Sex with Strangers Winner

Ally - you're the lucky winner of a signed copy of Sex with Strangers - please send me your snail mail address at nikki dot magennis at google mail dot com!

Congratulations and many balloons to you!

Intergalactic Friday smut

by Kate Pearce

I love Alpha Males (in books) and I love this cover...I lick all my print covers when I first see them, but this one I tried to lick on the computer screen. Here's quick blurb of the story:

As far as job hazards go, Douglass Fraser didn’t think crash landing on an alien planet and spending your recuperation being erotically pleasured by three gorgeous men was in the United Planetary Parcel Service’s courier handbook. There certainly wasn’t a section on what to do when a very sexy king wants you to have his baby and save his world.


Marcus Blood Axe isn’t only a descendant of ancient Viking space travelers; he’s also a ruler dealing with a shortage of fertile women, and no heir. Surely the gods are on his side when Douglass drops out of the sky and into his bed, giving him a last chance to stop his people's death spiral into extinction.

Despite the exquisite pleasures to be found in the king’s arms,Douglass wants more from Marcus than to be his brood mare. When another woman claims to be pregnant with Marcus’ child, it’s past time to get back home to her beloved son. Now the war Marcus wages is one of sensual passion designed to convince his Earth woman that she’s worth everything to him…even if it means giving up what he cherishes most.


Here's an excerpt!

A moan escaped Douglass as Marcus oiled her sex. She tried to push her hips forward to increase the pressure of his finger but her bounds held her rigidly in position. She could only take what he gave her, only receive what he wanted her to have and when he wanted her to have it. He spread her swollen pussy lips, fingering them between his thumb and forefinger. She’d almost forgotten the glass plug in her ass. He touched it now, pushing it firmly back into place.

“As you have no attendants except me, I’ll have to arouse you first.”

Douglass stared at him. “I am aroused. You know I am.”

He smiled, his finger tracing her dripping sex. “Not enough. Remember, I want you thinking about one thing and one thing only. My cock. You’re not ready for that yet. I want you to take me inside you. I want you to beg for me.”

He stood up and kissed her, his mouth unhurried, his tongue slowly lapping at hers as if he had all the time in the world. She concentrated on the textures and scent of his lips, the thrust of his tongue against her own. His fingers closed over her nipples and tugged in rhythm to his kisses, harder and harder until they stood out from her breasts.

Douglass bit her lip as he attached clamps to her extended nipples and several chains to connect them together. He returned to tantalize her mouth, still slow and careful, not giving her enough, never giving her enough. Her chained nipples grazed his muscled chest with every subtle caress. She felt every hair on his chest as it brushed her flesh, his cock slid against her stomach, wet and hot.

She groaned when he drew back and studied her. Her pussy throbbed, reacting to the hardness of the butt plug deep inside her. He circled her and drew the hair away from the back of her neck. She shuddered as he bit lightly on the curve between her neck and her shoulder.

“Are you thinking about my cock?”

She tensed as the tip of his shaft pressed against the butt plug.

“Yes, of course I am.”

He laughed, the sound caressing the back of her neck. “Not enough though. You’re still thinking too hard. I want your mind to submit to me as well as your body.”

“Why?”

He slid a hand around and cupped her mound. “Because you are my consort and I am your king. You owe me your obedience.”

“I’m not one of your subjects. I have a life on another planet. I have a family.”
Abruptly he removed his hand and walked around to face her. “You have a man who makes you as wet as I can? You have a man whose seed you want?”

He held out his hand palm up, showing her the thick pool of her cream. Holding her gaze he slowly bent his head and lapped it into his mouth.

“No. No one has ever made me feel like you do.” Douglass hated herself for the admission but it was the truth. Why should she pretend otherwise? Even if she never saw him again, she’d always remember how he’d driven her wild.

He held her gaze, his golden eyes steady on hers. “Then perhaps you should enjoy me then and let me take control.”

She stared right back at him. Her whole body quivering with need. With a sigh, she relaxed into the restraints, opening herself wider to him, ready to submit to his desires.

Marcus fell to his knees and rubbed his cheek against her stomach before heading down to her pussy. He breathed in and then flicked her clit with his tongue. She jumped as if he’d hit a nerve.

“Mmm…” he breathed. “Ready for a clamp I think.” She watched as he attached a thin gold loop to her clit and two clamps to her pussy lips. His fingers moved gently over her, exposing her secrets, displaying her for his sexual gratification. Douglass didn’t care. She even liked it.

He looked up at her, his gaze narrowed. “I’ve often wondered how my ancestors got through their duties when they knew that their consort would be waiting for them like this.” He caressed his shaft and balls and shuddered. “My cock ring feels too tight already. Imagine having to deal with the problems of your kingdom with a hard-on and your mind on fucking your woman.”



It's available in both e-book and trade paperback formats here


It will be in bookstores and Amazon etc very soon!
Leave a comment and win a copy to lick for yourself!

Last Man Standing

By Janine Ashbless

Whoa!!! Check out ‘Last Man Standing’!

Six very pretty UK/US chunks ‘o’ muscle – a bodybuilder, a New-Agey fitness guru, a Harvard endurance athlete, a salsa-dancing kickboxer, a lumberjack/BMX champion and a wonderfully posh cricket player – are shipped around the world to meet various tribal peoples and compete with them in their indigenous martial arts.

It’s on BBC3 several times a week (UK) and … somewhere on the Discovery Channel (US) – because it’s EDUCATIONAL! See ripped near-naked men immerse themselves in tribal cultures, endure painful initiation rituals, work out against gloriously photographed tropical scenery and get covered in anthropologically significant dust, blood and sweat…

Ahem. Sorry. Needed some alone-time there.

Cultural appropriation, international bridge-building, sadistic semi-porn or just a chance to watch glorious testosterone-heavy eye-candy? I intend to watch every single episode before I decide.

Here’s the BBC website

There’s an introductory video clip HERE:

Oh, and Rajko the fitness guru is also a singer songwriter

xxx
Janine

Rock Stars in Particular Order

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Cunt or: how I learned to stop worrying and love the C-word

by Kristina Lloyd

When I was a little girl, I didn’t have genitalia. I had a nebulous zone referred to as ‘between your legs’. I can’t blame my parents. They were simply part of a certain generation. But really. Between your legs? It’s like describing your face as ‘above your shoulders’.

