Boy Toys

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Smut slot: Amanda's Young Men

Fireworks are for sale all over Canada right now. This is because Canada Day, July 1, is right around the corner, but I like to think it’s because the release date for Amanda’s Young Men is July 3, (although the book is available now on Amazon.co.uk) and Canadians everywhere are eager to celebrate. OK, so the release date is for the UK only and, according to the information I have at present, Amanda’s Young Men won’t be available in Canada/US until January 6, 2009, but still…a girl can dream, and for anyone who's ever dreamt of young-but-legal boy toys, my book is a dream come true.

Here's what the front cover looks like:


And here's what it says on the back:

When her husband dies of a heart attack in a by-the-hour motel, Amanda inherits a chain of shoe shops that bleed money. But luckily for Amanda, the staff are bright and beautiful young people, ambitious to succeed and eager to give her total satisfaction. As she sets out to save the chain, and discover the woman involved in her husband's death, Amanda also finds time to amuse herself with lovers - young ones, and lots of them. Heels, hose, and haute couture have always been parts of Amanda's life, but now she's up to her dimples in duplicity, desire and decadence.

That’s right, she’s a cougar on the prowl. And not this kind of cougar:


We’re talking about this kind:



Way to go, Demi! Next Friday we’ll be talking about boy toys and you’ll get lots of pictures like this one, and the opportunity to comment on the topic:



But today, it’s all about Amanda's Young Men. So here’s a couple of bites from the book to whet your appetite.

Amanda steals Paul from a rival shoe store:

He measured her foot with the delicate touch of a spider. ‘One moment, Madam.’
The shoe he brought to her was a plain classic pump in metallic bronze, with six-inch steel-tipped heels that were as slender and vicious as nails. He knelt and used his palm to push up on the blunted spike to press the shoe’s heel onto Amanda’s foot. Amanda bore down, forcing his right hand lower and lower, until its back was flat on the floor, and trapped. Then she put just a little weight on it, indenting the flesh of his palm.
Paul looked up at her face with both pain and lust in his eyes.
‘Now the other shoe,’ she said.
‘I…’
‘You’ll manage.’
‘Yes, Madam.’ Awkwardly, he worked her foot into the second shoe, one-handed, until a third of her heel was in it. He set his palm beneath its spike and looked up again, his deep brown eyes silently pleading.
Amanda knew exactly what he wanted. She forced his left hand down and trapped it beside its mate.


Amanda has sex with Paul:

Amanda knelt between his thighs. His balls, like Rupert’s, were tight and close to his body, two perfect gemstones encased in a sack of the thinnest, smoothest leather. She handled them with care, arranging his scrotum to hang nicely over the edge of the couch. The rest of his lovely young package lay limp on his thigh. She blew on its head. It twitched and rose a fraction. Her left hand took its base and lifted it. Even that slight attention engorged his flesh.
Amanda dipped her head. As her lips stretched over Paul’s knob, he gasped. She didn’t take him deep. It was her lips and tongue, slobbering and deliberately making wet noises, that brought him to full straining erection. She rose swiftly and knelt on the sofa astride Paul’s thighs. Still holding his shaft, she lowered herself until its dome was snuggled between her pussy’s bare lips.
Paul’s eyes clouded with lust. Holding his gaze, she sank, teasing herself and savouring each throbbing inch as it sank into her. When she was sitting on him, her lips stretched around his base, she ground down, gaining an extra inch, and rotated, stirring her own insides on the stiff rod that impaled her.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ she growled. ‘I’m going to get myself off on your hard young cock and it doesn’t matter to me whether you come or not. This is for me. You understand?’
He nodded.
Amanda took a fistful of his hair in her left hand and twisted it. Paul winced but said nothing. Forcing herself down, Amanda bumped and twitched and squirmed until her clit was trapped between her pubic bone and his. She slow-humped, masturbating herself on his captive flesh. The thumb and forefinger of her still-latexed right hand clamped on his left nipple and firmly rotated it.
Now that she had two hand-grips, Amanda cut loose, twisting her hips and riding him, hard and fast. It must have been good for him, too good, because he groaned, humped up and collapsed. ‘Don’t you dare go soft on me,’ she ordered, and gave his nipple a cruel wrench.
Perhaps it was the sudden pain, for the flesh that she’d felt start to soften inside her recovered its rigidity. Incredible! She was truly using him just as she’d use a sex toy, pushing his buttons to make him perform exactly as she required. Inspired by her newfound power, Amanda rode Paul harder, faster, pounding her pubic mound down on his, exulting in every sensation. He kept the pace, thrusting up to meet her, matching her wildness with his own. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto his cheek. His tongue instantly stretched to capture the droplet. He closed his eyes, as if to savour the flavour. And it was this, this gentle, unexpected wordless declaration of adoration in the midst of their ferocious coupling, that tipped her into a climax so deep, so complete, it made her howl.

