Thursday, October 30, 2008

SMUT SLOT: Market for Love, by Jamaica Layne

comment today to win a signed copyHere you'll find an excerpt from my latest Virgin Cheek release MARKET FOR LOVE by Jamaica Layne! Here's your chance to see how erotica can work in the super-uptight financial world, even in the midst of an economic downturn! Comment away, because one lucky commenter will receive a FREE signed copy from the author! (Check back on the comments thread in 3 days to see if you won!)

Buy at Amazon UK Buy at Amazon USA Buy at

Chapter One

“I am so dead.”
That’s what Miranda Johansson, the sole female stock research analyst at Maxwell Moore & Company, LLC, whispered one Tuesday morning—a Tuesday that would surely soon be known as Black Tuesday in financial circles.
“I am so, so, dead,” Miranda moaned.
The market had just crashed.
Well, not the whole market, exactly—just the entire telecom sector, which also just so happened to be the area of the market Miranda Johansson’s stock research focused on. And to be perfectly accurate, the telecom sector hadn’t just crashed. The telecom sector had actually sunk so low it was resting somewhere in the ninth circle of Hell, right next to Dante, Lucifer, and Julius Caesar.
Miranda watched the share prices of the thirty-two telecom stocks she covered plummet farther and farther down on the black-and-green screen of her trading terminal. When all the shares in her research universe sank to below ten percent of their opening price, she put her head down on her keyboard. She thought she might cry.
In fact, she did cry. A little. Not out loud. Not enough to need a nose-blow or a hanky. But enough so that two big fat salty tears squeezed their way past her scrunched-up eyelids. And those two big, fat, salty tears were more than enough to send her $15.98 eyeliner and $32.00 Super-Luscious-Curl mascara running right down both her cheeks in two greasy black rivers. But she was too wrapped up in the eighty-seven million or so dollars she’d just lost for her clients to know that.
“I am so fucking dead.” This time she didn’t whisper or moan. This time, she screamed. Screamed, loud enough to bring Annabelle--her emotionally astute, middle-aged personal assistant--trotting right into her office.
“Miranda? Miranda, hon, are you okay?”
“Mrrrghhhh,” Miranda told her keyboard. The ‘ESC’ button jammed itself into her left eyelid.
“Miranda? Are you going to issue a special First-Call bulletin on the—ahhhm—price adjustments?”
Price adjustments. Miranda silently thanked God that Annabelle was too diplomatic to call it what it really was—a career-destroying clusterfuck of a total, massive, stock implosion.
Miranda jerked upright, the pattern of her keyboard decorating the entire left side of her face. “Yeah, Annabelle. I definitely think a First Call bulletin would be, um, appropriate.” Miranda had to bite her lower lip to keep from bursting into tears again. She knew that the day’s portfolio losses of any investor who’d been following her stock advice would exceed 90 percent. With that kind of single-day hammering, Miranda figured this First-Call bulletin could very well be the last one she’d ever write, to say nothing of the hate mail and obscene phone calls she was sure to start receiving from Maxwell Moore and Company’s clients any minute.
She made a mental note to start working on her resume.
Annabelle pulled a steno notebook and pen from somewhere in her ample cleavage. “Shall I start taking down that First Call bulletin now, hon?”
Miranda sighed. The still-plummeting numbers on her trading computer screen were making her dizzy. She needed a coffee break, and fast.
Well, more like a four-martini break. But drinking during market hours was strictly against Maxwell Moore & Company policy. With guzzling gallons of alcohol out of the question, Miranda decided she’d need at least three double-espressos just to get through the rest of what was sure to be a horrendous day.
“I’ll be back in five minutes, Annabelle. I’m going downstairs to the coffee shop for a little while. Hold my calls.”
“Sure thing, Miranda. But wait just a sec ….”
Miranda ignored her. She got up from her desk and headed out of her office and straight down the hall toward the elevators.

* * * *

“Three double-espressos, please,” Miranda barked at the purple-dreadlocked college student behind the counter of her building’s lobby coffee shop. “With soy milk and a dash of hazelnut syrup. And can you put all three double-espressos in the same big cup, please? Just leave off the lid. I’ll drink it here.”
The purple-dreadlocked clerk didn’t acknowledge Miranda’s order. He just stared at her.
Miranda rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for this. “Pardon me, but are you hard of hearing?”
“No,” the glassy-eyed, purple-haired clerk said after a long, awkward moment. “Sorry. I was just kind of freaked out by your--face, that’s all.”
“My face? Are you implying there’s something wrong with my face?” Miranda’s temper—short in even the best of circumstances—let loose in full post-market-crash fury. “Because if you are honestly going to stand there making comments about my face when your hair looks like something out of a Dr. Seuss book, then you have really got a lot of nerve, buddy.”
Purple Dread Head’s mouth popped open for a moment, then clapped shut with a click. Silently he turned his back on Miranda and began frothing some milk for her espresso order.
“That’s more like it,” she said under her breath. “Lazy freaking hippie.”
Tossing petty insults at low-paid service workers wasn’t exactly Miranda’s style----in fact, she’d put herself through business school slinging lattes at this coffee chain’s main competition----but losing eighty-seven million dollars’ worth of her clients’ money in one day wasn’t exactly her style, either. With that kind of bad news weighing her down, Miranda figured she was entitled to blow her stack a little bit. She stepped down to the end of the counter to await her order, seething, and grinding her teeth in time to the espresso machine.
As she stood there, gathering up about nineteen packets of sugar for what would probably be the most intense shot of caffeine in her life, Miranda felt a sharp tap on her shoulder.
“I really think you owe the Rastafarian behind the counter an apology, miss.”
Miranda whirled around. A tall man stood just to her left, carrying an extra-large mug of hot chocolate complete with about four inches worth of whipped cream on top. A tall, slim, trim, well-dressed, and very attractive man. Dark hair in an immaculate, well-combed cut. Ice-blue eyes. Jawline so angular and sharp it was probably capable of shredding lettuce. Broad shoulders, square chest, dimpled chin. A stop-your-heart-right-between-beats kind of tall, attractive man. In other words ….
Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
A drop-dead-gorgeous man who also looked about two seconds shy of tossing his hot chocolate right into Miranda’s face.

Want to know what happens next? Well, you'll just have to buy the book!

(Or, you can comment for your chance to win a FREE signed copy from the author!!)

