTLE BLOG on May 28th. So be sure to set a calendar reminder, and stop back next month to join in the fun. Hope to see you there. Er, here...</p>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-80581291203939521852014-01-12T13:32:00.001-08:002014-01-12T13:32:47.914-08:00All I WantInspired by this delicious bit of nastiness from Remittance Girl: <a href="http://remittancegirl.com/erotic-flash-fiction/all-you-ever-wanted/">All You Ever Wanted</a>
<p>You think you know me, baby? Before the door is even shut and clothes start to come off, you have me sliced, diced, and julienned into your tidy categories. Man. Dick. Wanker. That’s fine. Go ahead and don your sex-kitten armor. Unroll it over your desire like a condom, to keep everything safe and sterile. I’ll be happy to enjoy your body and move on. Even soft-serve, dipped in chocolate to mask the underlying vanilla, satisfies on a hot summer afternoon. Fuck you very much.</p>
<p>But don’t think I don’t notice the calm settle over you when my rope embraces your curves. Giving up control centers you, doesn’t it, baby? Quiets the voices in your head? I hear the mewl escape your lips when my clamp bites your nipple, see you squirm when I grab a fistful of hair and use it to bend you over the sideboard, feel you press back against me as my lubed fingers invade your ass. Pain tolerance is harder to fake than an orgasm, baby. You have a taste for kink. The dark side whispers your name, and makes you wet.</p>
<p>I don’t pretend to know all that makes you tick. Hell, at this point I barely know your name. But I already have trail markers to guide me, as I set my compass for the edge of your comfort zone and embark on my quest to find all your buttons to push and knobs to twist, the ones that transform paltry coupling by numbers into exquisite mindfuck. All I want, baby, is everything you have to give. And you don’t know Jack.</p>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-30863980057640159842013-08-16T18:29:00.000-07:002013-08-16T18:35:29.987-07:00Playing with wordsThis is what happens when I'm simultaneously fried and bored on a Friday night. I start playing with <a href="http://www.wordle.net/">wordle</a>. Here's a word cloud I generated from my entry in <a href="http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2013/07/talk-dirty-to-me.html">Round 4</a> of the Smut Marathon. Pretty cool, huh?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNZ9roYK2Na-SBvo0UXfEQDeZZRq5nP548kV-WQDL6iIuQ0uVr_wHl1CnYFrJ7EXHbAF8k_fgnb-wYZ557cBomgDonJ8vAcyahRoVNxQy5k_mi-zqM_sD1gPguKzuy3BP5lsPu36K_ac/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-08-16+at+9.23.56+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNZ9roYK2Na-SBvo0UXfEQDeZZRq5nP548kV-WQDL6iIuQ0uVr_wHl1CnYFrJ7EXHbAF8k_fgnb-wYZ557cBomgDonJ8vAcyahRoVNxQy5k_mi-zqM_sD1gPguKzuy3BP5lsPu36K_ac/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-08-16+at+9.23.56+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-60118177665518859712013-06-16T14:46:00.002-07:002013-06-16T14:46:39.078-07:00Sitting here, staring at words on a screenNot happy with them, struggling to make them better. Fighting off one of those "who the heck am I fooling thinking I can do this" moods. When an email appeared in my inbox, from someone I'd recently started following on Twitter, otherwise a stranger to me. It seems she'd followed the link here from my Twitter profile, read my <i>Kinky States of Mind</i> post from last year, and been moved to comment on it. When Blogger got ornery about allowing her to comment on that post, she went even further out of her way to email me a note saying how much she'd enjoyed it. To which I can only say a warm and hearty thank you. You have no idea how much encouragement that provided me, right at a moment when I needed it.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I've been promising for some time to post more of my words here. Some of you know I've been taking part in Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon. This was my entry for Round 1, in which I took first place in the voting. These words are not new. If you've read the Smut Marathon entries on <a href="http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2013/04/smut-marathon-round-1.html">Alison Tyler's blog</a>—which you should totally be reading—you've seen them already. But for now they'll have to do.<br />
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Here was the assignment from Ms. Tyler:<br />
<br />
<i>Please pen me a 200-word (maximum) description of your ideal setting for an erotic story.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>That's it. Ta da! Do not go over the word count.</i><br />
<br />
And here's what I wrote in response:<br />
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-----<br />
The Lake House Den<br />
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The sweet dawn light poured through the floor to ceiling windows of the lake house den, basking the room in soft pastels, attempting to probe its night secrets.<br />
<br />
The removable wall panel on which the dartboard hung remained secret-agent silent about the St. Andrew's cross concealed behind.<br />
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The whips, canes, rope, clamps, dildos, vibrators, plugs, lube, and other pervertibles hid from the sunlight, tucked away in the armoire against the far wall.<br />
<br />
The exposed ceiling beams gave no hint about being structural, such that a suspension ring lashed to them with a leather strap might create the perfect anchor point to fly her from.<br />
<br />
So what if the round table in the corner was a good height and diameter to bind her atop, her head hanging off one end and her ass perched at the other, to present her holes perfectly for fucking? Such thoughts surely had no place in the innocence of morning.<br />
<br />