One lucky commenter will win a signed copy of Amanda’s Young Men, to be announced Monday. Just one thing – my author copies have gone missing but more are on the way. So the winner will have to be patient, but not as patient as North American readers.

Let the celebration begin!

(The painting used in this post is by Robert R. Bliss: "Untitled Pair of Young Men" If you have interest in this painting, contact Outer Cape Auctions.)

(If you just can't wait a week to contemplate boy toys, why not revisit Olivia Knight's crush Wednesday post on skinny boys?

Buy the book - Amanda's Young Men - Amazon.co.uk

preorder the book - Amanda's Young Men - Amazon.com

visit my blog - moremadelinemoore.blogspot.com

Proofreading

Surely I am not alone when I write of those heady days of my youth when I dreampt of receiving the galleys of my novel from my publisher. I could almost smell the ink on the pages, fresh from the wooden contraption that gave them their name, the galley-press. (Click on the link for a picture and description of the process of creating galleys.)
Those publishing people really worked hard, didn't they? I guess it got easier once they harnessed the sun to help power the press...

Oh how I wanted a book and in 2006, I got one, thanks to Adam Nevill. The publishing process for Wild Card began: write book, submit book, proofread book. However, whilst my career as a novelist was as new as tomorrow's dew, the days of the galleys were but a memory, as poignant and ancient as the first tear of heartbreak.


What I received from my editor was a quick email note with a fat attachment. I was asked to look at the author's proofs and relay my corrections via email ASAP.

No smell of ink, no ream of heavy paper...and in place of the words I'd imagined would drop me into the pantheon of Great Canadian Writers as surely as Sheila Watson landed there with The Double Hook (one slim novel) I cast my eyes down to see:

He leant away slightly to put his hand between her knees, and then drew it slowly up her skirt until his fingers cupped her sex. She widened her stance to accommodate his big hand. He laughed at the wetness of her panties.

Oops, I remember now. I'm not in the running for Great Canadian writer, one slim novel or no. But that's okie dokie with me. I simply wish to be known as one of the many marvelous contemporary erotica writers working in the UK today. That's why I've crossed the pond. So please, if you wish to order my work do so from Amazon.co.uk. I'd be positively chuffed, eh? Here is a photograph of me reading one of my favourite novels in my English Garden.


Perhaps I should have said one of my favourite novels. I live next door to Elizabeth George and across the street from Mitzi Szereto. Honest I do.

I submitted five pages of author's corrections for Wild Card. An example?

...lips pursed in a tiny O to accommodate the delicacy it nibbled.

Since I am writing about her lips (plural) delicacy should be followed by the word they, however, since lips don’t nibble, teeth do – please change it to read:
...lips pursed in a tiny O to accommodate the delicacy of the nipple.

Oh my Gawd our editor is a saint. Here's pictorial proof from the Virgin Press archival library (now part of the Random House Archival Libraries).

