You Can't Score Off Me Unless I Want You To ( #Excerpt #Baseball #LoveOfTheGame #Feminism #Threesome )

By Annabeth Leong

Guys, it’s always been hard for me to stand up for myself. And I’m not sure what to say about that right now--it’s been a long couple of weeks. So I’m going to cop out a little and share an excerpt from my story, “Fast Pitcher,” in which my main character, Margie Underwood, does know how to stand up for herself. I wrote this during a time when I was listening to baseball on the radio just about daily, and I really loved playing around with how dirty baseball language sounds. :)

If you want to read the whole thing, “Fast Pitcher” appeared in Harley Easton’s Love of the Game anthology.

I’ll try to have more to say next time!


***

Phillips had stayed late too, eschewing the team's afterparty in order to participate in Margie's tête-à-tête with Pete Muñoz. She knew she needed a catcher, but part of her wished it could have been just the two of them.

She braced herself for more nonsense from Phillips as she stepped onto the field, but her pitch earlier that evening seemed to have made him a convert.

"I've got two bills down that you strike Muñoz out. He's lucky this isn't official, or you'd be messing up his precious over-.300 batting average," he said.

"Nah, man. Margie's good, but she's about to give it up to me. I think she's going to let me take her deep." Muñoz spat in the dirt at his feet, then squinted out at the empty park.

Margie squared her shoulders. She recognized Muñoz's trash talk for what it was — challenging, not sexist. He was chirping at her the way he would have with any hot pitcher. Telling her that she wouldn't be able to keep him from hitting long and hard, far out into the outfield or maybe even over the fences. When he hefted his bat, however, he glanced at her with meaning in his eyes. Margie's mouth went dry. It wasn't just the language that seemed sexual. Muñoz obviously planned to take her deep off the field even if he didn't manage the feat on the diamond.

She glanced from one man to the other, and heat gathered between her legs. The night was cool and clean, and she was drunk off the feeling of standing on a pro diamond and hanging out with men who played ball for a living as if she were one of them. Margie adjusted her baseball cap and raised an eyebrow at Muñoz.

"You boys can bet all you want, but neither of you is going to score off me unless I want you to."

Phillips let out a whistle. "You want to put your money where your mouth is, Underwood?"

Every line of his body was arrogant, but there was something appealing about him, too. His brand of cockiness looked like it could be a lot of fun. He was a big, strong man, thicker than Muñoz but no less cut.

She tossed her head. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat.

"I'll do you one better," Margie said.

"How's that?" Both men spoke at once, their faces sharpening.

"If either of you can score off me? Well, then you can score off me."

"Not that it's going to matter, but what's in it for you? What do you get if we can't hit?" Phillips grinned.

"Then you can tell everyone else on the team tomorrow that you struck out trying to get me to give it up."

She couldn't suppress a little surge of hope that the pitching coach would overhear, and one thing would lead to another.

"Fair enough." Muñoz laughed. "How many tries do we get?"

Margie tossed the ball into the air and caught it barehanded, pondering how lucky she felt tonight. She had that sense of fate and magic she'd become acquainted with in baseball, a sensation that sometimes came to her as she stepped onto the mound. It was a sort of full-body knowledge that resided outside of her head or heart or gut. It might have been written in the red stitches snaking over the surface of the ball, or perhaps it resided in her joints. Tonight, she was in control. She knew down to the tips of her toenails that tonight she could put the ball anywhere she damn well pleased.

"Three," she said. "You'll each have an inning to yourselves."

Phillips raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? You haven't got any fielders to help you work around the hits."

"I'm not going to need them," Margie said, and even with the premonition she was having she had to work to summon confidence to her voice. "Neither of you is going to be able to touch me."

She knew what she was risking, but it didn't matter just then. She was good enough that she could make a serious contest out of this, even if they wound up besting her. She wanted to win for the glory, but the more she stared at Phillips and Muñoz, the more she thought she might enjoy losing for the pleasure.

Phillips started out catching, and Margie took her position on the mound and breathed a few times to steady herself. She was pitching to Pete Muñoz, listed by multiple sites as one of AAA's top prospects for the majors.

She struck him out swinging, and then she struck Phillips out looking.

"What's the record for a woman throwing fastballs?" Phillips muttered as the ball smacked into Muñoz's glove again and again. "I swear to God this has to be some sort of record."

"No one bothers to measure most of the time," Margie told him. "Ila Borders used to throw just over 80, but she's one of the only women who actually got a chance to play."

The conversation must have distracted her, and Muñoz hit a couple of fouls off of her before she managed to set her anger aside and return to that pure place of connection she’d had before. A screwball retired him a second time, and Phillips looked at two more pitches.

"You've got to try," she told him. "It's no fun if it's too easy."

Phillips scowled, but her admonition made him marshal something. He stayed alive off fouls for a while, and then she threw a few outside, tying them up at a full count. He made her work for it, but she made him struggle just as hard, and the push-and-pull between them charged the air around him.