If the tatami mats seemed well suited for relieving the stress of time on her knees, and the candles on the mantel burned at the ideal temperature for drizzling on delicate body parts, that was just coincidence, right?<br />
<br />
Nothing to see here. Move along.<br />
-----<br />
<br />
As always, thank you for reading.CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-74452151787060822872013-04-14T08:10:00.000-07:002013-04-14T08:52:14.984-07:00So... um... yeah...My poor, poor, neglected blog. I really do fail miserably at keeping it up to date.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm back here today because I'm going to be taking part in Alison Tyler's <a href="http://smutmarathon.blogspot.com/">Smut Marathon 2</a>, along with a bunch of other incredibly talented writers of erotic fiction. The rules are entries need to remain anonymous until after the voting takes place, but I will be posting my writing here after the reveal, and blogging about my progress. Hopefully I wind up lasting longer than one and done.<br />
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<br />CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-42856614953581463442012-06-10T17:05:00.000-07:002012-06-10T17:05:14.468-07:00NegotiationSome of y'all have been encouraging me to post more of my writing here. This is a scene I had to cut from a story I've been working on for submission.<br />
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<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“But I’m not gay.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
My blurted remark halts the conversation with a thud. Seagulls pick up the slack, filling the pregnant silence with their screeches. A gust of wind off the bay provides a brief respite from the sweltering July sun.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Lady Sara leans against me, gropes my ass, presses her bikini-clad tits into my bare chest. Her eau de SPF30 and DEET invades my nostrils, hinting of sex. On her, everything hints of sex.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“I know you aren’t, darling. I want you to blow him anyway. For me.” The tip of her tongue in my ear punctuates the sentence.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
The ‘him’ in question is our friend Chuck. We’re at the summer home of him and his mistresswife, Lady Diana.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Lady Sara fondles the stainless steel chastity cage that encases my cock and prevents my erection. It’s been one hundred days since my last orgasm.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Mmm. I’ll get so wet watching the head of Chuck’s cock push past your lips and thrust in and out of your mouth, knowing you’re doing it to please me. You want to please me, don’t you Andy?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
More than anything else in this world.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She traces lines up my crotch with the tips of her fingernails, on either side of my cage, sending a chill down my spine.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I have a hundred tricks for distracting myself when a stray sexual thought enters my mind. They’re all impotent against her full frontal assault. My cock strains against its confinement in futile protest. Tease, and deny. Turned up to eleven.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Chuck looks like he would rather be anywhere else right now; Lady Diana appears to enjoy watching me squirm perhaps a bit too much.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Lady Sara toys with the key that dangles from the gold chain around her neck. “Blow him for me and I’ll unlock you.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I don’t want to, and yet I do. The thought of taking Chuck’s cock in my mouth makes me nauseous. I live to please her. There’s a delicious agony between the end of my comfort zone and the edge of my limits.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Okay, but he doesn’t come in my mouth.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She cups my balls with her hand, taps on the bottom of my sac with her fingernails. “Unh-uh. He comes in your mouth, and you swallow, or no release for you.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
My shoulders slump in surrender, my submission complete. “Yes, Mistress.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Good boy.”</div>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-40793199936619161952012-04-25T03:27:00.002-07:002012-04-25T03:30:48.370-07:00Story A DayApparently there's a thing, called StoryADay, that takes place in May. It's kind of like NaNoWriMo, only with short stories instead of a novel, and it takes place at a much more convenient (for me) time of year.<br />
<br />
Anyway, there's <a href="http://storyaday.org/">a site</a> and all, just like with NaNo. I'm not going to formally sign up, as too much cheerleading tends to get on my nerves. Plus there's the whole talking too much about your smutwriting thing amongst the vanillas and prudes. But I am going to commit to writing a story a day for the month of May, and loosely tracking my progress here. Because my muse has been a lazy ass git lately, so this will be my way of laying my cane across her backside and getting her back into proper form.<br />
<br />
Write on!CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-39001510622663263042012-04-24T13:00:00.001-07:002012-04-24T18:12:23.122-07:00Kinky States of MindThe erotica challenge Remittance Girl posted has given me an excuse to revive my own poor, neglected blog. RG's challenge was to write the exact same sex act, using nothing but the tone of language and the
POV of the narrator to present it as either kinky or vanilla.<br />
<br />
Details are available <a href="http://remittancegirl.com/blogpost/kinky-states-of-mind-an-erotica-writing-challenge/">here.</a><br />