St.Adam Tends to His Flock of Biddies er, make that Birdies:



I hasten to say that the author's comments on the author's proofs for my second Black Lace novel, Amanda's Young Men, were only four pages long and this was mainly because the powers that be decided to relocate it from the UK to NA and I was asked to suggest word changes they might have missed, for example, 'elevator' instead of 'lift'. Here's my favourite:

Page 193, Line 25 ‘Naff off, you, before you get hurt.' (UK)
Change word:
‘Take off, you, before you get hurt, (NA)

The rest of my suggestions were much simpler this time, to whit:

Page 98, Line 22:You'll have fun with this little slut, Roger, you’ll see. Lift her up by...
Change name: You'll have fun with this little slut, Rupert, you’ll see. Lift her up by...

This is important because while Roger is a fifty-something philandering husband who is, in fact, dead by this point in the novel...



Rupert is a legal young hottie with an angelic face and an ever ready hardon.



I've only ever received author's proofs for one short story, from Mitzi Szereto, for Hurting Hugh, in Getting Even: Revenge Stories. I was eternally grateful because I got to answer a question posed by the American proofreader ('cougar' is UK, should we use 'puma' instead?) with STET. "The proofreader uses this Latin term to indicate that proofreading marks calling for a change should be ignored and the text as originally written should be "let stand." Talk about yer wet panties!

I like receiving author's proofs. The work is detailed to the point of being obsessive and I am helping to improve my book. Now let us address another aspect of proofreading - proofing the work of others.

My daughter wrote a fantasy novel which I undertook to proof and subtly edit as a gift for her nineteenth birthday. The work was excruciating; at times I felt I was taping an invisible wall, only to find she'd meant 'Tapping an invisible wall. DUH.' Later, she thanked me. Her work shows promise.

I am an excellent proofreader of Felix Baron's work. This is one of the reasons why the author's proofs he receives are so much less error-riddled than my own. Felix thinks I am the best proofreader there is. He has secured not one but two 'quick' proofreading gigs for me, as a way of grabbing some 'fast cash'. (A buck a page.)

In both instances the same mistake was made and both gigs ended poorly. The error? I did not insist that the piece be formatted in Word before it was sent to me.

The first time, there were so many glitches in the piece that I sent it to my computer analyst sister, who makes more money per hour than I make per short story, for help. She performed miracles but there was some dumb little dinky mark, no bigger than this + that showed up every now and again. This little mark, according to the author, destroyed the integrity of the novel and negated all my hard work.

Spoiler alert: This novel had no end. Apparently, the author decided once she'd typed enough words to call it a book, it was one. I actually wrapped up the story for her, not that she + noticed. I'm happy to report that I was paid. I'm sorry to report that my last words to her were 'You'll never sell it in a million years.'

Not long ago, Felix arranged another proofing gig for me. As we were dealing with a friend of his, a fellow who self-publishes, Felix spent the day reformatting the Word Perfect document into Word before I began. I ploughed through the story of a cop in small town America who cannot catch a serial killer even though our protagonist has been established (in a number of previous self-published novels) to be an expert in his field and has been given an additional 400 officers to assist him. Meanwhile the murderer tears an astonishing number of women to pieces. Will you forgive me when I say that once I was done I dispatched the attachment post haste?

Incredibly, the document had been so corrupted by the reformatting that most of my changes were not saved. The author was understandably upset. The two friends agreed to meet and Felix, being English, departed for the coffee shop fully confident that I would be paid. Our intrepid author offered Felix a box of chocolates for me in lieu of money. Felix replied,'Let's forget the whole thing.' To the author, a Canadian, this statement means 'Hurrah! We're still pals and you'll still write blurbs for my books and I can still call you whenever I want and say, "Felix, is there a hyphen in half-back" and you'll be happy to answer!' To Felix it means, 'I just forgot that you were ever born.'

Spoiler alert: The serial killer book has a happy ending. No, the cop doesn't actually ever catch the killer but he (the killer, sadly, not the cop) freezes to death in a creek and in the spring along comes a lean, hungry old wolf who makes quite a meal of that nasty carcass!)

