Hey everyone. Hope the weather is getting better in all the different areas of the world! Best wishes to all of those who are in the path of any dangerous storms!!!
First let me congratulate the winner of the Get Seduced and Win Contest!!!
A big Woo Hoo for Christy from Florida! She read and answered two questions about my March 2, 2009 release Seduced by the Neighbour and won a gift voucher!
The Were Chronicles Start April 20th!
Your first chance to join the hidden word of wolf shifters and their unpredictable mates. The journey starts with the first book Pack Alpha.
Marissa Boyd finds herself drawn into a world she can never be a part of, complete with an Alpha wolf who takes whatever he wants. And he wants her.
Marissa Boyd knows, as a non-shifter, she doesn't belong in Pack territory. She braves a visit to attend her sister's mating ceremony and meets the shifter who will change her entire life and beliefs.
Gage Wolf knows Marissa is hiding a pained past. As Alpha, he must do whatever it takes to protect his pack, and he considers Marissa a part of that group. Making her his is just an added benefit.
When Marissa's old lover tries to claim her for his own, Gage knows he will never let her go and sets out to prove that to everyone else. Now he just has to make her understand that she belongs with the pack and to the Pack Alpha.
The thick green grass cushioned her bare feet as she stepped onto it. The wolf inside moved restlessly to be let out. Her skin prickled and she shivered. The wolf needed to be released. Normally she would do this with sex, but this was not the place. It was going to be a painful and agonising week.
Moving farther away from the porch towards the edge of the trees, Marissa felt her wolf jump inside her skin. God, how she wished she could shift. Could let the wolf completely free like it wanted, like it needed.
But that wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t shift and no one had figured out how or why this happened to some. Her DNA was not like her sister’s or a mortal human’s. She was caught somewhere in the middle.
Resigned and unhappy, she turned back towards the house and stopped short when she noticed the man who stood on porch watching her. Her wolf growled its approval, demanding she take this available male.
Gage watched as Marissa’s eyes widened. She licked her lips, and his cock jumped in his jeans. He’d been surprised to find her staring into woods like she was ready to go running. He didn’t know much about non-shifters. They were not common. Only a handful of them existed. But the intensity of her stare was like that before a shift.
He quickly covered the distance between them. Marissa didn’t move away from him when he reached her. Her green eyes had started to glow.
"The wild calls to you?"
She nodded and licked her lips again.
"How does it make you feel? Not being able to shift?" He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to reach the woman, and the wolf, under the skin.
She looked so sad he wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay.
She cleared her throat twice before speaking. "Trapped."
She had started shaking and he reached for her. "Does it hurt?" He couldn’t imagine how it would feel for his wolf to be trapped.
When she only shrugged a shoulder, he continued, "What can I do?"
Her gaze met his before dropping to his lips. When she sucked her bottom lip, he felt the last thread of his resolve slipping. Yanking her to him, he took control of her mouth.
She didn’t fight him, but opened immediately. He plunged his tongue inside dominating the kiss. Her low moan only drove him on farther, harder. With one hand wrapped in her hair, holding her head still, he used the other to bring their bodies closer.
Her lips moved against his. Her hands clawed at the shirt on his back.
*** To find out more about The Were Chronicles or to be the first to read the excerpts join my yahoo group Letting the WILD out which is dedicated to the series! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/crissysmith/ ***
So to help you climb out from under the last of the winter snow and get revitalized for spring, but also to make sure you don’t get caught in a compromising position, here are some obscure sex laws you should be aware of. These may actually be on the books somewhere, or they may have been figments of someone’s imagination, but they do make you think about “doing it”!
It's safe to make love while parked in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Police officers aren't allowed to walk up and knock on the window. Any suspicious officer who thinks that sex is taking place must drive up from behind, honk his horn three times and wait approximately two minutes before getting out of his car to investigate.
In Detroit, couples are not allowed to make love in an automobile unless the act takes place while the vehicle is parked on the couple's own property.
In Connorsville, Wisconsin no man shall shoot off a gun while his female partner is having a sexual orgasm.
In Maryville, Missouri, women are prohibited from wearing corsets because "The privilege of admiring the curvaceous, unencumbered body of a young woman should not be denied to the normal, red-blooded American male."
In Alabama you will break the law if you seduce "a chaste woman by means of temptation, deception, arts, flattery or a promise of marriage; while in Oklahoma, if you propose to a virgin then have sex and later decide you don't want to marry her, you just committed a felony.
In Ventura County, California cats and dogs are not allowed to have sex without a permit.
Turquoise and Leather is an M/m, BDSM novella. It’s the first in a collection of novellas called Collared and it’s just been released by Total-e-bound.
Although it's not the first story to be released, it is the first story I ever had accepted! I'm so excited about it finally being out. Eric is still one of my all time favourite characters - I can never smile without thinking about him!
Here’s the blurb for the series:
Leather. Latex. Silver. Gold. Ink. Velvet.
There are as many different shapes and styles of collar as there are people who wear them.
Protection. Possession. Dominance. Submission. Loyalty. Love.
Some collars mean it's time to play, others signify a life time commitment. A fun bit of bondage to one person can easily look like the kinky equivalent of a wedding ring to another. A gold necklace might look vanilla enough until you know what it means to the person wearing it.
But no matter what they are made of, or what they represent, collars are important. A collar can make or break the submissive wearing it - and the dominant who put it around their neck.
It doesn't matter if you are dominant or submissive. Everything changes once one person is Collared.
And here's the blurb for Turquoise and Leather:
An untrained submissive might not be what George wants, but Eric could be just what George needs.
George McAllister knows better than to hook up with an untrained submissive. He doesn’t have the patience to guide a novice through his first kinky experiences. His lovers have to know what they are doing and do what they are told. When he sees Eric dancing on top of a table in a kinky club, he assumes the beautiful young man is an experienced submissive. Then he sees the turquoise and leather on his neck and recognises it as a collar. Someone else already owns Eric. George has no choice but to walk away.
Eric Jordan doesn’t know much about kink and he has no idea why George is suddenly less than enthusiastic. But he knows what he wants and if he has to chase after George to get it, so be it. If George wants to believe the pretty bit of rock on his necklace means something kinky, that’s fine. But Eric doesn’t belong to anyone but himself and he won’t give up possession of himself for one night in George’s bed.
An untrained submissive might not be what George wants, but he could be just what George needs.