For a long time, I had no word for my ‘down theres’. I wasn’t alone. Female sexuality is such a mysterious, scary element our language has evolved with a hole in it. We even lack an anatomical word for the whole shebang. Vagina is internal, vulva is external, and no 'official' noun unites them.

In my twenties, I quietly fell in love with ‘cunt’. Feminism and Chaucer helped: feminism because it insisted women reclaim the word; Chaucer because he was merrily using it in the Middle ages where it appeared as ‘queynte’ (quaint). Now, I don’t necessarily regard my nethers as quaint (and that wasn’t what Chaucer meant anyway) but queynte’s gentle bawdiness tempered the coarseness I was more used to. And somehow, Chaucer made it sexy in a way Germaine Greer couldn’t. ‘He shall have queynte right enough at eve,’ said Chaucer’s Wife of Bath, a character who, were she alive today, would surely be a member of Lust Bites. ‘Randy little bitch’ we’d probably call her.

Chaucer’s queynte is robust, vital, ordinary and sexy, and, in some contexts, so is cunt. Generally speaking, I love a good, hard Anglo-Saxonism, and nearly all the best sex words rhyme with ‘uh’: suck, fuck, cunt, grunt, lust, love, come. But it’s impossible to escape cunt’s taboo status, and the dark thrill of that makes it even richer. It’s a forbidden word for lovers and pornographers to share, a word to whisper, gasp or snarl. Try and murmur it seductively, and it will always top you. It’s too goddamn dirty, too monosyllabic and guttural to behave nicely by candlelight.

Whenever we use cunt sexually, we’re challenging language by trying to make the word our own. Cunt resonates with secrecy, deviance and vulgarity. You might aim to make it a glorious embrace of femaleness but shivering at the edge is the shock-language of porn – slutty redhead gets her cunt fucked (yay! did our hit rate just go up?) – and of abuse – you fucking cunt! The word is riddled with conflict. And conflict is hot because that's where, as individuals, we are all undone.

Some feminists, recognising the misogyny inherent in cunt being the ultimate insult, make a case for only using it positively. I think this is misguided. So many slang words are connected with sex. Trying to exempt cunt works only to reinforce its illicit potency, and to transform female genitalia into something precious and untouchable. Too much of this, and you end up with batty (but well-intentioned) women celebrating the ‘sacred portal to the feminine temple’, describing themselves as goddesses and making yoni art to honour the 'life-giving power of the feminine'. (Heck, you all like those snatch-bags, don't you?)

I’m not exactly the most tantric chick on the block and so, while I can understand the impulse to reclaim, I reckon all this mother Earth reverence takes us back to where we started. It steeps female sexuality in mystery, distortion and confusion; it elevates us into something we are not. What's more, it is horribly biologically reductive in privileging fertility over fucking, and is about as sexy as your granny's cushions.

Cunt is cunt. I do wish people could get over it. One of my favourite dirty books is My Secret Life by ‘Walter’, a diary of a 19th century gentleman. It runs to 11 volumes and contains cunt 5357 times. (I counted.) He uses the word cunt as matter-of-factly as ‘arm’ or ‘nostril’ and repetition soon neutralises it. I find the blankness curiously sexy but that perhaps says more about me and Walt than it does about cunt.

The word didn't make it into the Oxford English Dictionary until 1972 although its first recorded use was 1230 (Gropecuntelane was a London street - huh, guess what they did there). I could risk boring you all with various etymological debates about cunt's origins (is it from High German Kunte, Latin cunnus, Sanskrit cushi?) but what I really want to say is, wow, seven and half centuries of being ignored by dictionaries; that's one helluva word. Okay, so I know Dr Johnson wasn't around in the 13thC but doesn't it make you glad we have The Urban Dictionary?

So how does this affect me as an author? Darker Than Love, my first erotic novel, is set in Victorian London and features no instances of cunt. It isn’t that cunt doesn’t appear because I wrote an historical novel. Rather, I wrote an historical novel in order to avoid using cunt. Black Lace, then relatively new on the market (1998), advised authors to ‘approach with caution’. They had a similar warning about ‘fuck’. I couldn’t conceive of writing contemporary while watching my Cs and Fs so I stepped back in time.

One year later, guidelines were practically jettisoned. I wrote Asking for Trouble faster than anything I’ve ever written and used cunt 47 times. It felt right - for me, for the characters and the story. And it's a BL bestseller.

My forthcoming book, Split*, uses the word 9 times. My publisher has its eye on the US romance market, and is returning to its softly-softly origins. No one told me to go easy on cunt but there were rumours and it seemed prudent to do so. I am, appropriately, split about the wisdom of this. On the one hand, I want more women to enjoy erotica (and to buy my hot, dirty books) and if toning down the language achieves this, perhaps it’s a decent sacrifice. Or am I selling out? Because I also want people to feel okay about cunt, and sadly, it seems I can’t have it both ways in the current climate. (And I always want it both ways.)

Perhaps cunt sounds harsher to US than to UK ears. Perhaps writing which is comfortable with cunt will always be niche.

And perhaps I’m preaching to the choir here. Because I’m sure you’ll agree, ‘slutty redhead gets her feminine temple fucked’ ain’t going to work for any reader of Lust Bites.

Kristina X

---

In researching this article, I found this, possibly one of the most disturbing videos I’ve ever seen. And I just wrote a novel set in a puppet museum. I may need therapy.

*You see how I casually linked to Split there? Truth is, that’s the first time I’ve ever done that on Lust Bites. The book only appeared on Amazon a few days ago and I am madly excited I could link. I still am!

Coming Attractions

I have some scrawl in my notebook that says Kristina: Cunt. It's not what you think - it's just to remind me to make sure she writes a promised post about that notorious word.

And Monday is the day I can tick that item off my list, as Kristina Lloyd talks us through the ins and the outs of the dirtiest, sexiest word of all.

Wednesday is a Crush Wednesday. Alana Noel Voth is one of the many Lust Biters who crushes on rock stars. Come and join her and share your musical muse. Talking of which, Kate Pearce and I both share a dark secret. We both crushed on boy band Take That. Do they even count as rock stars?