My lesson? I'm good at proofing my own work and I'm good at proofing Felix's work. The rest I'd best leave to the pros. I guess I should mention that Felix 'proofs' my work too but instead of looking for things like, say, where I've used the dead guy's name instead of the hottie's name, he has admitted that he's mostly looking for information about my darkest, unspoken sexual desires. This makes for two things:
1)Our editor thinks Felix is a consummate professional and I'm a newbie.
2) Some confusing and foody (eeek!) encounters between the sheets.

Things I know about proofreading? Three Facts and a Hypothesis:

3 Facts
The manuscript must be properly formatted and delivered in Word.
Spell check does not replace proofreading.
If it's short, like a business letter, read it backwards.

1 Hypothesis
By the way, our editor is not under any obligation to approve the changes suggested by the author. Author's proofs are a luxury, not a right. So...

I betcha, if you're asking for a big change, you have a better chance of getting it if you try and match the number of characters in the corrected version with the number of characters in the original version, much as we did in the bad old days when we were actually typing these things and using white-out to try and make corrections with a minimum of retyping. For example:

Page 213, Line 18,19

Her brief velvet jacket hung loose, the soft fabric covering
only her arms, really. With each breath she took, the lining of the velvet
jacket caressed her nipples.

Change sentences so they don’t contradict each other:

Her brief jacket hung loose, barely covering half of each breast. With each
breath she took, the satin lining of the velvet jacket caressed her
nipples.

Original: 28 words, 137 characters w/out spaces, 173 characters w/ spaces.
Revised: 27 words, 133 characters w/out spaces, 168 characters w/ spaces.

Professional proofreaders, care to comment? Authors, any tips or traumas to talk about? Readers, any groaners to report? And how do you spell it? Proofreader, proof-reader, or proof reader?

Works in Progress

Collated by Deanna Ashford

Once again prepare to be entertained by another Works in Progress post by two esteemed members of Lust Bites. However, I must say that when I read Kristina’s write up on Saturday my thoughts were slightly diverted from the intended post by her mention of the word whips. Strange erotic thoughts invaded my mind which had nothing to do with the posts in question and led me along another road entirely. Nevertheless, perhaps that post should be saved for another day!!

This month’s offering consists of works in progress by Kate Pearce and Madeline Moore. In order to give you all a little more insight into the writing process Kate and Madeline have also included a couple of paragraphs to give you all some background information into their excerpts.

The first excerpt is from a historical novel by Kate Pearce:-

This is the second of my Regency erotic historicals that my agent sold to Kensington Aphrodisia in only 48 hours. They are probably the darkest and edgiest books I write and my favorites. The two books are linked by the two main characters who survived seven years in a Turkish brothel after their ship was attacked by pirates. I'm writing about them several years later when they've returned to England and how they deal with the sexual and emotional repercussions of those years.

The first book "Simply Sexual" is out at the end of Jan 08, I've no idea when the second, tentatively titled 'Simply Sinful' will be out, but this is an excerpt from it. I had to send my editor four chapters as a proposal, just so that he would know there was actually a woman in it! For an erotic romance novel, it skirts close to the edge of what is acceptable both in terms of sexual content and the ending which is not quite your conventional one! I love this character. I've written about him in three different books now (Antonia's Bargain is the other) and I have total respect for him.

When Peter turned back, Joseph, Helene’s latest conquest was trying to crawl onto the chaise lounge between them. Even the sight of Joseph’s well-muscled buttocks and erect cock failed to arouse Peter’s interest.

“Perhaps I am getting old,” Peter murmured, as Helene ran the tip of her index finger around the crown of Joseph’s erection. Her blonde hair fell in soft ringlets around her face, her gown was so sheer that she looked naked in the candlelight. Her body remained as pert and youthful as ever. Peter had no idea of her true age and he wasn’t fool enough to ask.

Joseph moaned as Helene’s long nails flicked over his engorged flesh.

“You are not old, mon ami.”

“Jaded, then.” Peter drank more champagne. In his thirty five years he’d probably had more sexual partners than anyone at Madame Helene’s. Not all of them by choice. Being enslaved in a Turkish brothel for seven long years had ensured that his sexual expertise was limitless and that he never wanted to be owned or forced by anyone again.