<br />
Here's my take.<br />
<br />
<u>Take 1: Vanilla</u><br />
<br />
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
It was like something out of a porno. Erin’s body hunched on the bed in the doggy position with two of my well-lubed fingers buried in her asshole. Her own dainty hand reached between her legs and diddled her clit. I stretched forward, so my head was next to where hers lay on the pillow, and kissed her. Her pale blue eyes locked with my dark browns, like she was searching for something.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“You doing okay?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She nodded.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“You sure about doing this?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She nodded again. “I want to be able to give you something only we’ve done, share part of myself with you that no other has had.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I kissed her again. Her lip gloss tasted like watermelon. “I love you.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“I love you too.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I positioned myself behind her, on my knees, and withdrew my fingers. Her heart-shaped ass was beautiful by any objective standard, but more so because it belonged to the woman I loved. I couldn’t believe she was giving me this gift.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
With my unlubed hand I picked up the condom wrapper off the bed, tore it open with my teeth, and unrolled the rubber over my erection. I squeezed some more lube onto my sheathed cock, rubbed it around, and positioned the head at her entrance.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Let me know when you’re ready.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She nodded.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Remember what your article said. Push back against me while I’m going in.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Just take it slowly, okay?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I pressed against her asshole, felt it resist, then give way. When the head was inside her I paused until Erin nodded she was okay. Her fingertips continued their dance on her pussy, and soft moans escaped her lips. From my position on my knees I had the perfect view of my cock burying itself in her ass, very slowly, inch by inch. The image burned itself into my mind. Finally, I was buried all the way in.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
”Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“You all right?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Yes. Just don’t start yet, okay?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
The grip of her ass on my cock was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, tighter than any pussy, mouth, or the grasp of a hand. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to thrust, to fuck, to take my pleasure from her body and empty myself inside her. Somehow I held off. I was the luckiest guy on earth, and I was not about to screw it up by acting like a selfish jerk.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She reached for the pocket rocket on the nightstand, twisted the handle until it started to buzz, then placed it against her clit.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Fuck me!”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
<u>Take 2: Kinky</u></div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Such a pretty pet, hunched on the bed in the doggy position with two of my well-lubed fingers buried in her asshole, offering the gift of her submission. I had not been gentle about it either, thrusting both fingers in at once. The point was to make sure she knew I was worthy of the gift she offered, that I was up to the task of topping her.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Her own dainty hand reached between her legs and diddled her clit. I stretched forward, so my head was next to where hers lay on the pillow. Her pale blue eyes locked with my dark browns, awaiting my next instruction.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Your ass is mine now, whore. Just another hole available for my use.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I positioned myself behind her, on my knees, and withdrew my fingers. Her perfect heart-shaped ass was a blank canvas awaiting my marks. I couldn’t wait to color it in with the pink glow from the flogger, and the cane’s cruel red lines.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
With my unlubed hand I picked up the condom wrapper off the bed, tore it open with my teeth, and unrolled the rubber over my erection. I squeezed some more lube onto my sheathed cock, rubbed it around, and positioned the head at her entrance.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Beg for it, whore.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Please, sir, may I have the pleasure of your cock in my slut ass?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I pressed against her asshole, felt it pucker in resistance, then give way. When the head was inside I paused, waiting to see how she would react. </div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“More please, sir?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Good girl.” With a single stroke I pushed the rest of the way in. </div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Oh fuck.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
