I don’t actually have a shoe fetish, although I do believe the right footwear can enhance a sexual experience. I would say it is more of an obsession. The right style, color and fit to match the occasion. Truth be told, I might have a problem with the outfits as well, but that’s another story. Fortunately, I have a small but wide foot, so it is not too easy to find shoes that fit. I would often have to decide whether to squeeze into something too narrow or go bigger than I should and slip with each step. I have done both and found that neither choice works for long. Like life, finding a perfect fit is rare, but blissful when it finally happens.
My new adventure required careful packing. Luggage restrictions became the bane of my existence, but how could I possibly wind through the alleys of Paris without the perfect pumps or stroll the cobbled streets of Spain without leather sandals? Would London be quite right without the click of high heeled knee boots on the sidewalk? Wouldn't the perfect look make for a better memory? I do know how fortunate I am not only to be able to travel, but to also have shoes on my feet. I had time to spend with friends and family before I left. Some were truly happy, a few jealous--even bitter, and there were the silent tsk-tsks from those that just did not understand. But did they know how many miles I had walked to reach this place? Were they aware of the difficult choices I had made and still make every day? Could they possibly understand my choices without walking in my shoes?
I have always been a walker. Some days round and round the track, other days a journey to a new place, but always happy to be walking; clearing my head, thinking up new ideas, letting go of old thoughts and worries. The sense of peace, the joy of moving forward, and the familiar comfort of solid well-fitted trainers, sure and steady on the pavement.
It was not until recently I had to purchase my first pair of hiking boots. I may be a walker but not the outdoors hiking type, and although they suited the occasion, they didn't seem quite my style. I balked at the thought. I’d made it through half my life without them. I was irritated they were required to traverse a new bridge I had not been entirely prepared to cross. My journey had put an obstacle on my path and I found myself in a place where the terrain was steep and slippery. The path was unfamiliar and the fear of what lay around the corner more of an adrenalin rush than what I was accustomed to. I laced up the boots- a perfect fit-I took a step and then another. Soon I realised I had nothing to fear; I was walking just like I do every day. If I could keep putting one foot in front of the other, I would be okay. I used to say the problem with keeping your head down and moving forward is that sometimes you look up and wonder ‘how the hell did I get here?’ That may be true, but sometimes you look up and find that you are exactly where you are meant to be and all the planning and worrying would not have changed a thing.
Sometimes it takes a complication to push us beyond our limits and realize that what we have always thought, or perhaps never could have imagined is not right or wrong, but just is. Putting a name on a complication can make the odds seem insurmountable, but when we look at it as just another mountain to climb or bridge to cross, rather than the Chesapeake Bay or Mt. Everest, it makes it easier to take that first step. I am glad I bought those boots. They were appropriate for the occasion; they not only kept me warm and dry and got me safely where I needed to be, but they taught me that every experience is an opportunity to move forward. They helped me climb higher and go farther than I thought I could. It is true; “Life is a journey not a destination,” and my journey is just that-mine. Like my hiking boots a perfect fit for me, but certainly not for everyone. Try them on if you’d like, they’re sitting by the front door ready for a new adventure. You may catch a glimpse of what I see or have an inkling of what I feel. You may like it or perhaps not so, better to go out and find a pair that fits you and your journey, all it takes is one step.
The new year has brought a flurry of activity and the winter has hurried by. Several new audios from eSensual Books have been released to Audible with a projected fifty total new titles for this year. Surely there will be something to please everyone.
The Second Oldest Profession; Seductive Sexy Spies, an anthology I edited with Essemoh Teepee has just been released in partnership with Renaissance-Sizzler and the audio version of Cream of the Crop, the successful anthology we partnered with Xcite Books is due out this month.
Along with social networking, conferences and real life, there is little time left for writing, but I have sent off a few new novellas and recently completed my first collaborative effort with Essemoh Teepee, the first novel in a series entitled, Practical Research. An anthropology graduate signs on as a research assistant involving studies of a very intimate nature and soon finds that the subject material too hot to handle. What she doesn't realise is that she is the subject to be studied and the sexy Professor and his hot Brazilian housekeeper will become very intimate indeed. Read the adults only excerpt below.