Helene bent her head to lick Joseph’s cock, her small pointed tongue as dainty as a kitten’s. When she straightened, her lips glistened with pre-come. “Jaded, you?” She regarded Peter closely, one hand lazily working Joseph’s cock. “Maybe you just want different things.”

Peter grimaced. “Like a wife and a family? Who would have me? I’m employed in trade and have no aristocratic blood to make me eligible. The only reason I have an entrée into the ton is because of Valentin’s high and mighty connections.”

Lord Valentin Sokorvsky was not only heir to a marquis; he was Peter’s best friend and occasional lover. They had been slaves together until their release at the age of eighteen. Their strong bond had helped Peter survive the brutal sadistic world of the brothel and supported him through the difficult years of his return to the almost forgotten land of his birth.

* * * * *

The second works in progress from Madeline Moore couldn’t be more different:-

Amanda’s Young Men is so new I’m sort of scared to share it with the world. But I support the idea of Lust Bites WIP post, which gives all of us a glimpse into the freshest erotic fiction being produced today – and I mean today.

I’ve been working on the cougar concept (older woman, younger men) for some time, primarily because it interests both me and my editor at Black Lace. The first ten thousand words + synopsis, The Boy Toy Project was, ultimately, rejected. What’s a girl to do? Try again, of course!

This time around, I’ve added intrigue and deleted divorce-triggered depression. Amanda is 35, (yes, I know, a little young for true cougardom but that’s as old as the Boss is willing to go), a high maintenance but happily married women whose only complaint is that she doesn’t get as much sex with her older husband, Roger, as she’d like. She has no complaints about the quality, though, and in this, an excerpt from Chapter One, Roger proves he’s still got what it takes to satisfy his woman:

The plunge seemed to extend from his tip right into the dark pit of her belly.

Amanda’s groan was deep, as if he’d pushed it up from her with the force of his thrust. ‘I love it when you fuck me, Roger. Go slow, please, make it last.’ She shuddered. Her jacket slipped halfway off her shoulders.

Taking the hint, he leaned over her and took her nipple between his lips.

She arched her back. ‘Oh yes, yes. Suck hard, please. Bite me.’ She felt his teeth, gripping hard enough to send electric shocks from her nipple to her clit, gentle enough to do no harm.

His head drew back, elongating her breast, before he released it. Roger’s hands cupped the cheeks of her bottom and lifted. She wrapped her arms around his neck and Roger stood, taking her clear of the table. Her legs folded around his hips. He jerked, throwing her upwards a few inches, and met her descent with a thrust of his hips.

Older man? Yes, he was, but not so old he couldn’t fuck her free-standing.

(After the couple climaxes happily, they tumble together into the pool. Oh happy, carefree, sexually sated Amanda! But wait…)

Ten days later, Amanda got a call from the police. Roger had been found, naked, alone and dead, in a motel that rented by the hour. It looked like a heart attack.

Chapter One ends, and the story of Amanda’s Young Men begins…

Fuck, but it felt good, the bulk of it, the strength, the heat, the flavour. Amanda turned her head, moving his cock’s head into her cheek. Being very careful not to let him feel her teeth, she polished his knob. Her mouth was watering but some of the wet was from him seeping. She straightened again and pushed forward. His helmet slid across her tongue until it butted against the back of her throat.

She released his cock. Rupert sighed. She drew back, very slowly. A long silvery strand of her spit mixed with his precum stretched from his knob to her lower lip. She sucked it in, breaking it, and then spat directly onto his purple dome before lunging, taking him in deep again.

Rupert emitted a strangled gasp, as if he was very close to his climax. Boys of his age could come often, as she remembered. There were all sorts of things she could do to him before he was drained. He really was her toy. She’d take full advantage of that.

* * * * *

Well that is all for now folks but we will be featuring more works in progress from other lusties in the coming months.

Deanna

Friday's Slot - Madeline Moore

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