He brought his body closer to the plate than she would have liked, and Margie remembered that she needed to work him over a bit. She placed a couple pitches high and tight, forcing him to continue hitting fouls. When he backed away, she sent a beauty to the outer edge of the plate, just inside the strike zone but out of Phillips' reach.

Muñoz returned to the batter's box, new respect glittering in his eyes and his mouth curved upward with a smile.

"You said we wouldn't score off you unless you want us to. I guess the question is, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you want us to?"

Margie ignored the question, winding up, knowing her speed alone could stop him. Muñoz swung on the heels of the pitch, but still a fraction of a second too slow. She glanced at Phillips and saw the lust in his eyes, but this night had become about more than an individual's desire. There was raw hunger between the three of them. Together, they could have eaten the world. Margie thought about what it would be like to step deeper into that mood, to tear into the two men with all her need.

Phillips tossed the ball back to her. Instead of winding up again, she let her glove fall off her hand and onto the mound. The ball fell beside it.

"Yeah," she said. "I want you to."

Muñoz waved his bat. "Then pitch to me. Let me take you deep."

Margie grinned and shook her head. "Nah. You can't touch the ball. I'm not giving you that satisfaction." She reached up for her hat and swept it off her head. "Satisfying myself, though... That's another story."

***

And if I'm going to self-promote, I'll go all in. Here's that link to the book again.

The Way It Feels At the End

by Annabeth Leong

Angst - (in Existentialist philosophy) the dread caused by man's awareness that his future is not determined but must be freely chosen
--from dictionary.com

This is an excerpt from an unpublished early erotic story of mine, “The Way It Feels At the End.” The main characters, Siri and Liz, can’t get over their angst about the events of Siri’s drunken binge a year ago.

###

Siri ran her fingers down Liz’s now-naked calves, a light layer of stubble roughening the smooth curve of the muscle. She wanted to put every part of her lover in her mouth, but had refrained in the past from paying too much attention in odd places. Now, she swirled her tongue over the back of Liz’s knee, and pressed her lips to the swell of the calf muscle and sucked hard.

Liz swayed, gripping the shower curtain rod with one hand and a shelf with the other. Siri looked up. “Don’t move. Stay just like that.”

She rose to her feet, stretching the stockings out so they weren’t lumps anymore. “I’ve heard we should have some word to say in case something goes wrong and you want me to stop.”

“How about ‘tequila?’” Liz said, raising an eyebrow.

Siri dropped her gaze. “It fits,” she said, and busied herself with attaching Liz’s wrists to the bathroom fixtures. When she’d finished, she stepped back to look at her lover. Her chest felt contracted from the reproach in Liz’s choice of safeword. Still avoiding Liz’s eyes, Siri unbuttoned her lover’s shirt, tucking it open and watching the water hit her nipples. She pulled off Liz’s skirt and panties and dropped them on the bathroom floor outside the shower stall.

Then Siri stepped back and stared at the body that had been her object of desire for some seven years now. She knew the trail of beauty marks that went down Liz’s left shoulder. She knew how she’d gotten the scars on her knees. She felt the full force of all her mixed emotions, the build-up of lust and guilt, despair and love. She stepped out of the shower and closed the curtain to put a screen between herself and Liz.

“Where are you going?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Siri said, forcing her voice to stay light and teasing. She watched Liz’s shape through the filmy curtain. Not stopping to question her impulse, Siri reached back into the shower and turned the water all the way to cold. Liz screamed as the water changed, and the sound sent a shiver all the way up Siri’s spine.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Siri tore the curtain off the rod, ignoring the water spraying out of the tub. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

Liz jerked her arms against the restraints. “Jesus! Yes! What the hell?” The sight of her lover wet, cold, and struggling sent a sudden surge of desire through Siri’s body.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” Siri said. She pulled off her own soaked clothes and dumped them on the floor, ignoring Liz’s continued shrieks of outrage.

Siri stepped back into the shower, stifling her own shriek when the cold water hit her body. Liz’s skin, covered with gooseflesh, felt stiff and cool to the touch. Siri flicked her fingernails against the hard tips of Liz’s nipples. She kissed Liz hard, shutting off another shriek. Her mouth tasted flame-hot. A shiver rose from deep in Siri’s spine, half from the cold and half lust, and she didn’t know her own hands as they clutched and clawed at Liz’s back, arms, and legs.

Siri pulled back from the kiss, Liz’s panting breath loud and hoarse even above the sound of the shower water. She reached between Liz’s legs and pushed two fingers up inside. “Cold,” Liz gasped. “It’s cold. It’s cold.”

Siri lifted Liz’s chin and looked at her face. “Now tell me whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

“Are you serious?”

Siri shifted so the full force of the cold water fell on Liz again. She forced herself to meet her lover’s eyes and keep her gaze hard and her fingers inside Liz’s pussy harder.

Liz tipped her forehead toward Siri. “I never forgave you,” she said, the words coming out tight and sharp.

Siri closed her eyes and reached for Liz. “Say it all.”

“I don’t trust you. When you go away, I’m always afraid you’re not coming home. I fucking hate that you slept with another woman. When you touch me, I always wonder how you touched her.”

“Keep talking.”