And here’s a quick excerpt:
With his back to George, the dancer lifted his arms and pushed his hands through his hair. His white shirt lifted and exposed his back, revealing tantalising glimpses of golden-brown skin.
As well as George could judge from his position several feet below the platform, the dancer was close to his height. But he was of a far slighter build. His cut off shirt sleeves revealed muscular arms. For a brief moment he turned and showed a well developed torso with defined abs. It was the lean muscle of a runner rather than the bulk of a gym junkie. He was just George’s type.
George stopped again, hypnotised by the dancer’s movement. A little voice in the back of his mind piped up, telling him a thirty-year old dominant should have more self respect. He should be ashamed of acting like a submissive teenager at his first school dance. His cock didn’t give a damn. It reverted wholeheartedly to teenage enthusiasm.
For the first time in years, George could ignore the loud music and jostling crowd. In his mind’s eye, he saw the table dancer spread out on his bed in his apartment. Golden skin sprawled against crisp white sheets. Black leather wrapped around the dancer’s wrists and ankles. In the silence of the fantasy, he heard a hush broken only by his lover’s frustrated whimpers as he teased him to the edge of his orgasm. George felt the smooth bare skin under his hands. The dancer arched into his touch, begging for more.
George’s fingers twitched. He imagined burying his fists in the thick blond hair, holding him in place so he could take his pleasure as he wished. His cock jumped again. He pictured the dancer kneeling submissively in the middle of an empty room. The dancer’s breaths coming in gasps, he broke their silence to whisper just one word— Master…
He hadn’t felt such an instant pull towards another man in years. For all his sarcasm about the leather hook up spot, the club eliminated any need for subtle questions. Everyone was gay. Everyone was kinky.
The dancer was obviously submissive. No dominant would advertise his availability on top of a table. And a skilled observer could judge his preference for catching rather than pitching from the way his hips moved in the dance, pushing back against an absent partner on every beat.
Best of all, he appeared completely at home on the table. He wasn’t new to the scene – he’d know what he was doing.
George smiled. It had been too long since a well-trained submissive knelt at his feet. Stepping forward in each moment of darkness, looking up in each light opportunity, he made his way to the base of the dancer’s table and stood by the bottom step of the ladder as the song ended. The brief pause between songs brought black shoes and leather trousers down the ladder. The dancer turned and jumped the last step, landing snugly in George’s arms.
“What the-” The dancer fought to keep his balance, pressing himself tight against George’s body. Strong hands grabbed at his shirt. Big blue eyes looked up at George, full of surprise and confusion.
He was slightly shorter than George had guessed, barely scraping the six foot mark. They fitted together perfectly.
A shocked gasp, a quick inspection of his unexpected crash mat, and the dancer smiled. “Hi.”
He didn’t rush to pull away. George rested his hands possessively on his new friend’s waist. Pushing back the cotton shirt, he trailed his fingers over the skin and leather.
George scanned the bare skin from the low slung waist and up over the lightly defined muscles, admiring his unblemished prize. Then he saw the leather around the younger man’s throat and the blue-green stone suspended from it.
With a silent curse, George stepped back. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
Turning away from the beautiful young man, he stalked to the bar. All the good ones might be gay, but damn if all the good ones weren’t taken too. The thin leather collar around the guy’s neck didn’t leave anything open to interpretation; neither did the turquoise hanging from it.
Just his bloody luck. The man was beautiful and kinky and he was already marked as someone else’s lover.
“So, who do I remind you of?”
George looked over his shoulder. What? Oh, yes. He said he’d mistaken Eric for someone else. That had to have been the singularly most inane line George had spouted since his balls dropped.
“An ex?” the blond wriggled his way between George and the bar so they stood face to face. The crowd pushed them together, letting George feel the heat and strength in the dancer’s body.
“No.” He didn’t remind George of anyone but the submissive he wanted to take home.
“Good.” The dancer smiled again. “It’s always off-putting when a guy screams someone else’s name during sex. Mine’s Eric, for future reference.”
***End of Excerpt***
Thanks for reading.
Kink, love and a happy ending. Do you Dare?
I'm nearing the end of the first full-length novel I've ever written (although I've written over a dozen novellas) and am finding myself dragging my feet over the last twenty or so pages.
I write a few sentences, check my e-mail, surf the net, look up a word, try on a different name for my hero, write another sentence, play a game of solitaire, play another, write a sentence...check my e-mail. And I'm at a loss as to what is going on. Usually by this time, I'm so involved in the book that the characters won't leave me alone. I often find myself dreaming about them, and I often can't type fast enough to get the story down. So, what up?
Do I simply not want this to end? No, not at all. On the contrary, I have three or four story ideas that have been circling and waiting to land as soon as this story is finished (I can't write more than one story at a time)
Do I think I'm on the wrong track to the climax of the story, no... Granted, I did have to chop out 3K just the other day when the black moment wasn't black (or gory) enough. That's fixed now...
Honestly, I think I'm afraid to finish this story. The reason being is that I almost always write for the market...and I haven't a clue what to do with this one when it is finished.
It's more a suspense than romance, it's got consummated love scenes, but they are "sweeter" than any I usually write and...well, the list goes on. I know more about what it doesn't fit than what it does. And that's scaring me. Should I finish something I won't be able to sell? Of course I should...and I'm determined to type THE END simply because these two characters deserve their happily ever after.
I've given myself until the end of the month to get to the end of the story...until then, I'm heading back to play solitaire like I'm getting paid for it.
Author of The Lady is a Vamp, Forget Me Not, and To Catch a Casanova, now available at Total E-bound
Here's the series blurb:
He extended a hand. "I’m Seth Carter."
She shook it, still a bit shocked to see him again. "Carla Nelson."
"Hi, Carla. Are you at the right place?"
"I’m, uh, not sure. There was a munch scheduled here today."
His smile broadened. "If you know what a munch is, you’re in the right place. Welcome to the Rose & Thorn Society."
One of the biggest BDSM social clubs in Southern California, The Rose & Thorn Society boasts over a thousand members in various sub-genres.
"This is a M.A.s.T. munch. That’s Masters and slaves together."
With meet and greets once a month to discuss business and socialise, and monthly themed play parties, the Rose & Thorn is a popular place. They sport the finest dungeon with all the latest equipment.
"We practise safe, sane and consensual sex, so you don’t have to worry about that. The other guidelines are pretty self-explanatory. Did you get a booklet?"