Buy at Amazon UK :: Buy at Amazon USA :: Buy at

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Halloween Giveaway!

by Madeline Moore

Yikes! Is that picture scary or what? Well, Halloween is coming, dear Lust Bites readers, which means two things.

1) Time to get your freak on!

2) Time for the Lust Bites Halloween Giveaway!

This year, we are giving away another impressive batch of erotica books, penned by some of the best writers of erotica working today. That's right, penned by Lusties! First Prize is all of the following:
Amanda's Young Men by Madeline Moore
Enchantment by Janine Ashbless, Olivia Knight, and Leonie Martell
Wildwood by Janine Ashbless
Phantasmagoria by Madelynne Ellis
Roping the Wind by Kate Pearce
Speak Its Name by Erastes,Lee Rowan, Charlie Cochrane
Market for Love by Jamaica Layne
something spooky by Portia da Costa
• and the so-hot-off-the-press-it-hasn't-been-released-yet anthology, which features a number of us, Lust At First Bite.

Second and third prizes are copies of Lust At First Bite.

Now, to win this particular contest you must do a little more than write a comment to this post.

We're looking for spooky submissions of no more than 200 words. It can be anything you like, a wee self-contained short story, a snippet from a longer work, or even a snippet for a book that doesn't exist. Get the picture?

Howl you should! Isn't he handsome? Don't get any fancy ideas about him, because, as you can see, he does not have a human head.

Here are a few examples. The first two come to us courtesy of Olivia Knight. They are excerpts from her novel, The Ten Visions.

Hallow's Eve in the graveyard of the University Church of St Mary the Virgin

They sat in silence as the other members gathered on the lawn again, each with a glass in hand which one of them refilled.
'Excuse me a moment,' murmured the old man, his hand brushing her shoulder gently as he stood.
She felt a rush of her earlier arousal,chasing away the sour feeling. Watching him walk towards the circle, she thought,
And why not? Older – but clearly not too old – if his eyes are anything to go by… The image of him making love to her, slowly and
tenderly, flashed through her head. It was appealing…
'Sarah!' hissed a voice. She sprang around in fright: Jo was crouched behind the bench. 'Please, you have to believe me, run! While no-one's looking – trust me, your soul depends on this, keep quiet but run!'

A winter afternoon in Duke Humphrey's Library, in the Bodleian

The rich smell of books, shuffling steps of the librarian, and hissing scratch of her pencil on paper, mingled with her thoughts. The silvery-grey pencil lead shone under the glow of the table lamp; the tiny hairs at the back of her neck teased her nape in the irregular, warm breeze.
She spun her head at the soft whisper. No-one was behind her. At
the end of the corridor, she could see the librarian quietly talking to
someone; no doubt a brief sibilance had caught her attention. She resumed
her reading and scratching.
She heard it again, hardly a breath but distinctly her name. Her
spine stiffened. The librarian and the other student had left her section;
no-one was in sight. Leaning over her books again, she couldn't move her
eyes from one word to the next. The hairs on her arm stood upright. She

Want more? Here's a snippet from Erastes:

He slid down my body, kissing my shoulder, arm, hip. He drove me wild with his lips, tongue. Teeth.
He murmured words I didn't recognise. "Subclavian, brachiocephalic, palmar, iliac, femoral."
"What's that?" I gasped. I could hardly concentrate on what he was saying because my cock was too interested in what he was doing.
"Arteries," he whispered, his tongue teasing the line of hair from my navel.
I wanted to scream with pleasure. "Are you some kind of medical student?" I gasped. I didn't care. His mouth was doing wonderful things with my balls, sucking them in and out. I couldn't have got any harder.. He could have said he was Lon Chaney at that point and I was sure I wouldn't care.
"No," he purred, "it's just an interest. A hobby." I felt his breath on the super-heated head of my cock and I nearly came from that alone.
"The sweetest of all," he said, "is the dorsal artery…and that's found…here."
Oh I screamed all right. When his teeth went in, I screamed. And screamed.

Over to you now, folks. Write us a scene, no more than 200 words, and maybe you will be treated to a bounty of sexy books, guaranteed to make your blood
The contest starts now and will run until November 4 (the following Wednesday). So you have one week to write to win!
Winners will be announced on the following Wednesday, November 12.

Picture credits: Our werewolf comes to us courtesy of Chuff.
If you want to see more of his work, contact him at: tiger at wulistudio dot com.
The ghost and man embracing is the cover of
Sleeping with Ghosts, the fourth album released by European alternative rock band Placebo in 2003.
The two male vampires are from a half-hour TV dramatic series called
The Lair.
Madelynne Ellis photographed the First Prize bounty. Thank you!

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Simply Sinful-out soon!

by Kate Pearce

Details, details-this book is the second in the 'House of Pleasure' series and is closely connected to the first, Simply Sexual. It comes out officially on November 3rd, from Kensington Aphrodisia but will probably be around in the bookstores a little earlier.

Here's the blurb:

A wicked proposition...
Forced to wed at a young age, Abigail Beecham is tired of living in a sexless marriage. She longs to succumb to the delicious pleasures of pure carnal lust that she has only read about. And if her husband James can't satisfy her erotic needs, he's ready to find her a man who can.
A wild past…
Peter Howard is accustomed to unusual sexual requests. His seven years as a slave in a Turkish brothel left his skilled in sensual delights. But there is little that actually arouses him-until he meets James and Abigail. Maybe now he'll finally experience that exquisite feeling of bliss he so desperately desires.

Peter Howard was one of those characters that readers loved, despite the fact that he was probably bisexual, had a very dubious history and an unhealthy obsession with many things including opium, sex and his best friend Valentin Sokorvsky.

I loved him, but I was surprised that everyone else did too. It was also great to be able to write a book through his eyes and in his point of view, because in the previous book we only see him as others see him, and he's so much more than that. Yes, I still have a soft spot for him even after going through the trauma of editing and producing the book. It will be interesting to see what readers make of the ending-I'm sure some people won't like it at all-but that was the way it had to be-honestly!

Seeing as last time there were complaints that I left you all at a most inconvenient part of the narrative, LOL I thought I'd simply carry on the scene where we left off. Nothing like a bit of Man Love to start your week! This is actually the first sex scene in the book. The heroine doesn't even appear until Chapter 4.

Simply Sinful
Copyright@Kate Pearce 2008

“Get on with it, damn you.”