And Kate herself will be here at the end of the week for the regular last Friday of the month smuttorama. She'll be treating us to an excerpt from her futuristic bondagey Vikings-in-space e-book Planet Mail. I am really looking forward to this one. The book has the most fabulous cover I have ever seen.

To celebrate this - and just because we want to - Alison Tyler has been very nice to the people at Extreme Restraints and got Lust Biters a 15% discount on all their delightful sexy accessories. Just pop over to the site anytime between today (24th June) and the 30th and enter 'lustbites' as your coupon code. So, now, don’t say we never give you anything.

Mathilde Madden
Wondering about the shipping costs of these.

Flash Winners

by Alison Tyler

When the effervescent Kristina Lloyd came up with the idea of a Midsummer’s Day flasher contest, I thought, "Great. We’ll get our readers to supply the smut for us! And then I’ll go through and pluck a winner from the slew of sexy selections." But, damn. I had no idea how difficult this would actually be. I’m only supposed to choose one? Who was the eejit who made up that rule? Oh, hell, it was me. Well, I definitely didn’t expect to find such bounty. So forget one, I’m picking the following four:

Freeway
By kenthegradstudent

Profound shyness hid G’s beauty. She was the star grad student yet an idiot about love.
One day in the library our eyes met. After we fucked she asked shyly, “How can I thank you?” “Let go.”
A week later, she asked me to meet her at a hotel. I passed it daily on my way to the university.
When I arrived, she opened the curtains, stripped, and pressed her breasts against the window. I entered her. Fifty feet away, cars raced by on the freeway. Those glancing up saw everything. If only they could have heard G’s screams.

***
Appetiser
By Erastes

Two blocks from the pub and he can't - won't wait. Sod the bed, sod the rain. Sod it all. Sod him.
They stumble into the alley, and he devours Andrew's mouth, pulling his lover's cock from his pants. Eyes wide, Watch the lust-laid-bare by the flickering helium. Watch the rain drizzle down his face, taste the want, take the need. Amuse Bouche. Appetiser.
Andrew surges, damp, hard--harder into his squeezing fist; there's a groan, then another, rising, rising. Rhythmic. Regular. Ready. Ready. Steady. COME.
His fingers take the bounty, shared between them before the rains steals it away.

***
Blown Glass
By yahnilei

Mardi Gras. Midnight. Swarms of sweat-soaked bodies lined along the streets. I'm pushed into an alleyway, pushed against a rough, stone wall.
Two masks. He was only hazel eyes and a cleft chin. He lifted my skirt, prodded thighs apart, dug three fingers inside me, filling me up like air into newly blown glass.
"People can see us," I said through a sharp gasp.
He placed a long finger to my lips, and slid his shorts down. Japanese lanterns loomed high over our heads, and he fucked me as drunk gagglers peered into shadow and rocking light.

***
Untitled
By Sacchi Green

We were Dharma Bums,
Hanging with Kerouac and Ginsberg,
Jailbait chicks high on the Road and the Word.
Lip service was all we paid to how they were hung,
Swallowed up, instead, in the urgent mysteries
Of each other.

We played their game of Yab Yum, silent, still,
Close, closer, never touching,
Breast not quite to breast, cunt to cunt, nipples seeking nipples,
Hunger pulsing hot and slick between damp thighs;
We pierced each other with blue-hot sparks of longing
Until need broke down the will, the game well-lost,
And bodies clutched at joy with tooth and claw.


Honorable mentions go to:
Craig, for the lovely line “Cleanliness is overrated”
Jude Mason for the memorable statement: “You got me hornier'n a three peckered toad.”
And to Jeremy, for fucking us in the blog comments. Best 115-word shag I've ever had.

Winners, please email your contact information to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.

XXX,
Alison

You're a thousand minds, within a flash
—Peter Gabriel

Sex with Strangers

By Nikki Magennis

To my mind, sex can be many things. It can be transcendental, angry, healing, tender, frightening, funny, or sad. Sex with someone you love has got to be one of the most wonderful experiences in the world.

But what about sex with someone you don’t give a damn about, beyond liking their cute smile or tightly-packed body (Or, and I do feel a little rueful about this one – their shoes)? What about sex with someone you don’t even know?

Is it reckless, dangerous, sexy, stupid or wild? Perhaps all of the above?

Can we get away with it these days without the usual labels peppering the air? Slut, slag, trollop, whore, easy. Dirty stop-out.

Ah, been there, done that. Made the T shirt.

I remember the walk of shame. Making your way home at dawn in last night’s clothes. Sleepless, bedraggled, sated. Torn tights and smudged eyeliner. So louche. So obviously recently fucked.

Sex with someone you don’t know is such an adventure – everything is possible. No ties, no promises, no safety net. No heartache, no responsibility, no jealousy. Just a brief taste of pleasure, and the comfort of strangers.

I always thought it was so simple and beautiful - two people catching each other's eye, smiling. Letting nature and the madness of summer nights take their course. With no artifice or pretence, just the song of the body and all the rich, foreign smells of a new lover. The sex tasted all the sweeter for being so inevitably brief.

I don’t go out on the hunt anymore. Once you’re happily shackled to one man there’s no need or opportunity. But in stories the writer (and reader) is free to pick up strangers, fuck them and move on to the next one with no hard feelings. Black Lace’s latest Wicked Words anthology: ‘Sex with Strangers’, released today in the US, is full of short, sweet never-to-be-repeated adventures that fuel those dangerous daydreams.

I have two stories in this book - both about women who find that fucking someone they don’t know broadens their horizons. As a little taste, here is the moment the artist in ‘Art of Fucking’ gets down and dirty with her life model.

(I think it’s fitting that they’re both nameless...)

*****

The distance reduced to zero and his mouth was on me, wet lips covering mine in a warm shock. All of a sudden the cold tension of the studio was flooded with sensation - the quiet Northern light was eclipsed by the movement of this man against me, his hot human aliveness crashing into my world, encircling me, gripping me in those naked, marble smooth arms. Everything was dark, but dark in the way of flesh, with a heartbeat and a pulse and the vivid animal sounds filling my ears.