Her fingertips continued their dance on her pussy, and soft moans escaped her lips. From my position on my knees I had the perfect view of my cock buried in her ass. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to thrust, to fuck. The beast inside me—the one that longed to hear her whimpers and cries, to take pleasure from her pain—strained at its leash. I held it back. If she was going to code, now was the time.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Status?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She didn’t hesitate. “Green, sir.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Good girl. Now take the vibe off the nightstand and use it on yourself.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
She picked up the pocket rocket, twisted the handle, and placed it against her clit.</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“What do you say, whore?”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
“Thank you, sir.”</div>
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
I let the beast fly.</div>
<br />CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-22941869243662337572011-07-12T17:43:00.000-07:002011-07-12T17:43:51.533-07:00Men and eroticaI'm going to preface this by saying I don't really know anything. I've never worked in publishing in any capacity, and I don't have any supersekrit inside information. It's just the opinion of one (as yet) unpublished smutwriter.<br />
<br />
I've taken part in several conversations lately about whether men would (or do) have any interest in reading erotica. And they kinda make me laugh, because I'm old enough to remember when erotic fiction was something that was written primarily by and for men. It was taken as self-evident that women had no interest in reading about explicit sex. Romance and love stories? Sure. Explicit details about what was taking place behind those closed doors? Y'all were supposed to be too delicate to have any interest in reading about stuff like that. Yeah, right.<br />
<br />
The thing is, though, I think us guys kinda screwed up. Or maybe it was a necessary social contract given the times. Because the deal was, we could enjoy our smut in private, as long as we kept it private. <i>Those</i> books were kept under the counter at the bookstore, and we had to explicitly ask for them. And they never ever ever got left out on the coffee table, or discussed in polite company.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to the 1980s, when it first seems to have occurred to anyone in the publishing industry that women might be interested in reading sexually explicit fiction. From what I can tell, that radical (for the times) idea seems to have been conceived partly by the queer press, and partly by the sex-positive contingent of the porn wars being fought in the feminist movement back then. As a straight guy I was no more than a distant spectator to the whole thing. But it appeared to me to be good.<br />
<br />
And I think you did it right. Because you insisted on your interest in sex being acknowledged. You owned it. No hiding under plain brown wrappers for you.<br />
<br />
Moving on into the 90s the whole thing went mainstream. Starting with Susie Bright's <i>Herotica</i> anthologies, and later the <i>Best Women's Erotica</i> series from Cleis Press. Sure, there were a few wrong turns along the way. Don't get me started on what I think about the late Black Lace imprint, who wouldn't even consider stories written by male authors. Because a man couldn't possibly write about sex in a way that women would want to read. They were there to keep female fantasies safe from us icky boys, who might corrupt them, and turn them into porn. *rolls eyes*<br />
<br />
Which brings us to today, when it's taken as an article of faith that the audience for sexually explicit fiction is largely female, especially for longer works. I've lost count of how many times I've heard that men are more interested in watching sex, in porn, while women are more interested in reading about it on the written page. Except I don't think it's any more true than the earlier idea that women weren't interested in reading erotic fiction at all.<br />
<br />
What I think is, publishers in the 21st century put more effort into marketing erotica to women. Because somewhere along the way, the erotica and romance genres seem to have gotten hitched, and now all the smut ends up in the pink aisle of the bookstore where the guys aren't looking for it. Except I don't think we ever really went away. I've certainly been here all along, reading erotic fiction, and more recently writing it, and I strongly suspect I'm not alone.<br />
<br />
Recently, I've been seeing signs that the pendulum is starting to swing back the other way. Writers, editors and publishers are taking notice of the fact that we're here. I think e-readers are partly responsible for that. Because on a Kindle no one can see what you're reading. But I also think there's a certain amount of natural self-correction going on.<br />
<br />
As one example of that, the fine women over at <a href="http://geekandkink.com/">gee/k/ink</a> have taken notice of the fact that they've been getting male readers lately. And if you haven't checked them out, you totally should. Because they rock. And now <a href="http://redlinesanddeadlines.blogspot.com/2011/07/ec-for-men.html">Ellora's Cave</a> are getting in on the deal, launching a new line targeted specifically at men. To which I say welcome to the party. Glad you finally noticed we were here.CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-21294660925016151612011-05-30T04:33:00.000-07:002011-05-30T04:33:06.210-07:00Reading, Writing, and SmutThere was a thread on <a href="http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums/showthread.php?t=214372">Absolute Write</a> recently about which you'd give up, if you had to choose between never reading erotic fiction again, or never writing it. One of those purely hypothetical questions, thank God, like those internet polls about if you had to choose between never again having intercourse, or never again receiving oral sex, for the rest of your life.<br />
<br />