“I left you because you were leaving me,” Liz said. “That’s what you never seemed to understand.” Siri slid her fingers in and out of Liz, toying with her body as the painful words flowed over her with a deeper chill than the water. The words began to slow as the sensations took over. Liz gave a full-body shudder and arched her neck back. Siri leaned forward and bit hard at the base. Liz went quiet. Siri felt her trembling under her hands.

“You’re wet,” Siri said. She continued to work her fingers in Liz’s pussy, and went in for a deep kiss. She rubbed her thumb against Liz’s clit until again she felt Liz surrender something. Her lover’s hips began to swirl, and the chill of the water faded into the background. Siri kissed so hard her jaw began to hurt. She stroked Liz’s tongue, the inside of her cheek. She wanted something from Liz that she didn’t know how to get--to be inside of her, to fuck her, something beyond just making her come.

###

If anyone would like to read the whole story, shoot me an email, and I'll send over the whole file!

Never say Never!

When I started writing erotic romance, I had no intention of writing menages. They just didn't appeal.

I think part of the problem is I'd read too many BDSM stories that involve the sort of menages that leave me cold. They always seemed to revolve around the idea that one submissive wasn't enough for a dominant, or on the other hand that the dominant had the right to offer his submissive to whoever he chose. Neither arrangement appealed to me, or to my characters.

But guess what my first published story included?

Yep. A menage. An all male, paranormal one to be precise.

I didn't intend it to. And like Jamie, looking back I can see that there is something in common about the psychology that leads into the menages. The characters don't start out wanting a threesome. It's not their fantasy or anything like that. It's just what turns out to be right for them. It's what they need to have their happy ending.

Take Nicky and Charles from The Gift for example. Nicky doesn't like the idea of menages at all, but he knows that his master has enjoyed them with other lovers in the past, and he he can't settle until he's at least tried it and seen what all the fuss is about.

And since there's been a very cute and enthusiastic spirit of Christmas Past lurking around throughout the book, one who is about to disappear into the either before the end of the night, this is their perfect chance.

It's the only threesome I've ever written where all three characters didn't live happily ever after all together at the end. That said - it sure as hell makes them all very happy while it lasts!

Nicky glanced at the spirit. He looked even more nervous than him. Nicky offered the spirit a reassuring smile as they joined him to stand at the edge of the bed.

Charles wasted no time with preliminaries. The toga was barely held together by a few clips and pins. They were gone in moments. A gentle nudge backwards and the spirit lay sprawled naked on the bed.

Nicky crawled across the mattress to him. While his master hadn’t shared him with another man before, Nicky was well aware Charles loved the sight of two men enjoying each other’s bodies. He kissed the spirit, guiding him to lie back comfortably on the mattress.

If the spirit did not have the strength and muscular bulk of his master, then he was still well-built, with a fine torso of sculpted lines. It was strange to explore another man’s body, but it got easier as Nicky got used to it. He ran his hands over the spirit’s skin, enjoying the way his touch affected the spirit.

He was so innocent and untried, so responsive to every finger tip trailing over his body. Both Charles and the spirit followed his every movement over the spirit’s skin. Nicky bit his lip, realising Charles took more pleasure in watching him with the spirit than he would probably gain from topping the spirit when the time came.

He looked to his master. Charles smiled at him. Leaning over, he brushed their lips together. It looked like a gentle touch, beneath the surface his tongue thrust hungrily into Nicky’s mouth. The spirit could not see that, it was theirs, their private moment in a shared bed.

Nicky smiled when Charles broke the kiss. The spirit watched them, slack jawed. Nicky turned back to him and kissed him. Nicky had rarely taken the lead with any lover—certainly not with his master. It felt awkward at first to feel in charge of everything, to be the man guiding the novice rather than the novice himself.

The spirit gradually relaxed and began to return Nicky’s caresses with tentative touches of his own. He didn’t have Charles’s way about him. His hands felt pleasant on Nicky’s skin, but there was nothing special about his touch.

A finger tip trailing along his spine sent a shockwave straight through him. Nicky looked over his shoulder at his master. Charles’s touch always felt different. Nicky tried to hold back a shiver as he kissed his way down the spirit’s body.

When he reached the spirit’s erection, Nicky carefully wrapped his lips around the tip. He’d always liked going down on men, even before he came to his master. There was something about it that always made his own arousal peak, but the spirit wasn’t used to the sensations as Charles was. His hips bucked wildly, Nicky only just managed to ride out the motion.

The spirit put his hand on the back of Nicky’s head.

Nicky forced himself to stay still and not panic. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“He doesn’t like anyone’s hand on the back of his head,” Charles said for him.

Nicky opened his eyes and looked up at them both.

The spirit took his hand away. “I’m sorry, I…”

Charles took the spirit’s hand and softened the correction by leading it back to Nicky’s neck. “He likes you to touch him here.”

He guided the spirit’s fingers to trail along his neck, underneath his ear, to touch the sensitive little spot which made a shiver run down Nicky’s spine. He gasped, sucking firmly around the spirit’s cock.

The spirit groaned his pleasure.