Come along for the ride and meet all types of sexy, fun-loving people at the hottest fetish/kink/BDSM club in town.
Welcome to the Rose & Thorn Society, where the scent of submission is sweet.
And here is the blurb for book one, Switching Seth:
Seth and Michael, a practising BDSM couple, decide to shake things up by adding a woman to their gay relationship.
Seth Carter is the perfect submissive. He'll do anything for his lover and Master, Michael. But Seth has a secret desire: he'd like to try being a Dom. Realising he'll never dominate Michael, with his Master's permission, he goes looking for a slave of his own.
Carla Nelson is new to Southern California and the BDSM club, the Rose & Thorn Society. She's looking for a submissive, but falls deep in lust when she meets Seth. The words 'gay and married' resonate in her head, but she can't fight the intense attraction. When he calls her with a proposal, she discovers she may not have to.
Seth wants to dominate Carla. With Michael training him, he promises they'll fulfil her every desire. The allure of having two men at once - two Masters - is strong. The fact that one is the handsome Seth makes the offer irresistible. Carla agrees to accept Michael in the package deal, unaware of how he really feels about the arrangement.
Welcome to the Rose & Thorn Society, where the scent of submission is sweet.
I hope your appetite is whetted! Find Switching Seth here. Enjoy!
My creative juices are flowing. I am imagining several stories set in Bend, or better yet, in Portland, where I spent the first few days of my visit. The public transportation there is incredible, by the way. And if you're ever needing a place to stay downtown, I highly recommend Hotel Fifty. Gorgeous view of the Columbia River and right near the MAX transport system.
I currently live in Georgia, where the weather is warm enough to wear shorts and there isn't a mountain in sight. Here in Oregon, we've already seen snow, been sledding, and had a massive snowball fight. Pretty exciting stuff, especially for my 3-yr old, who thought sledding meant putting his skateboard on our concrete driveway and rolling downhill.
So maybe in my next book Yeti will make an appearance. Or a sexy couple and a mysterious stranger will get stranded in a cabin near Three Sisters, a cool spot west of Bend. How about a tree that wakens the druid bound to it, and calls forth several hot males for some sexual sacrifice?
As much as I'm on vacation, I can't stop my brain from tinkering with ideas. Now I can't wait to get home to write!
Here are some more pictures of what I've been looking at during my stay...
Portland at night
Portland during the day
So we picked a morning when the spa wouldn't be too busy and they could just announce that there was a woman on the premises. Jean, the manager of the club, met me at the back door. He had a wicked laugh and an equally wicked sense of humor. We went to the lounge where Robert was waiting. He's well spoken and beautiful, in his early 60s but looks much younger.
Once introductions were made, we set off to tour the building from top to bottom. I'm the only woman to have ever been past the lounge on the main floor, and I saw every nook and cranny in the place.
Our first stop was the playroom. Many of the rooms at Spa Excess have been created for visual or perhaps visceral pleasure so you can watch or be watched. As we entered, I noticed that one wall was made of glass and behind it was a shower room. The top half of the glass was dark so you couldn't see behind it yet the bottom was clear so you would have a great chest-down view of whoever was showering. The clear part was actually a two-way mirror so you could see in, but the people showering wouldn't know if anyone was watching or not. From what Robert said, this is an incredibly popular spot and there would definitely be lots of men watching.
Part of the allure of Spa Excess is the voyeuristic nature of many rooms. A small bathroom was equipped with a sprayer at the sink so men could wash their genitals. Behind it was a low two-way mirror that allowed men to watch from the other side. Robert mentioned that the bench behind the mirror was also one of their most popular spots for viewing and for sex.
The television room next door had an array of pedestal seats. As multiple TVs played man-on-man porn, Robert explained that this room was for sex, not television watching. The TVs are the impetus not the purpose of this chamber. Beyond the TV room is a playroom with a sling, a large St. Andrew's Cross on the wall, a play bench and a mock jail. The corners of the sling were suspended from the mirrored ceiling by chains that had ankle straps to hold the man's legs in the air. The sling was at the perfect height for one man to slide his cock into another. While the man in the sling is being pleasured by one or many, other men could watch and either masturbate or have sex.
The St. Andrew's cross had wrist and ankle straps so a man could be tethered to the cross and then driven crazy by one or more partners. The play bench is padded like a gymnastics vault box but low enough and small enough to allow three or four men to play at the same time. The jail is a set of open bars on a raised platform so a convict can stick his penis through the bars to be serviced by someone down on the floor. This whole play area is all about group gratification, either by taking part or watching others while you jack off.
By the time I got to this section of Spa Excess, I knew it was going to figure prominently in the book I would write. So I set to work.
All Tied Up will be released May 18th from Total-e-Bound, and is a futuristic male/female story that contains mild bondage. I know, I said I was going to write a male/male story, but I had so many women say they wanted to see what it was like at Spa Excess, that I wrote this story with a woman using the equipment from there. The story takes place off-world, but the heart of it, the inspiration for it, is Spa Excess.
Here's the blurb:
As a government agent, Naymeen Renaud’s mission is to belay Aiden Blackshott’s role in treasonous activities. So how does she end up in the wealthy businessman’s playroom, tethered for his pleasure?
Captain Naymeen Renaud’s current assignment for the United League of Veluvian Planets is to thwart any contact between forces hostile to the League, and wealthy industrialist Aiden C. Blackshott. But she soon finds herself straddling a line between duty and lust. She loves it when Aiden captures and pleasures her in his sex playroom. But she suspects her new lover has ties to her former partner, now a rogue agent, she has sworn to bring in.
Aiden also has a mission, one which threatens to fall apart when Naymeen appears the very evening he will play his final role in his assignment. When he allows her to kidnap him to keep her from upsetting carefully laid plans, she whisks him to her star cruiser and ties him to her bed so she can return the favour. She wants to believe in him, but in the end, is he betraying her just as her comrade did?
All Tied Up by Kaenar Langford
During the story, Naymeen is taken prisoner by Aiden Blackshott and finds herself tied to the St. Andrew's cross and tethered to the vault horse for his pleasure. And hers.
She kidnaps him and retaliates by tying Aiden to her bed.
Naymeen is also trying to capture a rogue agent. Needless to say, her focus is more often on Aiden.
Please check out the full story, May 18th from Total-e-Bound.
The full article about my trip to Spa Excess can be read here.
Check out some amazing short videos filmed at Spa Excess here.