I didn’t pull away, and I didn’t miss the smell of love in the air. Instead, I felt the delicious surprise of an unfamiliar man kissing me, and the want and the need to feel him closer yet.

Michelangelo always said the sculpture was already in the stone, and he just had to work out how to find it. When the model kissed me, it felt like he’d found a new image of me, of what I could be. Like he’d dug out the long-forgotten, reckless girl I used to be from where she was buried deep in the cold hard rock and brought me back to life.

His prick was stiffening, pressing against my leg, while he slid his tongue into my mouth and we tasted each other.

'A mouthful of fun,' Sandy had said.

I'd never been so hungry in my life. I knelt.

The wood planks of the studio floor were hard under my knees as I took hold of the guy's hips and pulled him towards me. I buried my face in his pubic hair, letting it scratch against my mouth. His cock bobbed against my cheek and I nuzzled at it, feeling the smoothness and the heat of what I'd been longing for for months. I'd spent a half hour looking at his body, trying to recreate it on paper, but drawing his beauty was nowhere near close enough to this. Touching him, taking him in my mouth, sucking on him. Tasting the bittersweet honey of his pre-cum as his cock swelled and grew rock hard.

Fuck drawing, I thought. It doesn’t get to the heart of the matter. I realised just how flat a picture can be as his hands tangled in my hair and I pulled at his ass, sticking a fingertip into his hole and feeling the corresponding spasm in his cock. This wasn't static, everything was in motion, stimulating all my senses at once and we were sinking inside each other, intertwining, pushing and pulling at each other. He was tumbling down to kneel in front of me and his hands were burrowing into my clothes, seeking out the pockets of heat, the dark and wet spots that connected straight to my brain.

His fingers ran into my knickers, slid quickly between my thighs and into my pussy. A slight resistance, before he found the groove and the moisture of my pussy and dove into it. Two fingers, three, jammed inside me, opening me up, wriggling in there with a funny little shock before I felt the rhythm of it, the to and fro rocking that made me feel like my body was caught in a tide. Waves ebbing and flowing, he was imitating the beat of sex that would sink into me and pull me under.

*****

Find ‘A Whole New City’ and ‘The Art of Fucking’, as well as stories by Mathilde Madden, Teresa Noelle Roberts, Olivia Knight, Sophie Mouette, Kristina Lloyd and ADR Forte in Sex With Strangers.

...Don't be a stranger! Say hello in the comments and I'll pick someone at random to win a copy of 'Sex with Strangers' signed by moi.

x Nikki

I Want You

by Alison Tyler

I want heavy petting at the stop light. I want a blow job between the front door and the dining room. I want there to be just enough time for the old “in and out.” And for this Midsummer’s Day contest, I want you. That is, I want you to give me your best 100-word flashers. Like “Madrid” by our own lovely Nikki Magennis:

I wore my red shoes. Your hair was gloss black and tangled, melting into the night, leaving only a glitter of teeth.
You kissed me at dawn, took me to the house where you slept. A cousin’s, you said. ‘Seventh heaven’, you said.
There were no sheets on the mattress. We fought our clothes, came out naked, fell on the floor. The silver crucifix round your neck hit me in the face as we fucked – fast, urgent, silent. Your skin was gold and slippery.
Afterwards we waltzed through empty streets. The world was asleep, and we were dreaming in colour.

And “Flashers” by Stephen D. Rogers:

In the half-light of dusk, they had the park to themselves. They wore matching raincoats and nothing else.
She stepped from behind a tree and flashed him.
He flashed her from behind a trellis.
Their bare skin glowed in short bursts, like two fireflies dancing around each other until darkness fell and the two lovers finally met and joined on a bed of soft grass.
They took turns watching the stars blink to life.

Or Sommer Marsden's "And You":

And you are right there inside me, gripping my hips. Clamping down on the flesh as if your fingers might pass right through me. And you say, "Don't move, baby."
And I don't, except for the ways you move me.
Push me here, pull me there. Keep me full. Thrust and pump.
Use me as I'm meant to be used.
Your teeth on my neck. Just as you come. It‘s my signal to let go.
And I am light and heat, brimming with you.
Perfectly used.
Complete.

I chose these three because of how wildly different they are. Realistic, romantic, and raw. Look at the power of a paragraph, the seduction of a single sentence, the wonder of 100-words.

XXX,
Alison


I want you.
I want you so bad, babe.
I want you.
I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad.
It’s driving me mad.
—The Beatles

P.S. One lucky winner will receive Down & Dirty (volumes one and two) plus the thrill of seeing your words in print in FlashFucking, my new collection of ultra-short stories (pending approval of Cleis Press). Flashers don't need to be exactly 100 words—but they should not be more than 100 words, including title.

Drum Roll...

I loooooove giving away prizes! It's the perfect reason to pop open another bottle of champagne.

Remember our interview with M. Christian? He's kindly giving away a copy of The Very Bloody Marys, and Stacia, you are the lucky commenter who gets it!

So, Stacia, email us at lustbitesladies AT yahoo DOT com with your snail-mail address, and you shall have good reading in your mailbox very soon.

Cheers,
Gwen "Loves to Make People Happy" Masters

Vicarious Living

By Gwen Masters

I am a cardiac heart specialist.

Surprised? Wait until you hear the next part:

In my spare time, I’m a NASCAR driver.

But wait, it gets better! When I’m not burning up tires on five-hundred laps, I’m an international assassin with four different identities.

And when I’m not doing that, somehow I manage to step into my time machine and become a housewife in the 1940s, trying to keep my family together during the height of World War II.

It’s not a movie sound stage, and it’s not multiple personalities. It’s writing, and being able to become whomever I want to be in the pages of my books, in the paragraphs of my short stories. It’s living vicariously through my characters.

If there is something I have always wanted to do, but never had the chance, skills, or other necessities by which to do it, I can write about it – and through the magic of my PC, a lot of research and a little bit of luck, I’m right there.

When I was lost in the depths of Leigh, the cardiac specialist trying to save the life of the bastard who just ended their relationship, you can bet I could almost feel every tiny gasp of breath as I tried to pound life back into his cheating heart. When I was lost in Karen, the woman who entertained clients in her high-priced suite and offered them caviar and champagne after their encounter, you can bet my heart was pounding at the thought of having all four of those men in bed.