From Practical Research:
“Ooh, are you going to spank me?” Callista put on her best innocent pout and girly voice as she pulled at his striped silk tie. Tugging it from side to side, she loosened it and slipped it over his head. His hands were hot on the bare skin of her shoulders and she thought she felt them tremble.
Anbu had an urge to put his fingers around her throat and squeeze but her next words made his spine tingle.
“You could tie me up with this…if you want?” She pushed her hips against him yet again, letting her pelvis slip from side to side, grinding against him. The gorgeous agony of his cock trapped between her and his body was making him want to thrust against her. It took all his will to control his urge. Callista was no longer a subject of study at that moment, all the time he had held himself back from women since Africa, all the suppress emotion was bubbling up inside. It was getting to be just too much. The image Callista had conjured was too strong.
She saw he wasn’t moving, wasn’t trying to stop her, he just looked at her—or was it through her.
“You would like that wouldn’t you?” His voice was throaty, full of his desire. “If you don’t stop moving your hips like that, I will do more than tie you up and spank you.”
It was the word ‘more’ that tipped her into direct action, Callista’s vision became blurred and her breathing short as she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and then reached up for the top button. Anbu grabbed her hand and held it there, pressed against his throat. All Callista could hear was their mingled breathing and the blood roaring in her ears, she could feel the pulse in his throat under her fingers, racing in tandem with hers. She had never wanted anything-or anyone more than she wanted Anbu at this very moment.
“Kiss me, Anbu.” Callista kept her gaze steady and waited. His face moved closer and she began to tremble uncontrollably. His lips brushed over hers gently before moving to her cheek. More! I want more. She turned her head, searching for his mouth; Anbu sucked in a breath and bit at her bottom lip. Callista gasped, his sharp teeth feeding her desire. His mouth covered hers and he kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Callista wrapped her hands around his head and pulled him closer. His kiss was hungry, his tongue searching, she felt the power of his need reaching into her core and she began to melt inside. Whimpering, Callista pushed all of her body against him looking for intimate contact. Something to stop the ache she felt inside. It was like a cold shower when Anbu broke the kiss and pulled from her grip, with the words,
“Damn it Callista, No!”
The shock was making her whole body shudder, No this can’t happen, not now, I need this too much.
Callista tried to calm her voice and sound reasonable,
“Anbu, take it easy. What’s a kiss among friends?”
Anbu stomach was churning, seeing and feeling things from Africa, it was as though he were in two places and times, then and there as well as here and now. Another beautiful woman in his arms, ready for him, wanting him and he wanting in return. He spoke then about the past and the present,
“It is never just a kiss. We cannot, must not do this.” He pushed Callista away even though he wanted to crush her breasts to his chest and grip her hips, push himself against her, instead saying, “It will skew the study.”
Callista wanted to scream with frustration, and shuddering desire. She nearly shouted at him, “Fuck the study, Anbu. You want to know how freeing from inhibition and social sexual repression affects women - I am showing you first hand.” Anbu hands shook as he brought them to his head and he ran them through his dark hair, his eyes avoiding hers as she went on. “Think of it as practical research.” Her words stung him, his research in Africa had become entirely too practical, with tragic consequences.
Callista could see the something in his glittering eyes, a strong emotion, indecision. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her chest, the soft swell of her upper breasts filling his palms as she pressed them against her.
“Anbu, feel my heart beating. I am alive. Touch me.” For a moment the past became distant, this women in his grasp was very much alive and it had been so long. Anbu bent his head and kissed the soft rise of her breasts.
Callista mumbled into the soft hair on his head as his lips worked against her skin “You can’t hide in the study—or the past.”
Anbu looked up, the sharp new anger in his eyes made Callista shiver. He stepped from her, pushing her away and took a deep breath. Oh shit, me and my big mouth…
“What do you know of my past? You know nothing about me.”
Desperately trying to recover the moment, Callista said, “Then tell me.”
Anbu felt the upwelling of emotion overwhelm his simple desire for intimacy and comfort. He needed to remind Callista, and himself of what was between them.
“I am not your boyfriend, we are not going to hold hands and…share.”