For me, reading is such a necessary precondition for writing, that my answer was obvious. It's like breathing and eating. Without air, food isn't going to do you much good. So I was shocked by the number of people who said they'd give up reading smut before writing it, and even more shocked by those who said they don't read much original erotic fiction to start with.<br />
<br />
To me, it's self-evident that if you're trying to write in a genre, and not reading what else is being done in that genre, you're writing with one hand tied behind your back. Heh. Bondage pun. Like you didn't see that coming.<br />
<br />
I read a fair amount of erotic fiction. And let's be honest, after a while much of it does start to sound the same. And I'm not just talking about the tab-A slot-B descriptions and purple prose in the free stuff that's splooged all over various sites on the internet, but quality erotica. Something an editor thought was worth paying for. There are the thinly fleshed out characters, who it seems like we've met a hundred times before, the plot whose main function is providing an excuse for the characters to get it on, and the same old (albeit well written) in-and-out. Been there, done that, reached the climax, and probably never thought about that story again.<br />
<br />
Then, every once in a blue moon, I read something made of pure awesomesauce. Something that takes my breath away. Those are the pieces that keep me going, and keep me growing, as a writer. Not just to be able to write the stories that are already in my head, but to be able to write something like that.<br />
<br />
Thus endeth today's rant. Read the shit in the genre that you write.CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-89327465183969394702011-05-29T04:40:00.000-07:002011-05-29T04:40:44.172-07:00Flash Fiction: An Unexpected GuestChuck Wendig has a <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/05/27/flash-fiction-challenge-the-unexpected-guest/">Flash Fiction Challenge</a> going on his blog. The theme is "An Unexpected Guest". Here's my entry.<br />
<br />
<br />
An Unexpected Guest<br />
by CJ Lemire<br />
<br />
<div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">I’ve known Mike for about five years. He rented the place two houses up from where I lived at the time, through some deal with the landlord where he stayed there for free in return for renovating the kitchen. I was going through a bad breakup. He drove a Camaro, and worked outside, with his hands. I drove an Accord, and worked in a cubicle, on a computer. We drank a lot of beer that summer. He moved on after that, but we stayed in touch, and once every blue moon his number shows up on my caller ID.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">I was at work when he called. “I’m passing through. Gonna be working a job about 20 miles north of you. How about we get together for a beer, grab dinner, shoot some shit?”</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">“Come on by the house,” I said. “Meet Darla. Have you found a place to stay? We have a guest room.”</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">Darla was pissed. She denies it, but she has this double standard thing where her friends and family are welcome to drop by the house any time. Mine, not so much.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">That night, they fucked. Darla got over being put out once she saw what a charmer Mike was. And Mike wasn’t one to let a thing like friendship get in the way of hitting on a woman he found hot. Dick takes priority, he’d say.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">Another man might have been angry. Hit him. Hit her. Kicked him out. Kicked her out. Another man wouldn’t have lain awake half the night in the guest room like I did, jerking off to the sounds of my friend fucking my wife, my dick made hard by her moans, much more vocal than when I fuck her myself.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">Mike made himself at home. Darla pretty much stopped wearing clothes around the house. I’d get home from work, and he’d be on my couch, watching porn on my TV, drinking my beer, my wife on her knees sucking his cock. “What’s for dinner?” he’d ask.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">He made her show me her asshole. How stretched it was getting, from their fucking. She’d never let me have her there. “That’s an exit, not an entrance,” she’d said. Different rules for different dudes, apparently. I didn’t question it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">I spent every night in the guest room, stroking my cock and listening to them fuck. And every morning, getting up and making them coffee and breakfast, serving it to them in bed. On the third morning, and every day after that, she made me lick her pussy while they flirted and ate. Usually, it was still full of his spunk. He laughed at that.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">After two weeks, I came home to find her in tears. Apparently the job was done. Or shacking up with Darla was starting to seem too much like responsibility. Either way, it was time for him to move on.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">I held her that night, in our bed, while she sobbed. She rolled over on top of me, knelt up, and sat on my face. I licked her pussy to a couple of nice orgasms, which made her feel better. After, she let me fuck her. She read her magazine while I did it. Told me she could barely feel me inside her. Asked if I was done yet, so she could turn out the light and get some sleep. I lasted about thirty seconds.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">After a few days, things settled back to normal. Almost like he’d never been there. But I know, six months or a year from now, I’ll get a call.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">“I’m passing through,” he’ll say.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">“Come on by the house,” I’ll reply. “Darla will be excited to see you again.”</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">When I tell her, she’ll get all girly girl, and put on her frilliest undies from Vicky’s. And I’ll move my things into the guest room, knowing that for however long he stays, I’ll get to enjoy the sounds of my wife getting off like she means it.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Optima; margin: 8.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">The things we do for love.</div>CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-89808420161057372992011-05-27T15:24:00.000-07:002011-05-27T15:24:00.003-07:00Looks like I'm back!Oh, hey... hi! Looks like Blogger is gonna let me back in to my own blog. Finally. Grrrrrrrr.<br />