Peter groaned as Lord Beecham sucked him into his mouth, one hand gripped Peter’s balls, the other braced on the wall beside him. As he drew the long shaft further down his throat, Peter closed his eyes and tried to move his hips. Lord Beecham used his shoulder to hold him pinned against the wall and sucked harder, used his teeth to graze the tender flesh. Used all the techniques Peter had learned in Turkey to give a man a hard, fast and forceful climax.

His hands fisted at his sides in a concentrated effort not to touch Lord Beecham, to caress his thick dark hair, to offer himself in return. His come traveled up his shaft and he gritted his teeth.

Lord Beecham released his cock and sat back.

Peter opened his eyes and heard himself panting like a hunted animal. He’d been played for a fool. Beecham obviously intended to leave him aroused and unsatisfied. He tried to compose his features into his usual calm expression but realized he couldn’t. He tensed as Lord Beecham rose to his feet, his pupils were so dilated all the brown had disappeared. Peter managed a sneer.

“Are you satisfied now, Lord Beecham?”

“Not yet and my name is James. You still owe me fifty minutes of your time.”

Holding Peter’s gaze, he slowly untied his cravat. His coat and waistcoat followed and then his shirt, exposing his broad chest and flat furred stomach. Peter remained rigid, his cock pumping hard to the rhythm of his raised heartbeat. Lord Beecham bent to remove his boots and tight breeches, displaying the long elegant line of his back. Peter’s mouth went dry.

When Lord Beecham was naked, he moved toward the high four poster bed and climbed up on all fours. In the candlelight he presented Peter with a magnificent view of his muscular thighs and tight buttocks. He looked over his shoulder. The temptation in his glance and his inviting posture were unmistakable.

Peter ran his hand over his throbbing cock. Without speaking he walked across to the bottom of the bed. He found the perfumed oil Madame conveniently left on the nightstand and used his knee to deliberately widen Lord Beecham’s legs. He guided his wet glistening cock toward the other man’s arse. Pausing only to grip Lord Beecham’s hips, Peter lunged forward and penetrated him.

Lord Beecham groaned. “God…”

Peter used little finesse. If Beecham thought he could coerce him into having sex he would get the most basic fucking available. The kind Peter had been forced to give and take from the roughest of the men who had bought his time at the brothel. The kind of sex that had nothing to do with love and tenderness, only raw basic need.
He kept his grip on Lord Beecham’s hips and pulled back again, drove his length deep. Lord Beecham grunted in time to each hard stroke, widening his stance to invite Peter deeper, his weight braced on his outstretched arms.

Mindlessly, Peter continued to fuck. Aware of the other man’s cock pistoning into the brown silk counterpane, dripping with pre-cum, as big and hard as Peter had anticipated. He felt his own climax approach, increased the speed of his thrusts until the smack of his flesh against Lord Beecham’s sounded almost as loud as their combined groans.

His seed traveled up his shaft and he came deep inside. He liked the thought of the other man filled with his come, feeling him for days afterwards. A constant reminder of the coarse act he had made Peter commit.

After he caught his breath, Peter withdrew and re-buttoned his breeches. He hardly spared a glance for the naked figure sprawled on the bed. With shaking fingers he took out his leather purse and opened it. He threw two gold sovereigns onto the counterpane.

“That’s for the rest of your time. I can’t say it has been a pleasure.”

Lord Beecham’s long fingers closed around the coins and he rolled over to face Peter.

“Damn you, Mr. Howard.”

Peter bowed. “And damn you too, sir, for making me behave like an animal.”

Oh! Almost forgot! Anyone who comments today might win a copy!
Kate x

Winners of Books by Felix Baron!

Wednesday's winner of Dominant is:


Wednesday's winner of Sweet as Sin

And Friday's winner of The Persian Girl is

Drop me a line at telltale [at] primus [dot] ca with your snail mail details and I'll send you your books.

Thanks to everyone who welcomed Felix Baron to Lust Bites!

Coming Attractions

by Erastes
Well Autumn is halfway through and we soon will be doing strange things like bobbing for apples and carving... erm. pumpkins.

This week on Lust Bites:

On Monday Kate Pearce will be sharing a nice long helping of her sizzling book - Simply Sinful.

On Wednesday Madeline Moore will be announcing our Grand Hallowe'en Competition. There will be some great prizes (as always!) so make sure you check in on Wednesday to find out how to win!

And on Friday Jamaica Layne will be in the Smut Slot sharing excerpts from her first novel Market for Love.

Lust Bites - for things that go BUMP in the night!

Friday, October 24, 2008

The Persian Girl

by Madeline Moore

Comment today to win a signed copy

Do what thy manhood bids thee do, from none but self expect applause; He noblest lives and noblest dies who makes and keeps his self-made laws.
- Sir Richard Francis Burton British explorer & orientalist (1821 - 1890)

On Wednesday, we chatted with Felix Baron, a writing tutor and an erotica writer who publishes novels with Nexus. Felix's latest release is called The Persian Girl. It recounts an adventure, hitherto unknown, that Sir Richard Burton experienced before he was knighted.

As you may know, he translated The Arabian Nights, The Kama Sutra, and The Perfumed Gardens. A master of disguise, en route to India Sir Richard learned enough Hindi to get off the ship, enrobed, and pass as a Hindu. He entered Mecca as a Muslim. He is acknowledged as the greatest swordsman of all times, and wrote the standard British Army manual on the sabre. Quite the character, hm?

Here's the lovely front cover of The Persian Girl:

and here's what it says on the back:

The auction catalogue read: Lot #217. A tin trunk, circa 1860, containing a number of esoteric volumes, many with curious woodcuts, all in poor condition.

The trunk holds the secret diaries of Sir Richard Francis Burton: soldier, spy, explorer, linguist, diplomat, master of disguise, the greatest swordsman of all time, hero, scoundrel and rake. During the period of his life recounted in 'The Persian Girl', he carouses his way from London to the Himalayas.

From the depraved 'governess', Abigail, and her debauched young wards, to the quartet of nymphs he encounters in a Turkish palace, Burton's journey leads him to his greatest challenge of all - schooling a dozen lusty young wenches in the more arcane arts of the bed chamber.

After that, saving the British Empire from a perfidious Russian plot is easy.

Sound like fun? I'd say so! This novel is a great read, and I'd say that even if Felix Baron wasn't my true love.