A few moments later, Nicky felt another hand on the back of his head, a more familiar touch that didn’t make him feel panicked. He looked up at his master.

“You said…” the spirit whispered to Charles.

“I am not just anyone,” Charles said simply, “I am his master.”

********************************

The thing about that one, is that it was a very specific circumstance. Charles and Nicky were able to work out something in their relationship without running the risk of bringing someone into their lives for anything longer than that night.

My next attempt was somewhat different.

I wrote Between Tooth and Paw for a specific anthology call. The menage had to be MFM - that's the one where the two guys are straight, in case your wondering. Quite a change of direction for a writer who usually writes MM!

I'll let you in on a secret - this story almost drove me crazy. I put my name down for the anthology while I was in a bit of a strop over something entirely unrelated. I didn't actually think about if I could write it until it was too late.

Luckily, it turned out to be a challenge in all the best ways.

By far the hardest part was trying to think of a reason why two dominant men would want to share one submissive. The answer was easy in the end. If they want her, they have to share. And since they really do want her, they have to - although that doesn't stop them bickering the whole time.


“I want you to ride me.”

Jasmine immediately pushed herself up onto her elbow, ready to get into whatever position he wanted. Stafford knelt on the bed behind her and gently guided her to spread her legs so he could put his knees between them. She leaned forward putting her hands on the mattress, as if she thought he wanted her doggie style, like the damn wolf inevitably would. Sitting back on his heels, Stafford pulled her back close to him instead, so she would be able to ride him.

She hesitated for a moment, and then she seemed to realise what he wanted and she nodded her understanding. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s right,” he soothed, as she he guided her to lower herself down onto the full length of his erection. Stafford pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck as she settled onto him.

Looking across at Hayden, still watching their every move, Stafford met his eyes as he bit down on her neck.

His teeth sliced neatly through her skin. She threw her head back with a pleasure filled gasp as her muscles clamped down around him.

Hayden tilted his head to the side, frowning as if he only then realised Stafford told the truth when he said human women enjoyed being bitten by him. Stafford smiled against the cut and teased it with his tongue as blood began to seep into his mouth.

She was so sweet, so perfect, and he didn’t need Hayden’s sense of smell to tell him she wasn’t afraid anymore—he could taste her pleasure, hot and eager on his tongue. He rocked his hips, pushing his cock deeper into her slit as she rode him and he felt her pleasure grow and double.

Reaching around with his free hand he teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger the way she seemed to like so much. She seemed to appreciate a rougher touch than other women in his experience. A sharper pinch of his fingers, a scrape of his nail across the nipple and she gasped and writhed around his cock for him.

He closed his eyes and sucked at the small wounds on her neck, coaxing the blood to flow more freely as his fingers danced across her breasts. Jasmine shakily took up the rhythm he set for her and she began to ride him properly. She took control of the movements, leaving him free to concentrate on the feeding while she worked hard and fast for both their pleasure. All of a sudden she faltered, gasping and bucking as her rhythm deserted her.

Endorphins failed to pour into his mouth. Her blood made it very clear she hadn’t come. He frowned, breaking the bite to speak to her.

Something moved against the base of his cock.

“What the…!”

He looked down. Hayden’s head was down between her legs, lapping at her clit as she rode him, and the damn wolf wasn’t being too careful about who received the benefits of his tongue’s attention.

Before he could reach around Jasmine and push the other man away, she moaned low in the back of her throat and dropped her head right back onto his shoulder. She shifted in his embrace, turning her head to rub her cheek against his neck. Her eyes were closed, but he didn’t need to see into her eyes to see her pleasure.

She reached back for him. One hand threaded into his hair to guide his lips back to her neck, begging him to resume the feeding. Her other hand went behind his waist, to slide down over his arse. She whimpered and tugged at his body, pleading with him to thrust into her, imploring him to ignore the other man and finish what he had started.

Stafford automatically kissed the wound on her neck. His every instinct told him she was right. What the pup did was irrelevant. He could wring Hayden’s neck for his impudence later. Right then, when pleasure was flowing through her veins and straight onto his tongue, there was nothing to do but keep going.

Warm breaths caressed his cock as Hayden’s tongue worked Jasmine to fever pitch, but right then it was impossible to care if those breaths belonged to a man or a werewolf or anything else.

Jasmine whimpered again and bit her lip. Her rhythm was shot after the shock the wolf had given her, but she was still doing her very best to ride him, encasing his cock in her hot, wet slit only to slide off him a little way and repeat the process again and again.

With each bit of pleasure his teeth and the other man’s tongue gave her, she writhed against him, no longer able to think but only to react. The hand she’d tangled in his hair, slipped forward to stroke his cheek, then she arched sharply, pressing herself back against his body. Her hand went to his hair again, as if those strands twining through her fingers represented her only grip on reality.

Her other hand left his backside and move forward to tangle into Hayden’s longer, fairer hair too.

She was so close to coming, Stafford could taste it. She tried to say something, but she couldn’t even seem to catch her breath to ask either man to push her over the edge.

Stafford pressed his teeth deeper into her jugular.

*************************

As for what comes next?