Tales to seduce and entice...
I'm going to a wedding in a few days and I was having a hard time finding something to wear. My cousin is getting married. I am excited for her. I was all prepared except for that crucial outfit.
I can now say that my preparations for my trip and wedding are complete. Here is my list:
1.) I have my plane ticket booked.
2.) Scheduled the time off from work.
3.) Got a kick butt outfit.
Yes I finally got my outfit a little over a week ago. Yep it took me almost until the eleventh hour to get my outfit. Now it is checked off list. It is a relief that I’ve got what I am wearing. Actually I have two outfits I’m taking with me so I can decide which to wear. The outfits fit my short list of my wants. It is comfortable, sexy and well fitted. No outfits that will drive me crazy and make me want to rip it off. Comfort and looking good is what I wanted and got.
My bags are all packed. Now all I have to do it get on plane. I love going home for a visit. I get to see family and friends to reconnect.
What are some of your most memorable wedding outfits?
…increasing the sizzle factor
Chat Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/crenshawcafe
Free Reads Site: http://www.satinnotes.com
This coming May, Total-E-Bound will release my first full-length paranormal work, Serpent’s Kiss. It’s a radical departure from much of what I’ve written, a classic romance with no kink at all – unless you consider sex with snakes to be kinky! That doesn’t mean the book is tame. It has been rated as Total-E-Burning. But there’s no time for bondage or other games, as the heroine and hero struggle to save the earth from total destruction.
From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gates of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pelikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos. They fall in love, despite his dire predictions. Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind - and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.
The plot of Serpent’s Kiss is entwined with Mayan myth and legend. Actually, when I began the book, I knew very little about the ancient civilization which ruled in Mexico and Central America for more than a millennium. After submitting the manuscript, fascinated by the world that I’d been visiting, I delved into some serious research. I discovered that I’d made some lucky guesses in the details of the book. I also got lots of ideas for a sequel.
I’ll leave you with this (unedited) excerpt.
“Jorge! Why did you run away?” She gestured for him to join her on the porch. In an instant, he stood in front of her, a half-smile on his full lips.
He grasped her hands. His skin was cool, now, and moist like the jungle night. His fever has broken, she thought gratefully. Joy bubbled up in her chest. She almost laughed. She had thought that she would never see him again.
“I had no choice. I was in grave danger. And by remaining in your clinic, I was placing you in danger.”
“Moving when your chest has been ripped open and is held together by nothing more than a few feeble stitches wasn’t exactly the safest thing to do,” she scolded. “But I’m happy to see that you’re so much better.”
“Much better, thanks to you—Elena.” He squeezed her hands. Desire raced through her, sharp, irrational, irresistible. “I’m sorry that I had to return and place you at risk once again. But I left something behind. Something important.”
“I know. I have it, hidden safely away.”
He searched her face, apparently trying to determine how much she knew. “Give it to me, then, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
“No—I don’t want you to go. I’ll give you the feather, but only if you promise to spend the night with me.” Listening to herself, Elena was appalled. What was she saying?
She had not planned this. She was keeping the feather for him and had honestly intended to return it. But now she wanted him, with a single-mindedness that drove out all reason. She would do anything to satisfy this uncharacteristic desire. She could not let him escape again.
He cupped her cheek in one of his strong brown hands. Elena nearly swooned. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Elena. It’s not possible.”
“I know what I want. What I need. And I won’t turn over the feather until you give it to me.”
He removed his hand, leaving her mourning for his touch. “I could force you.” His soft voice rang with power.
“Go ahead and try.” Elena’s words were defiant, but there were tears in her eyes.
“You don’t understand what you ask. If we couple, you and I, we will open the gates of chaos.” He hovered close, leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. His scent made her dizzy.
“I don’t care. So be it.”
His strong arms snaked around her body and pulled her to his chest. “So be it,” he whispered. “As the gods will.”
His mouth captured hers. He sucked away her breath, drained her of her strength. Then he swept his tongue across hers and everything flowed back: strength, breath, awareness, pleasure. She felt his tongue everywhere, on her aching nipples and in the liquid gap between her thighs, tickling the tender lobe of her ear, dancing in the hollow at the base of her throat. Yet she knew, with the tiny kernel of rationality that remained, that his lips had not left hers. This exquisite ballet of sensation was nothing more than an illusion.
Real or imagined, the fluttering tongues quickly carried her to the edge of release. “Please,” she begged, sliding her mouth away from his. “I can’t wait. Make love to me.” He clutched her to him. His erection pressed into her belly like a lump of stone. “You want me, Jorge. Take me.”
Watch for Serpent's Kiss by Lisabet Sarai, coming in May 2009!
Book one in the Downing Brothers Series
As an act of revenge against her father, Camille is forced to enter into an agreement with her most hated enemies - spend six months serving the sexual needs of four handsome brothers as their exclusive mistress...Revenge has never been so sweet.
When Camille's stepmother loses her family ranch, she is forced to enter into an agreement with her most hated enemies, the Downing brothers, in order to get it back. She must spend six months serving all of the sexual needs of the four handsome brothers as their exclusive mistress. If she can do this then the ranch is hers once again. With no other options left, Camille reluctantly agrees to the arrangement.
Yet when the end of the six months draws near, Camille comes to realize that she may walk away with something far more important than her family ranch when one Downing brother steals her heart.
Excerpt from Sleeping with the Enemy's Daughter
Copyright © Nadia Aidan, 2009
Camille Douglas stepped into the spacious office and slammed the door behind her with a piercing thud. At the sound of a faint noise, she whipped her head to the side to see a single picture, encased in what appeared to be an expensive gold frame, topple from the mantle and fall with a soft thump to the floor. A tiny grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she fought it back, even as a childish sense of triumph stole over her. With lazy steps, she sauntered towards the centre of the room, her high heels digging into the soft plush carpet, until she came to a stop in front of a large cherry oak desk. With a slight tilt of her chin, she schooled her features into a neutral expression and bravely met the gazes of the four men that stood before her, as hostility blazed in the matching depths of their eyes.
With a quick flick of the wrist, Camille tossed her unruly curls over her shoulder and straightened her back even as droplets of sweat coated her palms. She was scared, but she had no intention of showing it. The Downing brothers had brought her there to draw blood, but she would be damned if she gave them the satisfaction of knowing that she was nervous as hell.
“I’m here as you summoned,” she drawled in her soft, southern accent, her voice dripping with contempt.
Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He was the oldest and out of all of them, he was the most arrogant. She’d attended school with him so she knew him the best, and out of all of them she hated him the most.
“You didn’t have to come, although I am sure you knew it was in your best interests to do so,” he said tightly.
She stiffened at his words, her hands balling into tight fists.
“My best interests?” Despite a valiant effort, she couldn’t stop the look of scorn that she knew, without a doubt, crossed her face.
“No, Mr. Downing—” she paused to glance at each of them. “Mr. Downings—” she corrected. “This meeting is in no way shape or form in my best interests, but what choice did I really have? You offered me a way to save my family ranch, so I’m here to take it.”
She stared at each of them, the bitter animosity she’d fought to mask, now blazed in her gaze as anger ignited inside her at the thought of why she was there in the first place. If it wasn’t for what the ranch symbolised she would have told them all to kiss her ass a long time ago. But with the predicament she was in, she was now forced to kiss their asses.
The Douglas Ranch had been in her family since her great-great grandmother, Ida Douglas, a former slave with almost no education, had managed to purchase a small plot of land outside of San Antonio Texas during the Reconstruction Era. At the time, it hadn’t been much, but over the years, the ranch had grown in size, eventually becoming a lucrative and extensive ranching operation, until their name was synonymous with the wealthy black elite of Texas. That had all changed six years ago when her father died and her greedy, tramp of a step-mother squandered most of the family assets in one poorly conceived business deal after the next. By the time Camille returned from her graduate studies in Dublin six months ago, it was too late. The ranch was up for foreclosure, and everything that her family had worked so hard for was now in the hands of their bitter enemies and hated rivals—the Downings. The four Downing brothers now held her family legacy in their hands, and with the exception of going on a murderous rampage, she would stop at nothing to reclaim her family heritage.
“Have a seat, Ms. Douglas,” Jackson, the second oldest said and waved his hand towards the lone chair in the middle of the room. She glanced at it. There were no other chairs in the room. She shook her head. There was no way in hell she was going to sit, while those cocky, arrogant bastards stood over her.
“No thank you. I’ll stand.”
Jackson shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Apparently, that had been their one attempt at courtesy. From the stubborn set of their matching jaw lines, Camille could tell that their southern hospitality well had probably dried up long ago—or at least it had towards her and her family. That was fine with her. She wasn’t there to be courted like some dainty southern belle. She was there to hear their terms so that she could negotiate the selling of her property back to her.
“Look gentlemen. There’s no sense in pretending that this is an amicable meeting, so why don’t we just skip the pleasantries and get straight to business. How much is it going to cost me to get my land back?” There. She’d said it. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she watched them glance at each other, their expressions registering surprise. She was sure her bluntness had caught them off guard. No matter. That was the reason why she was there so it shouldn’t have come as too big of a surprise that the subject of her ranch would end up on the agenda.
Camille silently fumed, when they leaned in close to exchange hushed words. Their voices were barely more than a whisper, but she could still hear her name. She tapped her foot angrily against the soft carpeted floor, amazed by their rudeness, and a little annoyed that the sound of her stomping foot was muffled.
When they finished with their discussion, Jackson, Jeff and Jason all nodded at their older brother, as if signalling that they were in agreement.
She watched with wary eyes while Jacob studied her. His gaze settled first on her face, before leisurely drifting across her figure. A gasp of shock threatened to erupt from her lips when his eyes lingered on her overly large breasts that strained against her gray suit. As a size sixteen, it was hard to find decent clothing to contain them, but she thought she’d done a good job of hiding her chest that day. Apparently not. A fresh wave of fury washed over her as she bristled under his scrutiny, barely suppressing the urge to ask if he wanted a closer look when his eyes zeroed in on the area between her legs. She shook her head, appalled by his audacity. When he lingered there for several moments, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.
“Mr. Downing? Is there something that you would like to say to me—to my face?” She snapped angrily.
Jacob arched a single eyebrow and his lips curled up into a slight grin that looked more like a leer.
Her nostrils flared at the gesture. There was nothing amusing about his actions.
“Actually, there is.” His eyes held her gaze, his expression blank. “How much is the ranch worth to you?”
Camille stood there for several moments considering his question, before giving him the only answer that she could—the truth.
“It’s worth everything. It’s been in my family for generations, and I would do anything to keep it,” she said, knowing her eyes revealed the sincerity of her words.
She blinked for several seconds. There was something in his voice that gave her pause, but she finally nodded saying, “Yes. I would do anything to keep it.” She fixed her gaze upon each of them before adding. “I cannot buy it at market value yet, but I have a trust and some money saved. I can give you some now and then work out a pay—”
“Thank you, Ms. Douglas for that offer, but we have already come to a decision on the payment plan.”
Relief instantly flooded her at his words, and for the first time since she’d agreed to the meeting, she allowed the tension to seep from her body. They were going to let her buy it back. She had been so worried that with the bad blood between their families they would simply refuse to sell.
“How much? How much do I owe you?”
“It’s not an amount.”
She shook her head, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not money we want from you.”
“Then how am I supposed to pay you back for the ranch? It’s worth almost three million dollars. What could I possibly give you that would compensate for the amount you paid?”
Her eyes widened, not quite comprehending Jacob’s statement. “Huh?”
“You are the payment, Camille.”
His words hit her like a ton of bricks. She stared up at them, the cold expressionless masks that were their faces. A soft gasp ripped past her lips when Jacob’s words finally penetrated the fog that had settled in her brain. They were serious. They wanted her as payment!
“P—payment how? In what capacity?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Maybe they wanted her to be their housekeeper, because the alternative was infinitely more terrifying than the thought of scrubbing their floors and doing their dirty laundry for an eternity.
Jacob’s eyes flashed with impatience.
“What do you think, Camille? You are the payment.”
She shook her head in protest, but he ignored her.
“For six months you will serve all of our sexual needs in any way we see fit. You are to be available to service us at any time, and any place.” She had to restrain herself from rearing back in shock when she glimpsed the tiny flash of desire in his eyes.
“If you comply with our demands for the entire time, then the ranch is yours.”
She stood there stunned. Yet the shock was quickly replaced by fury.
“Absolutely not! I have a job gentleman and it does not include being your twenty-four hour mistress. Those terms are unacceptable—”
“This is not up for negotiation. This is the only offer we are making. You can either take it, or lose your ranch for good,” Jeff said.