I just adore stories that start with the discovery of ancient stuff. In this case, Felix purchased the tin box, in which he discovered the secret writings of Sir Richard Burton. It is known that Sir Richard's wife, Isabel, burned all of his papers that she deemed scurrilous. But Sir Richard, knowing his wife's public prudishness (as well as her private earthiness) must have hidden some of his scandalous stuff in a tin box, only to have it end up in the hands of none other than Felix Baron, erotica writer. How serendipitous!

This first excerpt takes place in the Turkish palace mentioned above. Sir Richard Burton is being pampered by four lovely sylphs:

I was led into a candle-lit chamber that was dominated by a raised dais, not strewn with cushions as I might have expected, but thickly padded and covered in textured cotton. Signs and tugs directed me to recline, on my back, arms and legs spread wide. One fetched hot towels and aromatic unguents. My face was lotioned, covered, kneaded through cotton, then bared for the ministrations of a cut-throat razor. The girl’s strokes were so sure and delicate that it felt as if she were caressing my skin with a goose-feather rather than with a sharp blade.
When she was done, my steaming towels were renewed, but this time only covering my eyes. I was so warm and comfortable that despite the presence of four delightful nymphs, I had almost drifted off to sleep before I became aware that my smallest fingers and toes were being subtly manipulated. The tugs started gently but became stronger, until the joints ‘cracked’ and the ministering fingers moved on to the adjoining toes and fingers.
Their coordination impressed me. Without a pause, the massage moved from finger to finger, toe to toe, until both of my great toes and both of my thumbs ‘popped’ simultaneously.
Strong little fingers dug into my palms and the soles of my feet. It seemed as if each and every one of the bones in those appendages was isolated and manipulated before the probing fingers moved on. My wrists and ankles were deeply massaged, then my forearms and calves. When the girls started on my knees and elbows, I became aware that my digits were being revisited. This time, the girls were using their lips. Again, the sweet treatment progressed from smallest to largest. Each finger and toe was licked and then sucked upon, as if it were a miniature cock being fellated.
The slow progression was incredibly tantalizing but I was happy to surrender to the teasing. It was simultaneously stimulating and relaxing to have ten fingertips fondling each of the creases between my thighs and my torso and caressing my armpits while four soft wet mouths and sinuous tongues played behind my raised knees and on the insides of my elbows.
My erection became almost painful. Gentle lips nuzzled both sides of my neck. There were tongues slithering the lengths of my groins. Fingers brushed my nipples and danced down the arches of my ribs. The two girls who attended to me above my waist were straddling my arms. I lifted my hands to stroke the softness of their bellies. As if in response, all four humped higher upon me. Four mounds bore down. A girlish cunny spread its hot wet lips on each of my insteps. Two more impaled themselves on my fingers. All four lithe lovelies writhed, stimulating themselves as well as me.
A tongue tickled at each corner of my mouth. I turned my head to the left, to suck the sweetness from one eager mouth, then to the right, to sample and compare the other nymph’s oral nectar.
The back of a hand lifted my scrotum. The perineum, called Hui Yin in Taoism, is a Chakra, a centre of spiritual power. It is as sensitive as a lip. The caress I was subjected to was so subtle that for a while I wasn’t sure of its source. Then I realized. The girls were giving me ‘butterfly’ kisses – fluttering their eyelashes on my skin. The sensation was almost unbearably exquisite. I reached a stage when it seemed my climax would be inevitable even though my shaft had not yet been touched unless I delayed it by an effort of will, when all four withdrew.

Oh! Poor Sir Richard!
Well, we mustn't feel too bad for him. He gets plenty of action, as well he might, for he's as talented in bed as he is with a sword. In this excerpt, he has been captured and is being transported along the silk road. One of his companions on the journey is Fatima, a young Egyptian belly-dancer.

She agreed, ‘Slowly and gently. We have all night.’
I wrapped her curvaceous little body in my arms. My fingers found her nipples. I nuzzled and licked into the crook of her neck, a caress I’d discovered she particularly enjoyed. Fatima was less patient. Her fingers curled around my shaft. Her back hollowed, hitching her bottom higher. She steered my cock up between her thighs to the lush warm wetness of her cunny and rubbed its dome between her nether lips and against the hard little button at their juncture. Her gasps were subdued and breathless but within a few moments she gave a delicate shudder and sighed.
‘You said “slowly and gently”,’ I reminded her.
‘That was to give me the patience for “slowly and gently.” Now, tease me, please?’
‘And what manner of teasing does my little harlot have a taste for, tonight?’
‘This manner.’ Once more she guided my shaft, this time presenting it to the pucker between her bum’s cheeks. Her grip was just behind my cock’s head. She rubbed my dome against her opening with increasing pressure until the tight portal to her rear passage relaxed and the head of my cock, just the head, entered her.
Holding me there, she twisted her neck to get her tongue to my mouth. As we kissed, I pressed, gently, but her grip tightened, holding me still.
With a last lascivious lick of my lips, she murmured, ‘Just that deep, no deeper. That’s the best part – when the thickest part of you passes through the narrowest part of me.’
I rocked. My cock’s head plopped through the stricture, and plopped out of it. Each stroke was held in check by her clutching fist. I felt Fatima shiver in my arms in time with my entrances and with my exits. The urge to plunge deep came to me but I resisted. From her swallowed moans and tiny quivers, I was sure that she too was fighting her desire to be totally impaled. My lust stretched and sang, like the string of a violin that was being played even as it was tightened. It became more extreme when I felt that although Fatima’s left hand was restraining me, her right was busy at her cunny.
There was no sudden rush to climax. One second I was slowly sodomising her and enjoying the incredible tension. The next, I spent. My jism had simply flowed out of me.

Want more? Well, The Persian Girl is available in the UK now, and is available for preorder now in the US for a Dec. 9 release (just in time for Christmas!)

Or - Felix will be popping in today to answer any questions you have about research, etc. and I'll be about as well, so pepper us with your questions and comments and one lucky person will win a copy of The Persian Girl.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Chatting with Felix Baron

Comment today to win a signed copy

by Madeline Moore

Felix Baron is a well-known writer of erotic novels for Nexus and short stories for many erotica anthologies. Felix is also my own true love!

His latest Nexus novel is The Persian Girl. This is a tale taken from the secret diaries of Sir Richard Frances Burton: soldier, spy, explorer, linguist, diplomat, master of disguise, the greatest swordsman of all time, hero, scoundrel and rake.

Isn't it gorgeous?