I've come a long way from not liking menages. For a start I understand now that I do love menages were the characters all live happily ever after together. And I know that I love a certain combination of characters.

MFM and MMF are very nice, but MMM is the one that seriously rocks for me.

Two minor characters make an appearance in Between Tooth and Paw. Mr Washington and his submissive Ethan Stewart. I am head over heels in love with both of them. And they are now the starting point of a whole series of MMM paranormal menages.

What about you? Always in favour of menages? Is there a type of menage that rocks your boat or turns you off more than all the others?

Kim Dare.
Kink, love and a happy ending. Do you Dare?

Lust is not enough

By Kim Dare.

I know an erotic romance writer should probably be jumping up and down shouting about how great lust is and how important it is and all that. I write about sex so lust should be right there at the top of my list of wonders of the world. Right?

Actually, no. I don't really think of lust on it's own as a particularly interesting thing to read or write about. Lust might be hot blooded, but I find it's also emotionally cold.

Maybe I should make myself clear here. Physical desire, sex, kink, whatever else, I'm all in favour of that. What I don't like the idea or the reality of is lust in isolation from everything else - lust without any emotion behind it.

Lust on it's own is all about getting what you want. It's about getting yourself off or getting your own way. Pure lust on it's own doesn't really allow for consideration for the other person's pleasure. It doesn't allow for anything other than physical gratification. To put it bluntly, lust on it's own is no different to a dog humping a post man's leg. The dogs happy - what does he care about the poor post man?

If a submissive goes into a scene thinking only of their own lust, it's not going to go well. And if a dominant goes into the scene with that attitude, then it's probably going to go to hell pretty quickly.

Submission in it's best, and I think in it's more satisfying, form is about giving not taking. It's about giving up control, giving pleasure without any thought to your own, giving your trust to another person, giving up privileges that are generally taken for granted. It's all about giving... well, at it's deepest level, I'd say submission is about giving yourself body and soul to another human being - not through fear or weakness but through free choice.

And the best dominants give us much as they take. They give control, security, safety, certainty, structure, discipline. They give praise as well as punishment. They give pleasure as well as pain. And, yes, I'd say that when it goes right - a dominant gives as much of themselves to a submissive as the submissive gives to them.

So, lust on it's own is not enough to keep me interested as a reader or a writer.

I'm not saying there has to be forever-love attached to every sex scene, but there has to be something more than just an inclination to get off. There has to be emotion attached to it. The person has to care about their lover, it has to be about both people's pleasure.

And I don't mean that in the simple form of everyone has to get at least one orgasm each. Sometimes the submissive in a sex scene doesn't have permission to come and I'm fine with that - but it should be because the dominant has made an informed decision not because he simply can't be bothered.

I write erotic romance and so the characters who have sex in my books are either in love or on their way to it. I like that. I like that they have an emotional as well as a physical investment in their sex lives. I like adding love to lust.

I think everyone a private little list of story types that tick their boxes. Experienced lover coupled with a virgin. Older women with younger men. Threesomes Werewolves... To pick some random examples. I have quite a long list of things like that.

One of the things I like is to take a couple who are already in a physical relationship - who are already in lust and who care about their lover at least a little bit. And I like to watch them fall in love.

That's partly because in spite of my kinks, I'm just a bit soppy like that. And it's partly because it doesn't matter if your dominant or submissive - if you kink that way you'll probably have a good instinct for where the control lies - and the introduction of an emotion no one can control is sure to set events spinning in all sorts of interesting directions.

You First is a book like that. The sex is good from the start. Maybe a bit too good for Luke! Lol.

The best way to explain what I mean is probably to just give you the blurb:

All Luke had to do was come after Justin. How difficult could that possibly be?

There was only one thing that stopped sex with Justin being completely perfect for Luke. The timing. That wasn’t so perfect. In fact, the timing really sucked – and not in the fun, fellatio related way.

Justin was five years younger than Luke and relatively inexperienced. Luke had enjoyed more lovers than he could count or remember—he knew he was good at sex. There was no good reason why Justin should outlast him every time they hooked up.

All Luke had to do was come second, set his mind at ease, and everything would be perfect between them. Hell, if he could do that, he might even consider the serious relationship idea Justin seemed so taken with.

How difficult could that possibly be?

So, is it just sexual pride that's got Luke worried, or could it be that he can sense that there is some deeper emotion lurking between them - one that could make everything so much more complicated than lust ever could?

What do you think? Can you tell if two men are destined to fall in love, even before they're aware of it themselves?

Here's an excerpt right from the start of the story. Lust isn't enough for me, but is it enough for Luke?

Love or Lust? Let me know what you think.

Luke Anderson was not going to come first.

He repeated the mantra over and over inside his head as he held his hands out to be bound. Justin Collins deftly buckled the soft leather around his wrists. Tugging on the chain between the cuffs, he positioned Luke on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed.

Justin attached the cuffs to a little hook screwed into the headboard for that precise purpose. He pulled at the chain, testing how securely it would hold Luke in place. The metal links clinked together. Luke took a deep breath. All his best sexual experiences occurred to that theme song. The sound went straight to his cock.