Callista felt like his words were slapping her head from side to side, “Why do you have to be so cruel? I just want to know why you always reject me?”
“I have told you, this is an assignment. You are merely an assistant and a study subject, nothing more.” He had half turned from her as he spoke, trying to dismiss her again she thought.
That made her snarl, “I don’t think the bulge in your pants is work related.”
Anbu, stopped his hand from moving to cover his crotch, that was juvenile he thought. This needs to be a grown up conversation.
“I am human. When a beautiful woman throws herself at me what do you expect?”
Throws herself…Fucking arrogant bastard, who the fuck does he think... Callista stomped toward the door. She tried to fill her lungs but her anger left no room for air. “You know what your problem is, Professor?” She walked back and faced him, her hands on her hips and heels spiked widely into the carpet. His mouth was sneering but his eyes were still glittering, though with what she was no longer sure, but his words were horrid.
“Oh, do tell…”
Callista so wanted to slap the smug smile off his face. She let him have all her bitterness and disappointment.
“You’re so self-absorbed you couldn’t possibly care about anyone else. Maybe that is why your precious little Arab houri, Halgan, is no longer in your bed. News flash, Master Anbu, Sir; the world does not revolve around you!”
Turning on her heel, Callista took a step away towards the door, a sob beginning to force its way up her constricted throat. Anbu felt something snap inside.
When Anbu grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his arms, the force and shock made Callista cry out, half whimper, half moan. His embrace was overpowering, all encompassing. She was both frightened - and aroused by his unexpected show of strength. Trying to twist out of his grasp he only held her tighter, his breath hot on her face. His hands were hurting her arms, the pain oddly warming low down, making her want to slump against his chest. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, as though his black pupils had expanded to engulf all the grey. She struggled to make sense of his words.
“And your problem, Ms. Makris, is your inability to respect boundaries. I am going to teach you some respect.” His fingers digging into her wrist, Anbu dragged her to the couch.
He sat, still holding her wrists tightly and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. He opened them and Callista saw only power within them. His voice was deep and calm.
“On your knees, Callista.”
Callista knew her mouth and eyes were equally wide open in surprise. She snorted, closing them both quickly to find some escape, then opened them slowly saying quietly,
Anbu looked at her intently. Callista did not even think he was blinking. He was holding himself so still, it frightened her. He spoke very quietly, but forcefully,
“I said, on your knees.”
Callista stood firm. Her wrist was burning where his encircling fingers dug into her. She shifted the weight on her feet, her calves aching from the unnatural arch enforced by the high heels. Anbu reached out and pulled her by the waist, forcing her face down onto his lap. She was taken off guard and the wind knocked from her lungs as her body hit his knees. She tried to protest but could only gasp.
The sting of his hand as it made contact with the second skin of smooth leather stretched tightly across her bottom made Callista cry out. Again, he spanked her, this time harder than the last and the slow burn spread over the tightly encased muscle of her ass, leaving a delicious tingle in its wake.
“Anbu, stop, you’re hurting…” Her plea turned into a moan as she felt his long hard fingers on the bare skin of her legs, pushing the leather skirt up and over her bottom, exposing the hot skin to the cool air. His fingertips were tracing delicate circles on her tender flesh, the light touch of his hand on the newly depilated skin causing a frisson that had Callista’s nerve endings on fire. She didn’t want to like it, but oh, she did. She liked it very much.
“Anbu, please, I…” Her words trailed off, she didn’t know what to say. Callista did not want to tell him to stop.
“You need to understand how to behave.” Anbu spanked her again three times in rapid succession. Then he stroked her naked bottom again and asked,
“Do you want me to stop?”
Callista could feel the droplets of moisture trickling down the walls of her cunt. She didn’t want him to stop, she wanted so much more. Callista parted her legs slightly, gently shifting her hips form side to side, pressing her mound against the tense muscles of his thigh. She heard him inhale deeply and groan. “I can smell you.” His words made her melt even more, she could feel the lace and satin of her thong soaking wet between her thighs.
Anbu massaged the naked cheeks of her bottom with strong fingers. Callista hoped that he would leave marks that she could see later and make her remember. His deep penetrating caress parted her moist labia; wet swollen flesh opening and coming together against the soaking material of her panties, the erotic sounds like that of a soft kiss.