It also happens to be my favourite of Felix's erotic novels. We'll be taking a long look at The Persian Girl on Friday, with excerpts and a chance for one lucky commenter to win a copy.

Today, let's get to know Felix, and two of his other Nexus novels, a little better...

MM: Welcome back to Lust Bites, Felix. I'm so glad you agreed to submit to being interviewed by me.

FB: Thanks for inviting me.

MM: When did you decide to be a writer, and what was the first thing you had published?

FB: I slithered into this craft. As a salesman, I wrote a lot of ‘puff’ for which I wasn’t paid but benefited from indirectly. Then, when I managed a phone-sex operation, I did a deal with an underground newspaper, copy for advertising. I caught the writing bug. My first stab at a novel was a thriller, written in blue felt-tip on a yellow pad. It was so bad, even I recognized the fact. That’s when I decided I’d better study my craft before practising it. The first half-decent novel I wrote was an epic fantasy. I showed it to a famous ‘writer in residence.’ She complimented me on various aspects of my work but told me she hoped it’d never be published because of the Male Chauvinist Pig content.

I used that. I wrote to an editor and quoted the comments. He asked to look at the book, and rejected it, but suggested I try something in the Horror genre, which was booming at the time. I did, and he bought it, but warned me that the popularity of Horror was waning and suggested I try Erotica, because of the erotic content of my Horror novel. He introduced me to Peter Darvell-Evans, then editor of Nexus. Peter rejected my first attempt as ‘funny and sexy. No humour, please.’ He bought my next.

MM: Is there a genre you’d choose to write in, if you were free to write anything you want?

FB: No. Genres are my harem. I love several: Erotica, Action Adventure, Mystery, Horror and more. Given free rein, I write cross-genre. In my Mysteries, people screw. In my Erotica, they plot, and so on.

MM: Did you read erotica before you started writing it?

FB: Starting with Fanny Hill, in Grammar School, at about age twelve.

MM: What are your writing rituals? Do you have a special place to write in, a special time to start and stop?

FB: I write where my PC is. When? I work best in the morning but have been known to go into a frenzy where time disappears and I am no longer aware if it’s 3pm or am.

MM: In general, what writers influenced you to become one yourself? Who are your favourite authors, (besides Shakespeare, please!)

FB: Poe was my first love. I learned purple from James Branch Cabell. Adam Hall taught me how to write tension. I’m also influenced by Mervyn Peake, Muriel Spark, Chelsea Quinn Yarborough, Stephen King, Marcus van Heller, Anthony Burgess, and on and on… I’ll learn from anyone who impresses me.

MM: When did you start writing erotica? Any influences?

FB: See above. I’ve always loved Fantasy, so my first erotic sale was Witch Queen of Vixania. I planned it as #1 in a trilogy but after #2, Slaves of the Witch Queen, I was told that Nexus was moving away from Fantasy, so my trilogy was never completed. For those two, I was Morgana Baron, at Kerri Sharpe’s insistence.

MM: How did you decide on your pen name, Felix Baron?

FB: Kerri Sharpe asked me for a list of first names and surnames for her to consider – hence Morgana Baron, her choice. After Kerri moved on, I was given leave to use a male name. ‘Felix’ means ‘fortunate,’ so I tried the Chinese mojo.

MM: Let’s talk about Dominant. It tells the story of a young man’s journey to becoming a Dominant. Here’s a little excerpt:

(The teenage protagonist, Cole, begins to understand what some girls want from a man)

...The kisses became harder and deeper. Cole was congratulating himself on having picked a hot one when she slid her arms under his jacket and pinched him, hard.

Cole pulled back and told her, 'Don't do that. It hurts,' before returning to the kiss.

She twisted his flesh viciously. He caught her wrists and doubled them behind her. Vanessa went crazy. Her lips spread so wide it seemed she was trying to swallow his face. Her body twisted as if she was struggling to escape but her wrists didn't pull against his grip. Cole forced one leg between hers. Still in constant motion, she sank onto it, rucking her miniskirt high. Her pubes pressed down on his thigh and humped it ferociously. Vanessa gave a guttural cry and went limp.

She blinked at him and said, 'Goodnight,Cole. Thanks for seeing me home.'

Her door closed. Cole was left, aching hard, alone.

(Cole sees Vanessa home from another dance.)

When they got to her doorway he took hold of the back of her neck again. Her arms snaked under his jacket. Before she could get a grip on his flesh, he yanked her wrists out and behind her back. Last time, he'd held them in the small of her back. This time he pushed them up between her shoulder blades, knowing he was hurting her. Her teeth went for the side of his neck. Before they could close, he had his fist in her hair and her head bent back. Her kisses were just as wet and fierce as before. Cole pinned her to the wall with his body. He had it all worked out. Being held, painfully helpless, turned Vanessa on. If he could stop her from getting off on his leg, she'd fuck...

His freed hand popped the buttons of her blouse. Once more, he found her nipple and pinched. Her legs came up high and wrapped around his hips. His hand left her breast and worked down between their bodies. It was under her skirt and fumbling at her pantyhose when she jerked and grunted.

The bitch had got off again.

MM: Is this based on your own experience?

FB: Yes. No one is born a Dominant – or if they are, they’re weaned off it by the time they’re three. A Dominant develops. My own journey is reflected in that novel. In my experience, a man becomes a Dominant out of his love for women. Perhaps it’s laziness. Submissive women are the most straightforward in their needs, so easier to please.

MM: What about the woman in the book who seeks serious physical abuse?

FB: I’ve encountered several much more extreme ones. Such women are dangerous. The D/s dynamic can only work if the Safe Sane Consensual rule is paramount.

MM: Do you think bdsm has become ‘mainstream’?

FB: Yes. In hindsight, that was inevitable. People read erotica in order to experience better and different sex, vicariously, than in their lives. In days of yore, in our society, simple promiscuity was a taboo, so if we wrote about a character who had many partners, or a woman who openly enjoyed sex, those were enough to titillate and oral/anal etc., were way out there. These days, most people practise oral at least, and many anal, so we have to go further to reach taboo territory.