Luke was still not going to come first. He was Luke Anderson, newest and highest flying barrister in the best chambers in London. He could bloody well do anything he set his mind to.

Justin’s hand applied pressure—a steady pressure to the back of his neck. Luke lowered himself onto his elbows. The pressure didn’t ease. Luke turned his palms up and rested his head in his hands. Head down and arse up, Luke closed his eyes. He told himself for the thousandth time it must be possible.

Just because he hadn’t outlasted Justin yet, didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. He just needed to focus. He was twenty-three years old—five years older than his lover. He’d topped and bottomed more partners than he could count or remember in both genders. False modesty and jokes aside, Luke was well aware he knew tricks even most really expensive professionals hadn’t mastered.

He shifted his knees further apart on the mattress as Justin moved into position, kneeling on the bed behind him. He had to outlast Justin just once, just so he knew he could do it. Just for pride’s sake, because Luke knew his lack of self restraint was the only thing that kept sex with Justin from being perfect.

Justin’s fingers slipped briefly inside him, checking he was slick, relaxed and ready to play. Luke bit his lip and held back a moan as Justin crooked his fingers and found his prostate.

He could do this. Practicing a little bit of restraint wouldn’t kill him.

The rustle of the packet when Justin slipped on a condom was his only warning. Justin slid into him in one smooth movement. Luke gasped. For a perfect moment, Justin stilled inside him, stretching him and filling him completely. He began rocking his hips, building up the movement in tiny increments. Only when Luke whimpered his frustration did Justin begin to thrust into him in earnest.

In what felt like moments, lethal frustration was a growing possibility. Each stroke pressed against Luke’s prostate in a rhythm calculated to throw him over the edge at any moment.

He tried to remember he didn’t want to fall into pleasure—why he didn’t want to jump over the ledge with his arms spread wide in enthusiastic abandon. All he could think about was just how glorious it would feel when he came with Justin still buried balls deep inside him.

But still, in the back of his mind the mantra continued. Luke was not going to come first.

Desperately trying to concentrate on anything other than Justin’s erection pounding into him, Luke scrambled for any other details and senses to focus on.

The cotton sheet underneath him was pale blue. At this angle, with his nose barely an inch from the surface, Luke saw it was actually two shades of thread blended together. He couldn’t bring himself to care. His prostate sang inside him, coaxing him to join in with it in harmony, groaning his pleasure at every inch of delicious friction.

The scent of their arousal filled the room, mingling with Justin’s aftershave. Justin always smelt fantastic. Another perfect thing to add to all the other perfect things Luke had noticed over the months they’d been hooking up for sex. He always smelt like old sandalwood and well worn leather. Luke loved pressing close against Justin’s body and taking deep breaths of his scent when they danced together. He loved sliding his fingers up into Justin’s hair and pulling him close, to wrap Justin’s scent around him.

Luke threaded his fingers through his own hair. He pulled at the thick blond strands, hoping the pain might kill off some tiny bit of his arousal. The tug increased with each connection of Justin’s hips against his arse. It did nothing to help his increasingly frantic desire not to come.

Justin’s rhythm increased another notch. Cradling Luke’s pelvis in his strong grip, he held him steady and absorbed part of the impact from each thrust. Luke rocked back with every motion. As he focused on the pressure of each fingertip against his skin, Justin’s right hand left his hip.

He reached underneath Luke and started to jack him off with an expert touch. Luke pulled at the cuffs around his wrists. He couldn’t reach down and push Justin’s hand away. He had no choice but to accept the touch or say his safe word.

Kim Dare.
Kink, love and a happy ending. Do you Dare?

Sticking your toe (or anything else) in the BDSM waters

This week Oh, Get a Grip! welcomes Desiree Holt to share her thoughts on Writing BDSM:

I have to say that for most of my years, my sex life could be classified as vanilla with a hefty dose of cinnamon—all the things on the vanilla to do list but with a heavy dose of spice. Even when I married Hubby Number Two, my very own cowboy hunk who is the model for alpha males, we added some hot pepper—okay, a lot of hot pepper—but I wasn’t writing erotic romance then. Play, I wasn’t writing anything then!. So those parts of our relationships that fit into BDSM were—just parts of our relationship.

Then, a few years ago, I read my first book by a BDSM author and I thought, OMG! Where have I been all my life? Not only was it a beautiful story about a relationship, it depicted the BDSM lifestyle in such a manner that I became a shopaholic—I combed epublishers for BDSM books.

Okay, okay, call me obsessed. And no, he doesn’t cuff me and spank me naked on the front porch, or decide to put on nipple rings in the middle of the grocery store. And we’ve had to find a balance in our relationship because we are both very, very strong personalities, and submission does not come naturally to me.

But as I began writing BDSM, like everything else I write I wanted to do my research so I would not depict the lifestyle in a manner insulting to those who live it. There are many, many really good sites on the Internet that give you a lot of information about the lifestyle, and really explain the emotional side of it.