He spanked her again—hard, three times. She whimpered and moved her hips to grind her clit into Anbu’s knee. Again he spanked her and she screamed her need. Reaching between her legs he cupped her sex, the heel of his hand pushing at the remaining scrap of satin, sliding against her swollen clit. Callista circled her hips pushing back and up into his hand.
“You are so wet for me.” She heard him say, with wonder.
Callista was afraid to speak. She didn’t want to do anything that might stop him. The pressure was building inside her, she felt every inch of the skin covering her body as if it were stretched too tightly on her frame. She knew her juices were soaking Anbu’s pants.
“What do you want from me?” His words were faint, pensive, not so much a question as a plea as he peeled the damp cloth from between her legs and slid it down her thighs. Callista felt the wet trail of her own desire and lifted her bottom to ease his action, opening her legs wider when they were free, inviting him to explore.
She felt the whoosh of air as he raised his hand once more. Tensing the muscles in her cheeks, she waited for the brutal sting of his touch. Nothing! She wanted to cry out, beg for his burning blow, but she held back, surrendered and waited. Crack! His hand made sharp contact with renewed fervor and the rain of stinging blows were intense. Callista felt the first wave of orgasmic release push toward her core. The pressure to come was intense, filling her up to the brim and near overflowing. Her breathing grew short, her pleasure mingled with and amplified by the pain. She was hanging on the edge, needing something more. The cloth of his slacks was rough against her clit and she rubbed faster, looking for relief. So close the words were torn from her,
“Oh God, Anbu, please!”
His dark chuckle was edged with victory. He reached between her legs and slid two long, questing, fingers inside her. The walls of her cunt seized on them, squeezing them, trapping them inside her. The cool air soothed her glowing bottom making Callista more aware of the fire inside her as his fingers began to move there.
“Oh, fuck yes, Anbu, yes!” Callista lost all control. She had to surrender everything to him, needed to surrender herself. Suddenly the awareness that giving up control was not for the weak washed over her. Panicking, she felt the tide rush back, retreating from the brink into the pool of pleasure in her belly. Don’t think; just let it happen…please. Callista squeezed her eyes close and let go of her breath.
Anbu was in a dark place, his focus was on the feel of this woman on his fingers, in his lap, her helplessness, completely at his mercy. He felt the rush of power as he knew he could make her orgasm at his desire. The words came from somewhere other than his consciousness,
Anbu slipped his thumb through the slippery wet folds between her thighs and down, over her clit. He circled slowly over the smooth hard button under his thumb, at first increasing his tempo to match the increasing speed of her gasping sighs, then to his own rhythm and desire.
Callista was beyond caring about Anbu’s past or his distance from her or his fucking Bruna. What she cared about with all her shuddering body and soul was coming and coming very hard. She felt muscles clench in her belly, pushing the desire from within, bearing down hard on the thrusting twin fingers inside her. She exploded with a cry, expelling Anbu’s fingers from within her tightening sex with the sweet wet, rush of her release.
“Oh, fuck!” Callista cried out, in the agony of climax.
Exciting news! www.esensualbooks.co.uk is officially open for business. Stop by and take a look around. With so many choices of publishers out there today we are looking forward to earning your trust. See what we have to offer and decide for yourself. We have several new projects ready to launch and are actively seeking new submissions in all categories. Don’t forget; www.alternatepress.co.uk is open to mainstream fiction submissions as well.
I am also excited to announce that, Come to Me, my first full length novel is available from the Wild Rose Press. When Amanda’s erotic dreams become very real, will she be willing to forget her past mistakes and step into another world—a world of sensual delight? History, humor and hot sex- pick up your copy today: http://www.wilderroses.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=180&products_id=899
Alternatepress, the parent company of eSensualBooks will be launching a taut new psychological thriller this month. 365 Hours by Max Sandford ; A beautiful young woman wishes to be swept off her feet and gets more than she bargained for in this darkly thrilling tale of abduction, human trafficking and the power of submission. Held against her will, bound and helpless, she discovers that pain and pleasure can make strange bedfellows. Trapped in a secret web of money, influence and international slavery she struggles to survive and find herself. Sometimes the chains that bind us are the only thing that will set us free. Nicolette and her captor discover in the depths of despair and humiliation that other bonds can grow, but broken promises can be costly, who will have to pay the ultimate price?