Sweet as Sin was your next book with Nexus. It’s a twisted, nourish tale about a mother, and her daughter, a father and his son. Here’s a taste:

Trixie grabbed his right wrist in both hands, pushed it down the length of her body and yanked it up under her slip. His fingers met soft wet folds. It’d been so long since he’d touched a woman there that he’d almost forgotten the intensity of the emotions generated when delicate flesh parts to eagerly welcome hard strong fingers. She was hot inside, and so wet her flesh felt slick. His two fingers squirmed, discovering Trixie’s labyrinthine internal convolutions. There were smooth places, and folds, and soft subtle pockets. Intensely aware of how delicate and sensitive the inside of a woman’s sex is, he explored slowly and cautiously. The thought of damaging her, the mere possibility of his bruising her internally, terrified him.

MM: Tell us a little bit about the plot.

FB: How can I, without spoiling the ending? Suffice to say, the male characters are easy dupes and the female ones are wise and wicked. It’s the ‘black widow’ subgenre of ‘noire.’ I tried to make it obvious that the mother and daughter were up to something but endeavoured to keep the reader in suspense about the ‘what and how.’ Then, after the major ‘dominos,’ twist, I added another and managed somehow to get away with breaking a Nexus rule.

MM: Was it difficult writing female main characters?

FB: Putting me on the spot?

People are people. Of course our hormones make us different, but we all encompass both genders and many personalities. If I can write about psychopaths and monsters from the inside, surely I can do the same with women.

MM: I believe this book might be the one that caused our editor, Adam Nevill, when asked what he wants in our books, to cry out ‘More dead bodies!’ Do you think so?

FB: Perhaps he was using corpses as symbols of cross-genre writing. Now that the Internet has taken over the anatomical school of Erotica, it behoves us to create real characters in real plots.

MM: Finally, your new release, The Persian Girl, is available now in the UK and for pre-order in the US. How did you come to write this novel? Why did you get two complete sets of royalties for it? (I think we’d all like to try that!)

FB: I’ve long been a fan of Sir Richard’s. He was an absolutely incredible character; much larger than life. If he hadn’t lived, I’d have been reluctant to create him. Who’d believe that the greatest swordsman of all time would also be a scholar, spy, diplomat and linguist of such amazing stature? I’ve wanted to use him as a character ever since I read his biography. I must add, his real adventures make the one I wrote for him pale by comparison.

I didn’t get two sets of royalties, but I did get two advances. I happened to mention Burton in casual correspondence with Maxim Jacubowski. He encouraged me to write about him for Neon, so I did. Neon paid the advances but shrivelled on the vine and released the rights back to me. I pitched the novel to Adam, who bought it despite his reluctance to buy any more historical tales. Adam makes a lot of rules. He has to. He isn’t blinded by them, though. Even if he’s actively discouraging a subgenre, show him something that he feels works well and he’ll allow it.

MM: Now that we all belong to Random House, what’s next for Nexus, Felix?

FB: Ask Adam, but I doubt even he’d be definitive. Obviously, our future work will need to be well plotted and be inhabited by interesting characters. The days of sub meets Dom and discovers her/his true nature are gone, thank goodness.

MM: Cats or dogs? Werewolves or vampires? White wine or red? Tea or coffee?

FB: Cats for apartments. Dogs for the country. Vampires, but modified ones. I’m against magic outside of Fantasy, so the vamps I write don’t change into bats. I’ve also written about werewolves, but had to adjust the way mine changed shapes. I simply couldn’t see them sucking all that fur back into their pores when they transformed back into humans.

Red wine, the drier the better. I still remember the ordinaire that I drank in France, that puckered my mouth and stuck my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

The tea/coffee thing is tricky. I arrived in Canada a true Brit, loyal to tea. Gradually, I was seduced into drinking coffee. Then, a few years back, tea lured me and is now my regular beverage. Next year? Who knows?

MM: Thank you, Felix.

Bloggers! Ask Felix your questions, share your opinions about Nexus, erotica and bdsm, tell us your stories or just post a line or two on your thoughts about this post.

We'll be giving away one copy of Dominant to one lucky commenter and one copy of Sweet as Sin to another lucky commenter. Let the fun begin!

Monday, October 20, 2008

Hong Kong Sexiness

by Jamaica Layne

I'm back from yet another trip to Hong Kong, Asia's richest city, and I can't help but feel a little sexier. (Or rather, I feel grossly inadequate from being around so many millions of very attractive and petite people).

Hong Kong is a very sexy city in many ways---not all of which have directly to do with sex or the sex trade----though both are very much in force. Prostitution is legal there (if somewhat restricted), and there is plenty of it to be had for male customers seeking an easy sex fix. But finding sexy options for women is a bit more difficult.

Which is not to say that there aren't plenty of sexy Hong Kong men. To wit, actors Chow Yun-Fat and Stephen Chow, both of Hong Kong:

Not that yours truly has a chance in hell of bedding either one of them, but I can dream, can't I? (And I'm married to a man from Hong Kong, too!)

Hong Kong is very laid-back about sex. As I said above, prostitution is legal. Porn is sold on street corners right next to the International Herald Tribune and Newsweek. And Hong Kong's famous street markets hawk plenty of sexy goods right alongside jade necklaces and knockoff Gucci purses. Like exotic animal themed G-Strings, for example (these are from the Ladies' Street market; I'm especially fond of the elephant, with the elephant's trunk designed for housing you-know-what):

Also featured at the Ladies' Street market, kinky lingerie costumes at multiple stalls, all at rock-bottom prices:

Lastly, in the same vicinity of the Ladies' Street market, tucked away just behind one of the sexy lingerie stalls, is a sign pointing the way to an upstairs "massage parlor", one of Hong Kong's many sites of legal prostitution (think the opening scene of Rush Hour 2, except the lovely ladies are giving Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker a lot more than just massages!):

Another item often found in the Hong Kong street markets (especially the Jade Market in Kowloon) are sexy risque stone carvings----never out on open display of course. But on one of my trips to Hong Kong, I was perusing the jade market, and one of the hawkers there offered to show me some of her "sexy" pieces when I wasn't interested in her regular wares. Of course I was curious, and asked her to show me a few. She eagerly opened up a case underneath her counter that had several pieces of cheap fake ivory carved into cartoonish images of fat Chinese men and voluptuous Chinese women in various sex acts. "You show to your husband, sexy?" the hawker said in broken English. I politely declined to buy anything, but was intrigued nontheless.