She whirled around to stare at Jeff, the third oldest, surprised by his boldness. But then again he was a Downing so what had she truly expected?
“We were under the impression that as an advice columnist and freelance writer, you work mostly from home.”
She slid her gaze to Jason, the youngest, and shot angry daggers from her eyes at him for his insinuation.
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips.
“So you think because I work at home, that I having nothing but endless amounts of time to play your mistress?” She asked in a shrill voice.
That’s exactly what they thought.
3rd book in the Untamed Heart Trilogy
Co-authors: Jude Mason & Jamie Hill
Genre: Paranormal Were/ Gay/ Menage a trois
Publisher: Total E-Bound
Release date: April 13.2009
Fire takes the life of the wolfen tribal leader, and a new leader must be found before catastrophe befalls the pack. Only Cole, young irresponsible and unattached, has felt the talisman's heat. Is he the chosen one?
Zane has been a convenient sex partner for Cole, who continues to resist the ties of commitment. When the men come across another pack decimated by the fire, including a beautiful female unlike any they've seen before, Cole discovers that there may be more to life than playing the field.
With dissension among the pack and an unwilling Cole who might very well be the chosen amulet holder, will the wolfen tribe find its new leader? Or will confusion, mistrust and greed destroy them all?
Never before seen excerpt:
Cole sat with his back to the cliff face, naked as the day he was born. The rough stone scratched his back, the rubble under him dug into his bum. He focused on a distant point where flames had licked at the treetops, leaving nothing but blackened fingers reaching into the sky.
The fire had recently passed over the valley, leaving the territory of the wolf tribe a mixture of ashes and partially burnt foliage. If Gar hadn’t been away from home, if the wind had turned the other way, Cole was sure life would have gone on as usual. Many of the small family clans had fought the flames, while some of them fled. But without Gar, the pall of death now loomed over the entire tribe.
His immediate thoughts were of his find, and the meaning behind it. The talisman. The brilliant red stone in the shape of a wolf’s head, set in the centre of the gold filigree, rested in his palm. He wanted to throw it as far as his strength would allow. Instead, he tossed it into the air and snatched it back then lifted it so the sun shone through the gem, sending brilliant shards of colour across the dull, burned soil.
“What’s the matter?” Zane, his friend and companion, leaned down, and reaching out tried to snatch the stone from his grasp.
Cole pulled the amulet close, unwilling to allow it to leave his hand. Cursing under his breath, he wondered why. He’d have given anything if he’d never found the damn thing—never found their tribal leader, Gar, and his mate’s scorched corpses. Charred flesh and bone were all that remained and the smell was something he’d never forget, he was sure of it.
The shock and grief were still hard to bear. The ramifications of what this meant to their tribe, enormous. Cole sighed. No one would ever be able to replace Gar. Yet someone would have to try.
Shaking off his black mood , he dropped the amulet onto the pile of clothing he’d shed and grabbed hold of Zane’s wrist. Pulling the pale-skinned, white haired man around, he draped him across his knees. “Nothing besides the obvious. Oh, and I’m horny.” It seemed inappropriate, but Cole needed something to distract him from the horrible events that had taken place.
Zane’s response was predictable, as was his own comment. “Yeah, so what else is new? Ever since I met you, your cock’s been at no less than half-mast.”
“Nothing wrong with that, or so you’ve been telling me for the past couple of weeks. No one else complains about me being hard all the time.”
Zane wriggled, dragging his thighs and genitals over Cole’s erection. “Like I’m complaining!” He squirmed a little more, and chuckled when Cole groaned.
“Fuck, you know how to get to me.” He slid his hand over Zane’s lower back and then his arse. The man’s squirming took on a more determined thrust, driving his shaft hard into Cole’s thigh.
“I understand how you’re feeling. This whole situation is overwhelming, and you’d rather not think about it for a while longer. But you’re the one who’s driving us both crazy.!” Zane drove his hips forward again. “Either spank me or fuck me, please!”
Grinning, Cole continued his teasing caress, sliding his palm over the firm cheeks of the man’s arse and down his thighs. He nudged them apart and slipped a hand between those sturdy columns of muscle and bone, cupping the warm, round sac. “Spank you? Have you misbehaved? Do you need a spanking?” Cole was intrigued. He’d never spanked anyone before.
“For fuck’s sake, just do me, would you?” Zane snarled, his temper obviously getting the best of him.
Cole loved trying new things and wasn’t about to let him off so easily. He rested his free arm across the man’s back, holding him in place, while continuing to toy with the hefty ball sac and the crack of his arse.
Zane’s writhing grew more desperate when Cole pushed a finger against the tight rosebud nestled between his cheeks. He groaned when the finger popped inside.
“So, fucking or spanking?” Cole twisted his finger around the tight passage. His own cock shifted, pulsing under the weight of his new lover.
“Whatever you want. Fuck, spank, I don’t care,” Zane growled. “Just don’t leave me hanging.”
“And you said I was always horny. What about you and this monster you have dangling between your legs?” Popping his finger free, Cole pushed his hand between them and grabbed Zane’s impressive hard-on.
“Yes,” the man hissed and pumped his hips.
“Yes, you want to fuck, or yes, you want a spanking?” Cole asked, insistent. “Make a choice or you get neither.”
“Fuck then, fuck me,” Zane replied quickly. He raised his arse, perhaps hoping Cole would relent and slip a finger back into his tight hole.
“I think I want to spank you first.”
Phew, a nice bit of teasing for you. I hope you enjoyed. Jamie and I had a blast with this series and can't wait to hear what you all think. Remember, April 13th, from Total E-Bound.
I've been posting kissing facts all over the place this month - and now I am again but this time from The Hot Spot. At a time when people are pinching pennies, struggling to hold onto their jobs and homes, there is one thing that remains free and is absolutely fun to do with the one you love: KISS!
From the heartbreaking first kisses to the whoa baby someone pass the ice and a fan kisses on the big screen - it's a beautiful expression of your affections. And did I mention that it doesn't cost a thing?
Here are some fun facts about kissing:
Eskimos, Polynesians and Malaysians rub noses instead of kissing.
Longest underwater kiss - 2 minutes and 18 seconds in Tokyo, Japan, on April 2, 1980.
Kissing at the conclusion of a wedding ceremony can be traced to ancient Roman tradition where a kiss was used to sign contract.