Check back soon for more exciting developments.
Characters based on real people.Write what you know. Fictionalize reality. I watched a movie the other night where a group of women with a bottle of tequila, were playing the old ‘is it true or not? game. They tried to drum up stories that were fantastical and naughty to stump their friends. Most of my friends know all of my wild stories—what few there are ;-) Some of the details were withheld and the names changed to protect the innocent—I don’t kiss and tell.
Storytelling by its nature leaves room for interpretation and constant embellishment; each time the story is told, like the ‘fish tale’ it sounds a little different, a little more exciting. I write under different pseudonyms, each with a different voice and sometimes pieces of characters from one story flow into another. I wondered what would happen if I put a character from one story in the middle of another, how it would change the story or the character. Who were they before, who will they become? What made them who they are? Do they play well with others? Is any of it true? As an exercise, I am taking characters back before their story began to see how it all started—perhaps, I will eventually be able to figure out who he/she is or perhaps, he/she is someone I never knew at all. You decide. Loser drinks tequila :-).
The Memory Maker
She was up earlier than the rest of the girls in her dorm. She wanted the extra time to get ready. First day of her class and she had a new crop of candidates to impress. The boarding school was co-ed, but it wasn’t the pimply faced boys she wanted to impress, it was the new crop of teachers and coaches. Some fresh from college, not much older than her, but old enough to recognize that she was more than a giggling school girl--and still young enough to consider taking the risk. Wasn’t that what the rigid rules of the military school were for--breaking?
She curled her long blond hair to match the poster that hung on the wall of almost every room throughout the boy’s dorm—the beautiful model in the red swimsuit with the feathered hair. Carefully applying her makeup she smiled at her reflection. She younger, but she looked to be in her twenties. (This helped immensely went they went to town to buy the beer.) She carefully slid the silk stockings on and attached the garters. The wrap dress had a retro feel and she liked the way it swished around her knees when she walked. After buckling the ankle straps of her high heels, she grabbed her books and headed to class.
The usual suspects smiled, shaking their heads. A few mouths dropped as she strode into the, cavernous room were orientation was held, the click, click, click of her thin heels on the weathered wooden floor. The speaker droned on, she gazed out the window twirling her hair around her finger, cracking her gum and dreaming of … A new voice garnered her attention. She turned and a soft sigh escaped her lips, the new dean of students. His piercing blue eyes and all American smile, made her heart pound erratically in her chest. Victim number one, she thought. What’s that old saying, she didn’t remember a word he said, but she certainly remembered the way he made her feel.
A few weeks later, she had a Saturday detention. Since she was the only one, he held it in his office. Everyone was going to a nearby amusement park and she didn’t want to miss out. She tried to charm her way out of it. No luck. A short white sundress with thigh highs and lace panties, she wore light make-up and tried the ‘little girl’ approach, he was weakening, but he still would not budge. As much as she was enjoying teasing him—she wanted out. Her legs were crossed, the top one swinging wildly, hair twirling round and round her finger, the ever present gum-popping driving him to distraction, she contemplated offering him whatever he wanted, but knew he was too buttoned-up to take advantage of it.
Time was running short, she was desperate and that’s when she noticed the paddle. She had never felt its vicious sting. She was a bit of a handful, but a detention usually was enough to absolve her minor sins—the ones that she was caught for anyway. The leather was dry and brittle as it looped around the thick nail protruding from the wall. Almost the size of a ping pong paddle, the implement of torture had tiny holes evenly spaced throughout, crisp and clear in their intention to add to the intensity of sensation. She had seen big strong football players crying real tears after a paddling with the ’memory maker’ as it was fondly called.
“Sir?” she asked in her sweetest whisper.
“Perhaps, we could initiate a trade.”
“No, you disregarded the rules; you must learn your lesson.”
“Yes, Sir, of course. I was just thinking that perhaps, a quicker but more efficient punishment…” she looked at the paddle hanging on the wall.