I had hoped to get more of a glimpse of woman-oriented sexy scenes in Hong Kong, but it seems in the tradition of that old flick The Secret Life of Suzie Wong, the sex scene in Hong Kong is still very much a male paradise. Us ladies are instead relegated to staring dreamily at Hong Kong cinema stars and checking out cheap lingerie in the street markets while the men have all the fun. But that's not to say we can't shake things up a bit. Yours truly is considering writing a sexy erotic novel set in Hong Kong's underworld sometime soon (once I fulfill all my current deadline and contract obligations, of course!)

And stay tuned for my next post late next week, a Smut Slot featuring an excerpt from my latest Cheek release, Market For Love, (which you can by from Amazon UK here and Amazon USA here)

Stay sexy everyone!


Rained off... back soon.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Coming Attractions

by Madeline Moore

This week on Lust Bites:

On Monday Jamaica Layne opines on Hong Kong sexy. Here at Lust Bites we have a soft, sweet spot for the men of the far east, so we can hardly wait.

On Wednesday join Madeline Moore (that's me!) in conversation with Nexus author Felix Baron. One of the things we'll be talking about is Dominant men, in fact and in fiction. Comment to win copies of Felix's novels, Dominant and Sweet as Sin.

And on Friday hot excerpts from Felix Baron's new Nexus novel, The Persian Girl, which stars that infamous He-Man and all around Dominant dude Sir Richard Burton. Comment on Friday to win a copy.

Lust Bites - way lip-smackin' sexy!

Friday, October 17, 2008

Scenes we love...

by Kate Pearce

This scene is from a classic movie called "It's a Wonderful Life", starring James Stewart as George Bailey and Donna Reed as Mary. It's a staple here in the USA at Christmas but was considered a flop at the time of its release in 1946. It was nominated for five Oscars without winning any, but the film has since been recognized by the American Film Institute as one of the 100 best American films ever made, and placed number one on their list of the most inspirational American films of all time.

Of course, I'm a cynical Brit, but this film really moved me. On Christmas Eve 1946, George Bailey is deeply depressed, even suicidal. Clarence Odbody, an Angel Second Class, is sent to Earth to save him — and thereby earn his wings.

From childhood, George's greatest ambition has been to see the world, to become an architect and design bridges and skyscrapers everywhere. However, George repeatedly has to sacrifice his dreams. In this clip, he's close to being able to leave the town and finally achieve his dreams, but he's fallen in love with Mary.

The moment when he stands over her when she is on the phone and simply inhales her, is probably one of the most erotic moments I've ever seen in a movie. I love the way he hates her and loves her, wants her and wants to leave, can't stop himself from caring despite everything-and both actors do a fantastic job showing this rather than just saying it.

Things work out fine in the end. Clarence is able to show George what the town would've been like if he hadn't made those sacrifices and everyone lives happily ever after-sigh-even Clarence gets his wings-perfect for an old romantic like me :)

Wednesday, October 15, 2008


by Janine Ashbless

First the news, then the nudes.

The great news is that my novel Wildwood is now not only available in the UK, but from today is also in bookstores in the US, and can now be downloaded as a lovely paper-saving e-book from All Romance eBooks.

Wildwood: sex among the trees! Sex up a tree! Sex with fairies that turn back into trees when they are done!

To celebrate I thought I'd celebrate the work of some of the more eccentric (and horny) tree-hugging environmentalists out there: the extraordinary charity Fuck For Forest.

I mean, imagine you're an idealistic young person with a yearning to save the world's threatened forests. What do you do - write a cheque to the Woodland Trust? Make sure your barbeque charcoal is sourced from renewable coppiced woodlands? Refuse to watch Axemen? Well if you are Norwegian couple Leona Johansson and Tommy Hol Ellingsen, you start a consciousness-raising eco group whose publicity stunts revolve around lots of people having sex in public. Then you set up a pay-for-porn website featuring hardcore amateur action, whose income goes to protecting forests across the globe. And you burst into public consciousness and get into serious legal trouble by getting up onstage at a rock festival and going at it like bunnies.

"FFF are concerned humans, exploring the power of sexuality, all to save nature. We know a lot of people are interested in sexuality, including us. We want to have fun with sex, show natural people and collect money for saving nature! We think it is time to pay respect to nature, and give back with love."

The result is Fuck For Forest (FFF), a unique environmental charity. Because its fundraising techniques are a bit (oo-er) rude, strait-laced charities like the WWF have refused to accept their cash, meaning that they've started working direct with indigenous community groups and buying their own land in Costa Rica.

FFF: if paying for online porn is your thing, this is the way to do it with a rosy conscience.
"Porn makes really, really a lot of money," they say, "so why not use that money for good?"

Hooray for brave, painted, and slightly bonkers hippies!

"We feel sexuality is beeing treated like nature, with disrespect. We wanted to use love & sexuality to fight against this un-natural way of treating our planet."

BTW I'm off on holiday for a few weeks after today. In our grand tradition of Holidaying Where Americans Fear to Vacation (Egypt straight after 9/11, Turkey the week of the invasion of Iraq), I'm off round Jordan and Syria. If I don't re-appear in November will someone please tell Adam at Black Lace? And don't anyone go starting a war in the Midddle East, d'you hear...

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Enchanted in the US

by Olivia Knight

Enchanted coverOnce upon a time, far far away... I first saw the bear as it came down the aisle between Travel and Biography... Everyone wanted to explain the love between Pearl and Thomas... There has been no sleep on the journey...

Enchanted, Black Lace's collection of three erotic fairy tales, is at now available in the United States. If, back in August, you were salivating, coveting, and cussing the Brits, it's your turn for the sexy happy-ever-after.

Enchanted includes...
Bear Skin by Janine Ashbless
The Three Riddles by Olivia Knight
The People in the Garden by Leonie Martell

A quick reminder of the tidbits and tasters we dangled before you...

Fairytale Feminists: the story behind Enchanted ~ by Olivia Knight ~ Friday 1 August 2008

Blog picture: dark castle turrets against a massive moon

When fairy tales were still sexist misogynist Barbie-Cinderalla bollocks, a host of feminist writers opened the floodgates for us to create the intense, mythic, and very sexy fairy tales of contempory Black Lace. A quick skip through the history of fairytales paves the way for the erotic fairytale collection, Enchanted.

Introducing... The Three Riddles by Olivia Knight ~ Monday 4 August 2008

Blog picture: dark castle turrets against a massive moon

The premise for The Three Riddles, the erotic fairytale novella in Enchanted, emerged from a flash of fruitless intuition and the tale of a button. Sometimes the smallest things can change the course of the world, as the elves well know. Unfortunately, they communicate in riddles - so how well would you do at deciphering them? With a sexy excerpt on Olivia's website.