Lips are 100 times more sensitive than the tips of the fingers. Not even genitals have as much sensitivity as lips.
The science of kissing is called philematology.
The first on-screen kiss between two members of the same sex was in Cecil B. DeMille’s 1922 Manslaughter.
For more fun facts on kissing, click Here
So when you're strapped for cash, but your partner is beside you - lean in and pucker up! You never know where it could lead!
Guess you Brits are fucked too.
Shit. In light of that, I thought it better to talk about my radio show instead, which is FAR from boring or depressing! Many of you may know but for you newbie listeners, I host a radio show on the Adult Radio station: Radio Dentata.
It's The UnNamed Romance Show and it's all about Erotic romance! I talk about my books of course, but we've had Total E-bound authors Ashlyn Chase and Isabella Drake on the show talking about our previously released anthology "Nectar of the Gods." Those interviews were fun. I've ranted, raved, hope to get reviews on the show and generally pimp myself all over the internet!
In the future, I'm planning to do more with Total E-bound authors because they're a GREAT roup and I really like the crowd I'm in with (Lisabet Sarai and I go pretty far back actually! *wink*)
Some of the things we talk about on the blogs become fodder for my show, just because those topics are important to not just writers, but to readers as well.
All interested parties can tune in at: 1 PM PST/4 PM EST on MOnday's at http://www.radiodentata.com/sascha.html and enjoy a MUCh more entertaining discussion of the things we love: books!
I believe in helping to ease the pain in this world by writing romance. I hope to ease the pain by talking about my passions and sharing them with other authors and readers. So I hope you'll join me every MOnday!
Some friends of mine and I had an interesting conversation last night. The topic revolved around Deviant Sexual Practices (DSP). I laughed along with some of the others, secretly remembering my own DSP and sighing with pleasure. Finally I posed a question to the to group: “What, exactly, defines Deviant as opposed to
They looked at me as if I had sprouted horns. I continued. “Is doggy style deviant? What about oral sex? 69? From the side? Watching porn? Spanking? Anal? Isn’t pretty much everything except the slain missionary position deviant?”
My newly enlightened friends agreed, after some debate, that they truly didn’t know what “deviant’” meant. Still, the most conservative insisted that any homosexual activity or that “rough stuff” was just “not right.” Poor girl. I wonder just how much fun she would have if she relaxed enough free of her parochial stereotypes. Maybe I should just give her one of books, something like the excerpt below from my first book, Conquest of a Fairy.
“If it’s hard you want it, it’s hard you’ll have it, Fairy. I’m sorry to you, Saoirse, but I’ll not be lettin’ some demented Fairy control me—or you!”
Angus grabbed her arm and forced her to the wall. Again he tied her wrists to the clothes hooks and forced her legs apart. When she was in place, Angus sighed again and began to administer the consequences. After twenty-five swats, Saoirse sagged against her restraints and cried.
“I’ll take mercy on you and stop for now, but do not disobey again. I’ll increase the number each time you do. You disobey too often and I’ll use a switch instead of my hand. I’m leaving you here, tied up, until I decide otherwise. You’ll learn the position I want this way,” he said.
“Please, Angus, wait, how long will you leave me?” she whimpered.
“As long as I like,” he answered as he locked the door behind him.
Saoirse hung her head and prepared to wait. An hour later Angus returned to release her. He untied her wrists but did not touch or look at her. He simply slapped her ass, turned and strode from the room, locking the door behind him.
When Saoirse disobeyed him again the next day, Angus, a man of his word, once more tied her to the hooks. He left for a short time and returned with a thin wooden switch. Despite her cries, Angus administered thirty stripes to her backside. By the time he finished, she knew her stinging ass and upper legs must be crisscrossed with bright red lines. She desperately wanted to hide the sight from Angus, but with her hands bound was helpless to do so.
“I don’t enjoy this, Fairy, but I’ll keep it up as long as you’re with her,” he said. He then released her wrists, kissed her and left her in tears.
On the third day Saoirse was not quite in place when Angus opened the door.
“You’re getting’ better. At least you tried,” he said.
Saoirse smiled at him. “My only aim is to please you, darling. You know that.”
Angus’ eyes hardened. “I know more than you think. Hold onto those hooks and don’t let go.” Angus got his wooden switch.
Do the rest of you have specific rituals when writing? I've narrowed mine down to:
2. comfy clothing
3. taking care of others - got certain things that have to be done first thing
4. getting down to business
5. picking up where I left off
Picking up where I left off involves:
A. working on my gratitude list (no work at all)
C. refreshing my fuzzy ole memory w/research notes I've made prior
D. beginning the day's writing where I left off the day (or night) before
Then before bedtime...I do the reverse of the previous 4 items.
I have to end well...I have to end whatever I'm working on with a good place for me to start the next day. I get those research notes ready to use. Then I do some meditating and my gratitude list. And the next morning...I have a good start.
This week, the schedule has been somewhat different. Friend Carol invited me to the EPIC conference in Las Vegas (you DO know she's up for an award, right???). The coffee is good, the only person I take care of is myself, and I refuse to wear anything but comfy clothing, even at a conference. It's me, ya know? Take it or leave it. And the thumb drive helps keep me on the same page with the laptop as the one I was on back home.
I imagine that a few margaritas and glasses of red wine at night haven't hurt my creative energies. JP Bowie is a marvelous cook - he had us over Friday night for the most delicious spaghetti, salad, and dessert - and the salmon from Canada made a great start with the appetizers before we dug into the meal. Good food. Good friends. Getting to read Bowie's MY VAMPIRE AND I...oh...my...gawd. It's tough being me this week, but I'll survive. -hehehe
* * *
Anyone else care to list what works for them? I'm always open to new ideas.
This week, I'm having trouble keeping everything together. It seems all I can do is to manage the day job. It was when I arrived at the day job this morning and looked at my calendar that I went "Holy crap, it's the 4th. My TEB blog is due tomorrow."
I know, those aren't the most eloquent words I ever used, and I didn't say them out loud since I work for a ministry. Well, not until now. :)
Sometimes I feel like two people. Maybe I am. I'm "Ashley" here, and I'm another name in the rest of my life.
In the rest of my life, people apologize for saying bad words around me, or talking about anything that's the least bit raunchy. So many times I smile inwardly and think "If they only knew."
If you've read any of my books, you know I'm not that sweet and innocent. You'll also know that some of my characters swear.
Usually, I find it funny that people think they have to tip toe around me. I know darned well those same people would blush at what I write.