All four...at once.

Ummm...ah, give me a moment...my mind just veered off into the direction of satin sheets, strong muscles, broad shoulders, magic hands, moans of ecstasy...

Ahem. Excuse me. Where was I?

Ah, yes. Living vicariously.

That’s one of the joys of writing, one of those guilty little pleasures tucked away in the back of my mind every time I sit down at the keyboard. I might have hours stretching before me, empty time to fill with all the imaginings of my mind, and it’s all about what I want to do, what I want to feel, and what I hope to accomplish. It’s a selfish pleasure, make no doubt about it. I write for the money, honey – but most of all, I’m writing for me.

Making that perfect stranger fantasy a reality? Being the center of a BDSM party, my body bared for the lusty gaze of dozens of men and women? Riding out a hurricane? Assassinating leaders for the cold cash in my Swiss bank account? Having sex with a ghost? Not in real life. But in my pages – yes, yes, and oh, please, yes.

I’ve been a frustrated wife, lusting over the priest while I should be in Confession. I’ve been a married man having an affair with two different women. I’ve been an older woman with the lawn boy, and the younger woman with the college professor. I’m just as likely to be a junkie as a marriage counselor. I haven’t become a vampire yet, but just give me time. It all depends on the mood of the day.

Sometimes living vicariously though my characters leads to living vicariously...for real. For the cardiac specialist, I spent two days in the ER at the invitation of a good friend, who showed me what ‘controlled chaos’ really means. For the former CIA agent, I spent long days at the firing range, learning about weapons. I’ve been storm chasing in Oklahoma. I’ve been behind a bar in Atlanta, shadowing a bartender. In that particular venture, I learned what a proper Jack Daniels hangover feels like. Saying it wasn't pretty is an understatement. Hey, I never said this living vicariously thing was easy all the time, did I?

This time it’s something a bit more sedate. In a few weeks, I’m going to spend time with Iowa’s covered bridges, interview first responders, and delve into reams of psychological profiles – all research for Iowa, my latest writing venture.

And after that...well, there's a gorgeous, very experienced stripper, the one my fiancé seemed to like so much the last time we ventured into the strip club. She had many years of seeing things most of us can only imagine, and quite a life to talk about.

Besides, she gave great lapdances. A few more wouldn’t be out of the question. It's all for research purposes, you see?

Coming Attractions

By Mathilde Madden


Well, finally, the boys have gone back to their sheds. And it's oh so quiet at last. We're just throwing away the last empty lager tins and sticky porno mags (mind you, we have to do that every Sunday morning at Lust Bites towers), and getting ready to resume normal service and bring you more of our delicious women-only radical feminist separatist shrew filth. Or something. Some of that might be a lie.

On Monday, Gwen Masters will be talking about living vicariously through characters. Like, say, writing or reading a story where a man gets eaten by a werewolf. And really enjoying the idea of being that werewolf. Perhaps.

Wednesday isn't the longest day of the year (that's Thursday) but we'll all be off doing pagan things on hillocks then, so Alison Tyler will get midsummer started early by asking you to pen us your sexiest flash fiction. Short-shorts for short nights. Sharpen those pencils.

Nikki Magennis is here on Friday. So expect more hedgehog sexing. Or something to do with Sex with Strangers. Or strange hedgehogs. Were-hedgehogs, perhaps.

Mathilde Madden
Excited about this. And this.

Bet you thought I'd forgotten...

to announce my Not Tonight, dear, I've Got a Headache winner!

The lucky commenter drawn [by Heather Locklear apparently] is...

Hi Danette, please contact me at portiadacosta 'at' gmail 'dot' com to let me know your postal address and whether you've read any books of mine already. So I can send you something that's new to you! :)

Love

Portia Da Costa
who loves giving out prizes!

Write Sex Week: Day Five

by Kristina Lloyd and Nikki Magennis

Ain’t she a doll?

Yes, you’re looking at Lust Bites Monster Woman: pieces of us as patched together by Dr Nikki Frankenstein Magennis!

Heck – and you thought this week’s debates were scary. All we need is a bolt of lightning and this honey could be walking, talking and inviting you back to her place. LBMW hasn’t yet been named. Any ideas?

LBMW, you’ll notice, is a tad underdressed so Alison Tyler and Nikki Franki have been busy sewing T-shirts to clothe the poor lovely. And they have made a Lust Bites shop! Check it out in the sidebar on the right. Scroll down a bit. And a bit more. Mmm, yes, just a touch lower, yes, yes, there, ohhhh yes! Our shop. I'm so proud. And we are open for business. You can buy knickers with our name on! And T-shirts and mugs and you can hire hot men to come visit you and tattoo I heart Lust Bites across your buttocks!

Anyway, it’s been a fun week, hasn’t it? We must do it again sometime.

Thanks to all who played Guess the Gender. Alas, no one got all 7 excerpts correct, not even The Gender Genie. Nikki and Amy S got 5, so I think Amy S gets the prize. Amy S email us at, erm, oh bollocks ... at lustbitesladies AT yahoo DOT com (Hey, don’t look at me, ladies and gents. I didn’t choose the address.)

And here are the answers with some maths I did. The correct answers with the % who guessed right is highlighted in purple. For the full excerpts, check out Write Sex Week: Day One.

1/ She said, did I want her to show me what women like. I said yes.

You said: Female 46% Male 54% Gender Genie: Female Answer: FEMALE

From: Susanna Moore, In The Cut – a book loved by many Lusties, I suspect, and I am one of them.

2/ Hot-skinned and sticky about our thighs, the poet plucked me from the rock.

You said: Female 92% Male 8% Gender Genie: Female Answer: MALE

From: Lindsay Gordon, The Bond (Nexus), aka super-stylish, kink-packed vampire porn written by our very own editor, Adam Nevill of Black Lace Towers. Yes, vampires! Missy and Hank are on the run in the US of A. The whole book is female POV and I really don't know what it means that the male editor of a women-only imprint managed to fool nearly everyone into thinking he was a female author. He probably menstruates in synch with us.

3/ "Please," she repeated in a whisper as the cold stream of lubricant drizzled into her crack.