Then I took a leap of faith, joined a chat room (using a screen name) and explained who and what I was. I got very lucky. Two people have become my online friends, willingly answering questions for me as long as they have a guarantee of anonymity and respect.

I’ve learned a lot about them—and about myself. I learned that the D/s relationship is all about sharing and caring. That the Dom provides and tremendous sense of emotional security for his sub, and at the same time the sub is as much in control because her submission is the source of his pleasure. I learned how to establish a give and take when there are strong personalities to establish a balance.

And I learned that whether you are totally into the BDSM lifestyle or just enjoy parts of it, those parts can enhance your life beyond anything you can imagine.

I began to reach a point where BDSM is a part of the relationship in ninety percent of the books I write. The extent to which it plays a part really depends on my, characters, but it’s always there. And the more I write about it, the more I understand my own feelings, and realize that in every Dom there is a hint of a submissive, and in every sub there is a hint of the Dom.

It’s one of those things where I want to tell people, who ask me how I can write about it—don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Any portion of it.

So if you want to try one new thing today, or this week, or this month. Pick up a book by an author who writes about The Life and you’ll discover you’re really in for a treat.

Go on. Stick your toe-or any other part of your body-in the BDSM waters and see what happens.

Come visit me at http://www.desireeholt.com/ www.bookswelove.net/holt.html www.myspace.com/judithdesiree

I love to hear from people.

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Letting Go

by Desiree Holt.

Blurb:

For Kari Loftin life was all about control, in every aspect of it. But she realized that at forty two she had managed to shut out every form of pleasure b y keeping a tight rein on herself. With her beloved Cubs on a winning streak, she tossed away her control for one night and ventured into the world of Petey’s Sports Bar. Little did she expect to meet a hot young stud like Riley Tucker, who showed her a side of herself she’d never dared to explore. One night together and Riley wanted more. Much more. Could Kari get past the age difference—something that didn’t seem to bother Riley at all?

Excerpt:

He settled his hands, big and warm, on her shoulders, the heat from them burning through her t-shirt. While she watched with wide eyes he bent his head and licked her lips. Just a very, very light sweep of the tip of his tongue but she felt it all the way through her breasts to her womb. Heat crept over her skin and the beat of her heart tripped over itself.

“Mmm, good.” He licked his own lips, then slid his hands up to cup her face. “I knew you’d taste delicious.”

His mouth came down on hers again, his lips like rough velvet. She was sure he’d be the kind to attack voraciously but instead he seduced her mouth. He nibbled at each lip, his teeth teasing around the shape of her mouth, his tongue touching each tiny bite. He rubbed his lips against hers, then drew in her bottom lip and sucked on it gently.

Her bones felt like wax and more liquid soaked her panties. She felt as if she was suspended in space, attached only to his wonderful mouth.

When his tongue pressed against the seam of her closed mouth she opened with a sigh and thought how good he tasted. It swept inside, pleasantly shocking her as it stirred the nerves on every inner surface. Not an inch was left untouched—the roof of her mouth, the insides of her teeth and her cheeks, the pebbled surface of her own tongue. Tentatively she stretched it out to touch his and in seconds they were tangled together.

He kissed even better than he looked. She couldn’t breathe. Every bit of air was trapped in her throat. She lifted her hands and wrapped her fingers around his wrists, not to pull him away but to hold him in place. Her brain felt fuzzy, her body weightless and she wanted this kiss to go on forever.

Then a switch snapped on in her head and she tore her mouth away from his. Inbred insecurity reared its head and skittered along her spine.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait, wait, wait.”

He lifted his head and took a step back. “For what? What’s wrong, Kari”

“I have to tell you something. Please.”

He frowned at her. “Like what? You’re married?” He lifted her left hand, the ring finger glaringly bare. “No ring, unless you’re one of those liberated women who doesn’t think they’re necessary.”

“No, no.” She yanked her hand back. “It’s not that.”

“So what else could it be? You’re really a man who loves cross-dressing? Hell, I think it would be very hard to fake luscious breasts like those.” He skimmed the palm of one hand over her. “Yup. Real and made for touching.”

She took a step backward, wet her lips and let out a breath. “I’m forty-two.”

Riley stared at her, confused. “And?”

Why is he being so stupid? And why did I come upstairs with a man eleven years younger than me?

“I’m forty-two years old,” she practically shouted. Get it out now and get it over with.

“And that’s a problem how? I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”

She clenched her fists in frustration. Why wouldn’t he understand. “How old are you, Riley? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

He shocked her by bursting out laughing. “Jesus, Kari. For a minute you had me scared there. I thought there was a real problem.”

Writing from the soul

by Kim Dare

For anyone who doesn't know exactly how this blog works, we all take it in turns to pick a topic to talk about each week. This week was my turn. It seems to me, you have two options when picking a blog topic.

Either you can pick a topic that you believe you have something interest to say about, or you can pick something you'd like to hear what other people have to say about. I'll confess that I picked this topic mostly because I was curious what everyone else would say.

You see, although I write BDSM every day, it's not actually a subject I find it easy to say a lot about. It's a bit like someone asking - why do you like the colour red? Um... because I do. Or why do you like a certain song? Um... because it just feels right when I listen to it.