The more I am "Ashley" the more I become "Ashley". The more I feel like two completely different people. Or maybe I feel more like "Ashley". I certainly sign the name "Ashley" more than I sign the name my parents named me.
I haven't asked, but I suspect I'm not the only author whose ever felt this way. I wrote a story for a different publisher a long time ago where the heroine was a singer who performed in disguise. She wore a mask on stage and used a stage name. Not even her family knew her alter ego's identity. (My family knows mine.) In fact, her situation became so bad that everybody thought she was having an affair with herself. Is that going to happen to me one day?
God I hope not.
Then again, there's a lot worse things that could happen.
This past month was a great month for me story-wise. I had not just one but TWO releases at TEB: Secret Admirer (an M/M) and Welcome To Paradise (MMF) in the Night of the Senses anthology.
Jordan, the heroine in Welcome To Paradise has some identity issues to deal with, too. Her method of dealing with them are a lot different than mine - and a lot more fun. Here's an excerpt.
Welcome to Paradise by Ashley Ladd
Determined to live life by her own rules, Jordin's more than ready to devour two yummy men, what her religious father thinks, be damned.
Eager to escape the bitter cold of the frigid Northwest and especially her strict, overzealous religious father, Jordin seeks a new life in sunny Florida at a resort called Paradise. When she meets the proprietors, Evan and Chris, she's ready to try new, titillating things with the yummy pair, even blindfolded BDSM and especially ménage a trois. She reasons that if the men in her father's religion can have more than one wife, she certainly can have more than one husband.
Excerpt from: 'Welcome to Paradise' by Ashley Ladd
Jordin Marshall spread her toes in the warm Florida sand and let the heady warmth seep into her. This was a long-time dream, and she wondered again if it was a fantasy. Having lived in the snows of Alaska and Utah all her twenty-four years, she’d finally found paradise.
Stretching her bikini-clad body, she reached towards the sun’s warmth and light. Joyous laughter bubbled from her lips, and she hoped a merman would emerge from the depths of the blue gulf waves and claim her for his own. Well, not really. She just wanted a man. A man who wasn’t of her father’s choosing or the type he would choose: a return Mormon missionary, probably an exulted Brigham Young University or Rick’s College grad. No, she’d escaped her daddy’s clutches to find a man of her choosing. No return missionaries or religious nuts need apply. And no one was to know she was rich, either. She longed to find love on her own terms. To be loved for herself. That shouldn’t be too hard since she was staying at Paradise Inc., a cosy little hotel on the gorgeous Gulf Shore of west Florida. If she couldn’t find love in paradise, where could she?
Certainly not at Utah State even though she knew darned well her dad had sent her there to be as close to BYU as possible. If he’d had his way, she’d have attended BYU to get her MRS, but since she wasn’t a temple-card carrying member of the Latter-day Saints, she’d been rejected. Had her dad ever been mortified. And had she ever been relieved. Like her mother, she had serious doubts about the church her father prized.
A handsome, well-muscled blond caught her eye, and remembering the flirting advice she’d recently read on the internet, she returned his smile. It was so wide, she could almost feel the cleft in her chin deepening. Pretending to look for the small black shark’s teeth that were so abundant in the Gulf sands, she inched her way nearer to the hottie. But then a buxom, blonde female joined him and whisked him away, kicking sand in her wake and burying Jordin’s dreams under clumps of wet sand.
Jordin bit back a sigh and bagged her sharks’ teeth. Oh well, she consoled herself, there was sure to be an abundance of available men in Paradise. If not, looking on the bright side, at least she could make shark’s teeth necklaces for all her friends back home.
She spent her afternoon playing in the surf and sand and sunbathing, trying to take a bit of pallor off her lily-white flesh. Since she didn’t want to look like a cooked lobster, she reapplied her Bull Frog sunscreen every half hour and wore a visor and dark shades to protect her eyes that were more accustomed to light filtered through clouds than heavy doses of direct sun. Although she spied a lot of interesting men, she hadn’t gotten up the nerve to approach any. What was she supposed to say? Carry me away? Make love to me? Save me from daddy dearest?
Oh, yeah. That would really attract men.
Both books are currently available at Total-E-Bound.com
The Ancient Romans, and the Greeks made it a highly specialized profession. At one time the Greeks even had state-funded brothels.
It’s become almost a staple in historical romances. In Westerns set in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in the American West, every saloon had its rooms upstairs for men to use by the hour or by the night, depending on how much money they had.
In cities where prostitution is legal, such places are often confined to what’s call The red Light District. In the 1800s there were many such districts in big cities in the United States, which lagged far behind its European and Asian cohorts.
Although Nevada is the only place in the United States that legalizes prostitution, in many cities “massage parlors” do extra duty behind closed doors or thick curtains. Wherever there’s a customer, there’s someone who’s going to please him.
Beginning in the times of Ancient Rome, prostitutes served a special purpose. They didn’t just provide sex, the tutored the men in the art of sex. Of seduction. Of sensual experiences. It was their responsibility to teach the man how to give satisfaction as well as to receive it.
They also provided a place for battle-weary men to unwind, to share troubles that they knew would not be repeated. Prostitutes—and later their more sophisticated cousins, the courtesans—knew better than to leak any secrets that flew during pillow talk. Their job was providing secure comfort, not gossiping. Yet in times of war, prostitutes were often recruited to act as spies, a risky situation that required a great deal of play-acting on the part of the women.
But then, that’s what their lives were—play acting. Pretending to be someone else for one hour or one night.
As sexual preferences have become more sophisticated over the centuries, special brothels came into existence, place where you could indulge every one of your fantasies. Women were specially trained in the arts of BDSM and menage, for example. And yes, my dears, a good ménage is a work of art.
Today there are still women highly trained in the arts of sex and seduction, their businesses cloak as something else because in many places laws forbid their kind of profession. They providing a service men are willing to pay enormous amounts of money for. Wouldn’t it be great if all men were required to take a training course before being let loose on the female population? Some catch onto it very quickly on their own, while others could use a four-year course.
All the hunks I write about are top of the line in the bedroom, of course. If I’m making him up, I’m giving him everything I want. But maybe one of these days I’ll write about a man who despite his age is a sexual innocent and about the woman who helps him realize his full potential.
Come visit me at http://www.desireeholt.com/
And leave me a comment with your thoughts on the world’s almost oldest profession.