You said: Female 31% Male 69% Gender Genie: Female Answer: MALE

From: Carl Kennedy in Best Bondage Erotica (ed. Alison Tyler)

4/ How delightfully cruel he could be. And how part of her responded

You said: Female 62% Male 38% Gender Genie: Male Answer: FEMALE

From: Cleo Cordell, The Crimson Buccaneer (not DH Lawrence as was suggested). Cleo Cordell wrote for Black Lace in the 90s. The book seems to be out of print, otherwise I'd link to it.

5/ His cock slid between her lips effortlessly. She parted for him, taking him in

You said: Female 62% Male 38% Gender Genie: "The Gender Genie thinks the author of this passage is unknown." Answer: FEMALE

From: Sommer Marsden in Love at First Sting (ed. Alison Tyler) – ha, yes Sommer (aka Smut Girl), you managed to baffle the Gender Genie with a 50/50 split, you crafty little hermaphrodite, you.

6/ I was hungry to get my cunt stuffed with his dick again

You said: Female 69% Male 31% Gender Genie: Female Answer: FEMALE

From: a Lust Biter who ought to wash her mouth out with soap and water. 'Cynic', whoever you are, you were spot on: taken from a girlie mag, a reader’s letter as made up by the sub editor. Gawd, sub editing a porn mag. Some people will do anything for money.

7/ He has the most tender mouth, large and pink and powerful.

You said: Female 77% Male 15% Erastes (who clearly has her own gender) 8% Gender Genie: Male Answer: MALE

From: Joseph Olshan, Night Swimmer – I adore this book. It’s one of my favourites.

Anyway, that quiz was obviously just for fun but the results do raise some interesting questions about perceived notions of linguistic expression of gender identity within a heteronormative and patriarchal ...

SHUT UP! SHUT UP, I say! My ears are bleeding! The weekend starts tomorrow! I vote we all kick off our shoes (oooh, look - Jeremy already did) and play mass-footsie.

Many, many thanks to our brave/foolish manbloggers, Felix, Huck and Jeremy, and to all who've been with us this week. It's been emotional. Now please everyone, go buy a shameless Lust Bites T-shirt, and treat yourself to extra of whatever you fancy this weekend! I think we've earned it, man, woman and Erastes alike.

Cheers!
Kristina X

PS Next week, on the eve of the shortest night of the year in the North (ie Wed 20th June), Alison Tyler will be asking for your flash fiction - saucy snips of a 100 words or so. Alison will be picking her favourites and there will be prizes! Obviously, it's only open to women ... no, no! I'm joking! Anyone can enter, even the hedgehogs! Mark it in your diaries: Midsummer Quickies on Lust Bites, and get writing.

Write Sex Week: Day Four

A week full of boy blogs really wouldn't be complete without a visit from one of our favourite erotica writers,Jeremy Edwards, who has kindly offered us not only a post but a naked picture.

Really, what more could a girl ask for?

Take it away, Senor Edwards:


Being a male erotica author, there are places I'm automatically
ineligible for publication. How do I feel about that?

Pretty good, actually.

Isn't it discriminatory?

Technically, maybe. But not really, in my opinion.

Isn't it unfair?

I don't think so, all things considered.

Here's how I see it: We live in a world in which women have been
second-class citizens--or worse--through most of history, in almost
every human society. To this day, women as a group are, to one extent
or another, subordinated by patriarchal societies virtually
everywhere.

For example, in the U.S. (where I reside), this translates into a
continuing wage gap between men and women; persisting double standards
regarding sexual freedom; and governmental policies that willfully and
viciously restrict access to birth control and sex education (and we
all know which sex that affects most severely).

And that's the mild form of subordination. In other parts of the
world, a woman can still be sentenced to death for actual or alleged
sexual activity, by governments wedded to misogynistic ideologies.
Now, those societies are not the places where erotica is being
published, and so they are not directly related to this discussion;
but I mention the grim fact of their existence simply as part of the
big picture of women's lives in twenty-first-century human society.

Bearing all of this in mind, I think, in our world, that it's very
understandable that some women, seeking autonomy and independence and
fulfillment, will insist on certain cultural spaces to call their own.
Places where the content is not only "for women," but also by
women. Places where women, and women alone, articulate their own
needs, their own concerns, their own problems, and their own
fantasies.

Nikki butts in: Articulating our fantasies? This calls for more naked men!

(The other Jeremy Edwards.)

And I think it's no surprise that the broad area of sexuality--from
the erotic arts to sexual health to sexual self-discovery--is one
where it can be particularly important for women to have that room of
their own. Because we live in a world in which women's sexual needs,
in particular, have been ignored, denied, misunderstood, and even
demonized for century after century, by society after society.

On the one hand, consider the phenomenon of a dominant group shutting
out an oppressed group (e.g., White people barring African Americans
from their clubs, or heterosexual parade organizers prohibiting gay
groups from participating in their festivities). On the other hand,
picture a subordinated group restricting participation in its
activities to members of that group (e.g., a ballroom dance class for
lesbian couples only). The difference between these two types of
scenarios is, in my opinion, a critical one. The former type of
instance is an expression of bigotry, whereas the latter represents an
attempt to secure a little independence and autonomy. These two types
of "discrimination" are just not the same.

I'm not presuming to say that the strong, self-actualized women who
publish with a company like Black Lace are personally oppressed or
victimized by male-dominated society. Nor am I asserting that about
their readers. But I think there are good reasons for the fact that
some women want to read erotic books put out by an all-female team
(it's not just something created out of thin air by marketers), and
these reasons have to do with the historical and contemporary position
of women in a patriarchal world. In that context, I think that "by
and for women" enterprises represent a legitimate and healthy response
to the continuing struggle of women to claim their fulfillment and
dignity in a world that still has a long, long way to go.

If the day comes that women run the world and guys like me have no
place left to publish our smut, then I'll protest. Until then, I say
long live the cultural spaces that women have designated as their own.
May they blossom, thrive . . . and provide all of us with some damn
sexy reading.

Jeremy Edwards

Jeremy Edwards is a pseudonymous sort of fellow whose efforts at
spinning libido into literature have been published various places
online, as well as in print anthologies. His greatest goal in life is
to be sexy and witty at the same moment--ideally in lighting that
flatters his profile.