Introducing... Bear Skin by Janine Ashbless ~ Friday 8 August 2008

Blog picture: haunting delicate picture of a girl riding a bear

Bear Skin is a retelling of the Norwegian folk-story East of the Sun, West of the Moon. This is a very old story (it has its roots in the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche) and it attracted me because it’s a story of a woman going on a quest. I decided to set it in modern-day Britain … which was fun, since it’s about a girl who marries a bear. Yes, a bear. How could I resist a premise that kinky? And how could I get it past the Black Lace editors? With a sexy excerpt and another on Janine's blog.

If you're whimpering and wishing all over again, leap over to and make a wish.

Monday, October 13, 2008

MARKET FOR LOVE by Jamaica Layne now in bookstores!!!

MARKET FOR LOVE by Jamaica Layne is now available in bookstores and online at fine online booksellers everywhere!

Miranda never mixed business with pleasure—until she met her new boss.

Straight-laced, conservative stock-market analyst Miranda Johanson has had a very bad day. First, she lost eight million dollars of her clients’ money. Then, if that weren’t bad enough, she had wild, no-holds-barred sex with a complete stranger on her coffee break—and he turned out to be her new boss! Can Miranda get control of herself without losing her mind, or will her sexy new boss completely derail her career?

Jamaica Layne is a former financial and healthcare journalist and a hot new rising star in the erotica market. In addition to penning erotica for Virgin Cheek, Ms. Layne’s day-to-day alter-ego is a successful playwright whose works have been staged in the UK, New York City, Los Angeles, Seattle, Boston, and Atlanta. She lives in Chicago.

English-language edition also available in bookstores everywhere, and online from Amazon in Scandinavia, France, Germany, and Japan!

Author Jamaica Layne also offers the following sneak preview of the cover of VITAL SIGNS VOL. 1: I'VE BEEN A NAUGHTY NURSE, coming December 1st from Ravenous Romance:

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Coming Attractions

by Janine Ashbless
No, this isn't me saying I've got the decorators in, ha ha ha.

This week on Lust Bites:

On Monday Jamaica Layne will be telling us all about her new novel Market for Love.

On Tuesday Olivia Knight (assuming she can tear herself away from Hay-on-Wye, 2nd-hand-book capital of the world but possessing not a single internet cafe...) will be popping the champagne corks for the US release of Enchanted.

On Wednesday Janine Ashbless will be singing the praises of naturist charity campaign Fuck for Forest.

And on Friday Kate Pearce will be telling us all about the movie Scene She Loves.

Lust Bites - way more fun than watching paint dry!

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Winner of Portia's Latest Comp!

The winner of my Love is a Battlefield & Return to Stoneworld... again Prize Draw is:


Drop me a line at portiadacosta [at] gmail [dot] com with your snail mail deets and I'll send you your prize of a copy each of Entertaining Mr Stone and Suite Seventeen... maybe with an extra or two for good measure. If you've already got EMS and S17, just let me know what else you'd like from my backlist instead! :)

Many, many thanks to all who commented on the two posts!

Friday, October 10, 2008

(Fe)male Order Shopping-Harris' List of Covent Garden Ladies

Want to write a best-seller with plenty of sex? Well perhaps you might be lucky if you follow in the footsteps of Samuel Derrick.

Who was he, I hear you ask? Well, Mr Derrick was Irish and a bit of a con-man if history is to be believed. He used to pretend to be a member of the Irish aristocracy but in reality he was a draper's apprentice, a bad actor, and a failed poet. He was determined to better himself, so travelled to London in an attempt to join such luminaries as Smollet, Boswell and Johnson. These lofty gentlemen, however, didn't give him the time of day.

At some point, (probably, the scholars reckon, in Debtor's Prison), he must have met up with Jack Harris, (AKA as John Harrison), a waiter, and a notorious pimp - self-proclaimed "Pimp General of All England." It was Mr Harris who had a handwritten list of prostitutes, but it was Mr Derrick who - under Mr Harris's name - published the list as Harris' List of Covent Garden Ladies and made a fortune. The book was a barn-storming best-seller and sold 250,000 in its 38 years of being in print.
In a city with well over 3,000 prostitutes (for a population of 675,000) Harris' List of Covent Garden Ladies was a must have accessory for any Georgian man of leisure and pleasure Harris' list was more than just a list. It was a tour of the houses of negotiable affection, "the votaries of Venus" and the prostitutes more personal address.

It wasn't just a list though, nor was it limited to Convent Garden! - it also included anecdotes on the ladies' careers and conquests. It detailed not only their addresses, physical characteristics but also their “specialties”.

Such as: 'Miss Smith, of Duke's Court in Bow Street, "a well made lass, something under the middle size, with dark brown hair and a good complexion" ' Miss Kilpin, who offers her favours inside the privacy of hackney carriages, but who is in reality 'a married city lady, who takes this method of getting home deficiencies supplied abroad'

Mrs Grafton of Wapping was fond of sailors. Her 'best customers are sea officers, who she particularly likes, as they do not stay long at home, and always return fraught with love and presents'.

Miss C: who perfumed herself (particularly below the waist) and entertained a prince who "was so much of an Englishman to despise all fictitious aids in that quarter and, turning up his nose at the ... musk, which was quite offensive to him, he rang the bell and sent the servant for a red herring".

A gentleman in possession of the book would know where to go for the fat and the thin, the top-market whores, the cheapest of the cheap. He'd be informed on the state of their teeth and tits - and their former conquests - nice to know who'd been there before you!

Mr Derrick - on the merits and profits of the book - did manage to become respectable, in the end. He became Master of Ceremonies at Bath on a huge salary of £800 a year - around £100,000 a year in today's money - but despite this rise in fortune, he still died penniless. After his death, the book continued in print in the hands of a society-aspiring prostitute, Charlotte Hayes, although it was generally thought that Ms Hayes did not write with such wit as Mr Derrick. New versions continued to be printed annually until 1797 after which society was becoming a little more prudish.

Read more in: "The Covent Garden Ladies: Pimp General Jack and The Extraordinary Story of Harris’s List" by Hallie Rubenhold – Tempus Publishing, ISBN 0-7524-2850-0

And if you get hold of a copy of The List itself - let me borrow it, will ya?