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Just in time for the long weekend, too. Which just happened to coincide with the arrival of the nice weather. So, outdoor grilling, and lots of family stuff on this weekend. But also, luxury of luxuries, an extra day to write!<br />
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I've been struggling lately with finding time for that. Mostly, I know, it's been all the crap going on in my life, the changes in everyone's routines, and just dealing with it all. But it also seems like the later start and stop to my work day, that in theory should have given me a nice chunk of writing time in the morning, has just served to chop my day up more. It starts, I think, with having been sleeping better. Which is a good thing. But it also means a later start to writing. So I get up, put the coffee on, check what's been happening on the internet overnight, get the WIP open, start to get into a groove, and then the girl child is up needing to be fed, told to get dressed, brush her hair and teeth, and get her on the school bus. Then I have to get showered and dressed, and by then it's almost time for me to be leaving for work. And at night, with the later arrival home, I get maybe an hour after dinner for family time, getting a bit of writing in, and it's time for bed. It seems like I was getting more done back when I was up and out the door by 7:00 every morning.<br />
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Yeah, I know, I know. I'm making excuses. Butt in chair, fingers on keyboard, cupcake. Just power through it and git'r'writ.<br />
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The thing is, it's been getting better the past few weeks, though. Just a couple of thousand words a week. Which sucks, compared to what I was doing 18 months ago. But I need to stop comparing it to that. Because it's still a whole lot better than nothing, and the thing is, I've been doing it every week.<br />
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So, not back to where I was. But definitely back to being regularly productive. And hopefully a base that I'll be able to build from and improve upon from here on out. So, yay me.CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-1809467751800983722011-05-04T16:53:00.000-07:002011-05-04T16:53:23.814-07:00No QuittingChuck Wending says it brilliantly. Finish the shit that you started. Don't abandon your children. Park your butt in the chair, keep your hands on the keyboard, and spill words onto the page until the only ones left to type are the magic words: "The End". You can't call yourself a runner if you quit every race halfway through, and you won't be much of a writer if your hard drive is littered with the remnants of half-finished projects because—ooh, shiny.<br />
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So why am I going off on this here, when Chuck has already said it so much better than I can? Because I had an experience last night that I'm sure many writers can relate to. I was laying in bed, in that semiconscious state between sleeping and wakefulness, when a new character barged into my head, with a scene fully formed, demanding to have her story written now. So what did I do about it? When I got up this morning, I wrote the scene down in my notebook while it was still fresh in my mind, and I told the bitch to wait her fucking turn. Because I am a writer, and I have shit to finish that's already been started.CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166255876505491824.post-31991110843432722332011-04-29T05:01:00.000-07:002011-04-29T05:01:34.469-07:00Please allow me to introduce myselfOh, right, that was Mick and Keith, not me. I'm not too sure about the wealth and taste part either. You'll have to judge that for yourselves.<br />
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I was prodded into starting this by another writer, who went looking to add me to her blogroll and couldn't find anything to add. So, yeah. *hangs head in shame*<br />
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This blog is going to focus on the small portion of my available time that I get to devote to writing fiction. The fiction I write has sexually explicit content. Some people call it erotica. Others call it porn. Some people want to draw a thick line between the two, to separate "this" from "that" and make sure the twain never meet. I hew more to the Susie Bright school that if you want to draw that line, you're in for a hell of a time trying to get everyone to agree on exactly where it is, and what falls on one side versus t'other. I write about sex. I happen to think—and have been told by others whose opinions I trust—that I do it reasonably well. What you choose to call it is up to you.<br />
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It's probably going to take me a few days to get everything set up just so. In the meantime, thanks for coming along for the ride. Hopefully things don't get too bumpy.CJ Lemirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15979547541149364048noreply@blogger.com0