A huge thanks to Jeremy for baring his um, innermost thoughts...now it's your turn! Let us know what you think about feminism, literature and Jeremy's Big Fedora...

Write Sex Week: A brief interval

Ladies and gentlemen,

To soothe our frayed voices and give us all a moment to recuperate, here are a couple of hedgehogs.

Aren't they sweet?

Back tomorrow with Jeremy Edwards!

Write Sex Week: Day Three

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Write Sex Week: Day Two

by Felix Baron (Nexus)

Lusty Ladies, on behalf of your myriad fans, I salute you! You deserve our fullest respect for the many benefits that you bestow upon this world. You start with nothing but your sweet sensuousness and well-honed skills and create publishable novels. That’s magic!

Consider, if one of your books sells 5,000 copies and it takes three hours to read, and it’s read only twice per copy, that’s a total of 30,000 hours of pleasure that you are responsible for. That’s 1,250 days, or almost three and a half years. Incredible?

It was Nexus editor, Peter Darvil-Evans, who told me, ‘We publish books for one-handed readers.’ I think it’s safe to assume that each reading of your novel brings about at least two orgasms. I’m including those resulting from the readers’ busy fingers, while reading; those that come later, from the fantasies that the book inspires, and those that are results of your work moving its readers to seek out their lovers for their mutual pleasure. (Two-for-one.) That’s about 10,000 orgasms induced by every novel you write! Most people don’t stimulate anywhere near that many in other people in an entire lifetime. That’s an achievement to be proud of!

Further, you ladies are educators. How many people, I wonder, first learned to locate and appreciate the clitoris or the G-spot from reading sexy fiction? Those revelations can be life-changing. I’ve heard of young women who suffered unslaked lust to their early twenties, or sometimes beyond, because neither they nor their partners knew which cute little pink buttons to push, to induce la petite morte. You’ve saved relationships. You’ve brought continuing joy to countless thousands. Be proud.

Your tutelage isn’t confined to anatomy. You teach tolerance and acceptance. You’ve brought masturbation out of the closet. Thanks to erotic writers, the shame that has crippled so many lives is in rapid retreat.

It isn’t just self-loving that erotica writers have rescued from ignominy. By reading erotica, people can see a pair of thighs gleaming above lacy stocking-tops through the admiring eyes of a leg-fetishist; gaze into cleavages with the glee of boob-fanatics; appreciate the allure of skinny bad-boys or beefy bears; feel the sweet bite of canes through the tingling senses of masochists and enjoy the swelling pride of dominants who are being served well. Those vicarious experiences don’t change the sexual preferences of readers but they do help them to understand tastes that some might consider deviant and unnatural.

More importantly, through erotica, fetishists of all stripes learn that they are not alone. Others appreciate the allure of toe-cleavage. Others fantasize about their public nudity being applauded by the sound of mass masturbation. Whatever your kink, if it’s safe, sane and consensual, there should be no shame in it. (Unless shame turns you on, of course.)

It was here that I read Murray Suid’s witty account of his writing a book review for his college paper, and mentioning cunnilingus. His Dean reprimanded him, not for the prurience of his content, but for perpetuating the myth that such acts were performed in real life. If the simple act of oral love can be considered mythical, isn’t even more absurd to think that people might enjoy being spanked, or buggered, or bound?

Your works, ladies, simultaneously give us permission to be honest about who we are and defy those who would blame us for not being repressed and prudish.

Madeline Moore and I write movie scripts. Over recent months, we have been adapting some of the scripts we’ve written and not sold, into novels.

(Adam was kind enough to publish the first such adaptation as my erotic novel, Dominant.) The process of turning scripts into novels has brought home to us an important advantage that the written word has over tales told in moving pictures.
In a movie, you might watch a 17th Century Parisian seamstress find solace with her last candle. (Warming her hands at its flame. What did you think I meant?) In a novel, however, you can be that seamstress.

Only the written word can take people inside characters. The difference between watching a movie and reading a book is the same as the difference between sympathy and empathy. In an erotic movie, you can see and hear a character express joy at buggering or being buggered; dominating or submitting; sucking or being sucked. In an erotic book, you can share the characters’ glee from the inside. That way, you can truly understand not only the physical sensations, but the emotional ones. It might seem contradictory, but there is more realism in what you read than in what you watch.

All of the foregoing, ladies, was foreplay. It’s a preamble to the meat of my essay, which is that I am delighted that Black Lace is both for and by women. Most of the opinions I’ve expressed so far pertain to all writers of erotica, male or female. There is, however, an important difference, to the readers, if they know beyond any shred of doubt that the authors are of the fair sex.

I have written erotica under feminine pen-names. I suspect that my readers have often twigged my ruse. So, when I write of female characters who yearn to be sodomised or who can’t get enough of any of the depraved acts I have described, a reader might think, ‘Of course he writes like that. He’s a man. Real women don’t…’

It’s sad, but many men and even a few women, believe that women feign sensuality for duplicitous reasons – to trick men into marriage or to get pregnant or simply for pay. Yes, a woman’s sensuality can be quite different from a man’s, but it can be just as intense, or even more so.

Men doubting this has ruined many relationships. Women denying this has excused psychological frigidity. An incredible number of women consider the female orgasm to be a myth – and I’m not talking about ejaculation.

But, when a writer who is ‘certified female’ invites readers of both sexes into her mind and extols the pleasures of fellatio or cunninlingus or buggery, and describes in fervent detail the ecstatic glee of a fine climax, no one can deny the truth of what she writes. Women readers can learn that such joy is within their reach. Men readers can learn to become better and more trusting lovers.

Ladies of Lust, you are strippers all, baring your innermost selves, and whatever your motivations, you are simultaneously incredibly exciting and powerfully therapeutic.



Felix Baron writes in a number of genres, under various names, and teaches a Course in Writing Erotica for http://www.qualityofcourse.comHis latest novel for Nexus, Sweet As Sin, will be released in October, 2007 and is available for pre-order now at Amazon.com.

Write Sex Week: Day One

by Kristina Lloyd

About ten years ago when I was an apprentice pornographer, I kept hearing that erotic fiction was perfectly in tune with female sexuality. Men, they said, were happy with a jazz mag and a quick hand shandy. Women preferred narrative. We wanted escapism, sensuality, emotional complexity and actual characters.