He followed her gaze and she saw his body twitch as he recognized her intent.
“I do not think--it is appropriate,” he stammered.
“You are disciplining me, nothing more.” She stood and walked toward the paddle. Pulling it from the nail, she pivoted so that her short skirt would flare up around her thighs briefly, before she turned and handed it to him.
His eyes glittered with lust and she knew she had him right where she wanted. She turned her back to him, bent at the waist and lifted the skirt of her dress. His soft groan made her shiver and she clenched her thigh muscles and waited. The tick, tick of the wall clock was the only sound breaking the rhythm of his shallow breaths, she waited. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.
Crack! The burn spread through the lace, through her skin and seeped into her core. The tears rushed to her eyes. It hurt like hell, but the pain quickly turned into something more pleasurable. Crack! Again, this time she moaned as the moisture dripped from inside her, dampening her panties. Just one more, she thought. So close.
She heard the paddle tumble to the ground and the squeaking noise of his leather chair as he turned away from her.
“Go!” he commanded.
“But Sir,” she pleaded, “I like making memories with you.”
“Go now, but you will need to come back next Saturday. I do not think you have fully learned your lesson.”
The Honey Trap; Sexy, Seductive Spies
Editors: Essemoh Teepee & Genevieve Ash
Publisher :Renaissance,ebooks, Sizzler Editions
Audio Publisher: Audible.co.uk
Deadline: June 14, 2012 (earlier submissions encouraged and preferred)
Release Date:August 2012
Payment: $25.00 on publication and Royalty split.
They say that espionage is the world’s second oldest profession. Seduction has always played an important part in what spies do. How do you ‘turn’ someone, get them to work for you against their country, employer or friends? There can be many motives for becoming a spy, a double agent, or sharing commercial confidences. Fear or the desire for money, revenge and of course hard, sweaty, multi-orgasmic sex, are all powerful incentives for betrayal.
The "honeytrap" is probably the oldest trick in that murky, clandestine world. The sexual seduction of a target; discovering their dirty little fantasy and giving it to them, then springing the trap shut; making them your unwilling, or perhaps willing slave!
Who is the spy? What are they looking for in a recruit and why? Who is seducing whom? Let your imagination run wild and give us exotic locations, fascinating characters, a mix of genders and sexuality as well as intense sex. This is a perfect opportunity for glamorous people, surprise twists and all of the trappings of the world of the Spook. Or surprise us with something off the wall!
All sub-genres welcome, we are looking for a balanced mix. We expect imaginative locations and set-ups as well as strong character development. All heat levels welcome but we like it hot!
All characters must be over 18; no incest or pseudo incest, scat or bestiality.
Stories should be between 2,000 and 3,500 words in length, double spaced Times or Times New Roman, 12 point, black font Word document with pages numbered. As these stories will be recorded for an audio anthology, nothing over 3,500 words will be accepted.
Both previously published and original works will be considered.
Deadline for Submissions: May 31st 2012.
Rights: First world-wide non exclusive Anthology rights for 5 years
Payment: $25, paid on publication: 50% of Net royalties to be divided between contributors for the first 2 years.
a. For e-book editions sold via the Publisher's own website, the royalty is forty percent (40%) of the retail price.
b. For e-book editions sold via other Internet retail outlets, the royalty is twenty-seven percent (27%) of the Net retail price.
c. For paperback editions sold via Internet retail outlets, the royalty is ten percent (10%) of the Net retail price.
d. For Audio editions sold via the Audio Publishers own website, the royalty is forty percent (40%) of the Net retail price. Audio editions sold via Internet retail outlets, the royalty is eight percent (8%) of the net retail price.
e. All monies paid to authors on publication shall the accounted as an advance. Once the advance is earned out and all publication expenses recovered, (Net) royalties shall be paid to editors who will disburse them to authors.
Send your story as an MS Word document (.doc) or .rtf. Do not send a .docx. Please include your legal name, mailing address and pseudonym, (if applicable) and bio of 50 words, or less to Honeyantho@gmail.com, with SUBMISSION:TITLE as the subject.
You will receive a confirmation of receipt within 3 days and notification of acceptance/rejection by June 30th.