Either I’m hanging out with a better class of smutter or times have changed. (Actually, I think those two things are inseparable.) Today, mainstream culture is more sexually aware; women are producing and consuming porn and erotica as never before; many sweeping generalisations have been swept up and flung in a cell along with Mel Gibson DVDs and remaindered piles of Men are from Mars, Women are Heinous.

The binaries are blurring. ‘He wants/She wants’ is so passé. Or is it? Maybe what I’m trying to say is: I’m so glad I’m not the only woman who adores the psycho romance of Wuthering Heights and also gets off on pics of men in the buff and who will use any cheap excuse to post a photo of some half-naked brute on Lust Bites.*

Ahem. This week, we’re asking if gender matters. Are there differences in the way men and women write about sex? Do male and female readers want different things? If so, what? Why? Could a man write an erotic romance with a hero women will fall half in love with? Should Black Lace, an imprint publishing women only, open its doors to the hairier sex? Should Lust Bites let the lads in? Can men write convincing female orgasms? Can women write believable male/male fiction? Can straight men do lesbians (hey, quit sniggering at the back) or should erotica writers stick to what they know best?

Anyway, we’re kicking off with a guessing game. Below are seven sizzling snippets. Can you guess if the author is male or female? I’ll reveal the answers on Friday, and one correct guesser wins a copy of Alison Tyler’s Tiffany Twisted, a fabulously funny sexy book in which Tiffany and her boyfriend Kurt find themselves trapped in each other’s bodies. Also on Friday, we'll be unveiling the magnificent 'Lust Bites Monster Woman'! LBMW is a body parts collage brought to you by our barely-draped selves and the creative genius that is Nikki Magennis. You've been warned!

Kristina X

* Half-naked brute is Brandon Mills, pic by Joe Oppedisano. Brandon is 6’2”. Whimpers.

*QUIZ TIME: Male or female? Hold on tight: these extracts are HOT!*

ONE

She said, did I want her to show me what women like. I said yes. It was hard to get my hand inside of her. She had a meaty, fat pussy. You had to go all the way down to the bottom of her snatch to get your finger in. It was so strange once you got your finger in, it was like sticking your finger in the ocean. If she was sitting on me, I used to think she pissed on me. Hot liquid on my balls. I swear she used to piss on me. She told me to hold women when they come, to hold them in your arms. She taught me how to unhook a bra with one hand. She said it would come in handy someday. She asked me if I’d ever kissed a woman down there, and I said no. I may have lied.

TWO

Hot-skinned and sticky about our thighs, the poet plucked me from the rock. Casually, with two unlit cigarettes drooping from his mouth, he took me down to the cold lagoon. I could have fainted with happiness when the cold water rose between my buttocks and lapped over my stomach. When all of me was under the water, except for my head, I nuzzled under Walt’s jaw with appreciative lips.

THREE

"Please," she repeated in a whisper as the cold stream of lubricant drizzled into her crack. She moaned as I opened her up with my fingers, and by the time I slid my shaft into her I knew Michelle had a well-trained ass. She pushed up against me, her fingers still parting her cheeks wide for me, giving me unchecked access to her tight asshole. I reached under her and pushed the dildo more firmly into her cunt, using my hand to grind the harness against her clit. Michelle's mouth opened wide and she went to scream as she pulsed toward her orgasm, but no sound came out at first. Then a strangled moan of pleasure exploded from her as I felt her asshole clenching rhythmically in orgasmic spasms around my cock. I pumped into her faster, knowing I would come any second. Just as she finished her climax, I exploded into her, filling the realtor's asshole with my come.

FOUR

How delightfully cruel he could be. And how part of her responded to the darkness of his passion. The willing submission flooded her body as the desire seemed to centre within her, unfurling like a moist red flower whose petals pulsed and swelled.

FIVE

His cock slid between her lips effortlessly. She parted for him, taking him in, like his wife never had before. Like no one ever had before. She had been waiting for this and he could tell. The feel of him, the taste of him on her lips was something she had considered many times before. The truth of this set West free. He pushed beyond the barrier or her teeth, felt her soft tongue on his erection, fucked her mouth. He was free. Lulled by the feel of the hot suede of her mouth rushing to encompass him as he gently pushed the rocker back and forth, back and forth. A metronome of pleasure. The universe boiled down to one bright point in his mind – her mouth on him.

SIX

I was hungry to get my cunt stuffed with his dick again so I broke off and told him to doggy-fuck me. He got behind me as I kneeled on all fours and he drove his fat cock nuts-deep into my saturated cunt. He started powering away and I came with a yell and a creamy squirt.


SEVEN

He has the most tender mouth, large and pink and powerful. His kisses set off these detonations inside you and amazingly he can easily take your cock all the way down to its root and slap it back and forth with the inside of his mouth. He loves it when you lean against a tree and screw his face and sometimes as you’re getting there you can feel the mosquitoes biting your shoulders and your stomach and it makes it more intense when you finally come. When he’s about to come, his eyes actually film over. And then you both lie there, staring up at the strange-looking trees in the Asian forest. As the daylight bleeds away, you watch how he vanishes next to you, this lovely black man, he just disappears into the darkness.

Coming Attractions

By Mathilde Madden
...I know what boys like… I know what guys want.

Actually I have no idea. So we've invited some onto Lust Bites to tell us. Yes. Men! Sex! Men writing about sex! Sex! Men! And Lust Bites presents: Write Sex Week. Five days of men! And sex! And men!

And who's best at writing boy does girl? Or girl does girl. Or boy does boy. Or girl does werewolf? Who writes the best sex? Ladies or gentlemen? Sheaths or swords? Cups or staffs? Tunnels or trains? Us or them? Or is it a tie? And – in that case - who gets tied?

So brace yourselves for great globs of jizz to start flying as we get all FHM on your asses and ask some men to talk to us about sex. SEX! Oh, and writing.

Men! Sex! Writing! Men! Biceps!

And, I'll just be hiding here under the table until they've gone.

Look! Look, Look, Look!

This is just a prototype.
But isn't it cool?