However, since I obviously need to say something more than that, I decided to look through my old stories and see exactly when I started writing con-kink, or BDSM or D/s or whatever you want to call it.

After a lot of reading, I found out when I started to write about sex, and I discovered when I started to write about romance, I even discovered the point at which I started to write something that looked like a vaguely competent story. But as for when I started to write BDSM? As far as I can work out I've always written it.

There was, however, a point at which I didn't know the right words for all the things I was writing about. I wrote a lot of submissives before I knew that was the right word for what they were. I wrote negotiations and scenes and whole D/s plots without knowing any of the right words for the sort of relationship I was describing.

I found excuses for the relationships to be based on dominance and submission for a long time before I realised that excuses weren't needed. Fantasy, sci-fi, historical, paranormal. Looking back, I tapped every vein I could think of because I think, deep down, I was aware that most people in the real world around me didn't see things in quite the same way - so I went out and invented societies that did.

Now, I'm not talking about societies that were about a dominant gender or class or race suppressing another. I think I knew right from the start that my own ideas of dominance and submission weren't about that. I invented characters and situations which made the dominance and submission about love - about giving each character the chance to be happy with their lover, and inside their own skin too.

Earlier in the week Jamie mentioned doing research on various websites. I'm familiar with quite a few of them, but when I went on them, it was less like discovering a new world or a new way of doing things, as much as someone suddenly providing a dictionary of proper words for ideas that existed inside my head, but which I didn't have the right vocabulary to express.

There are quite a few words in the kinky vocabulary I'm not fond of. For example, I don't call my submissives slaves, no matter how complete their submission or no matter how thoroughly they are owned by their masters. I just don't like the word. The real world connotations are too strong for me to find it erotic. It's a term that will always be non-consensual in my mind. But still, by and large I'm happy to say the vocabulary of BDSM is now my vocabulary.

And I happy to admit, the psychology of dominance and submission is and always has been very much my psychology. I've never researched it. It came built in, lol. My understanding of vanilla, though, that's a different story. I find it as hard to understand the appeal of that as others find it to understand the appeal of BDSM.

That's why, all in all, I'm left without anything very interesting to say on my own choice of topic.

I write BDSM because the stories inside my head and the characters who live inside those stories are intrinsically tied to ideas of dominance and submission. Take that out of the stories and you take part of the soul out of them.

I write BDSM because I think BDSM, and maybe because it's part of my soul too.

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On a similar topic :)

I'm one of the authors in Total-e-bound's Night of the Senses anthology. It's a BDSM anthology and each story in the collection focuses on a different sense - sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing, and extra-sensory!

My story - Whispers - is the extra-sensory one. As an M/f, vampire story about a 24/7, D/s relationship.

Here's the blurb:

Charlotte is more than happy to offer her master her body, her blood and her submission. But her mind is her own, if he really is listening in on her thoughts, he has to stop – Right now!

As soon as Zachariah feeds from Charlotte’s blood, he begins to hear her thoughts whispering into his mind. A rare blood bond forms between them and Zachariah is thrilled. He’s sure the bond and his new insights into Charlotte’s mind will solve all their problems.

Charlotte was ready for her master’s bite to hurt – she was looking forward it. She thought she was ready for anything else too, but she wasn’t ready to let her master into her mind. The bond isn’t the solution to anything. The bond is the problem.

Zachariah has to solve a whole new set of problems if he’s going to prove he’s the master Charlotte’s always wanted, and Charlotte has to learn to do something she’s never done before – trust a master with her mind.

And an extract:

(At this point Zachariah has taken his first feeding and has just started to hear Charlotte's thoughts whisper to him over their mental bond. She is still unaware of the bond's existence.)

With gentle kisses, and teasing caresses, his hands and lips roamed over her body. He felt tension build very slowly in her muscles. He sensed the pleasure building, oh so slowly in her body. He forced himself to be patient. Human women could not be expected to have the same speed of reactions as a vampire man.

He ran his hands up her arms, intending to wind his fingers through hers. With his hands around her wrists, Zachariah leaned forward a little bit too far. His erection brushed against the soft skin on the inside of Charlotte’s thigh and slid higher. He felt the slick moisture gathering along her slit ready to welcome him.

With the extra sensitivity of the recent feeding, it was almost impossible to not to plunge forward, to bury his shaft inside her with one smooth stroke. His grip tightened around her wrists as he fought his body for control.

She caught her breath.

With a silent curse, Zachariah immediately softened his touch.

He looked to her wrists, but it was too soon to know if his grip had been too harsh, if he would leave a mark on her skin.

Charlotte shifted underneath him. He desperately tried to concentrate on her thoughts—on his only chance of discovering if he really hurt her—because he was damn sure she wouldn’t tell him.

Harder!

Obviously the bond wasn’t reliable right from the start. He would have to practise reading his pet before he could rely on the bond to report accurately to him. He had no choice but to resort to more traditional means of communication.

“Did I hurt you, pet?”

“No, master.”

Yes.

He stared into her eyes, trying to read her expression. How could a woman hide pain from him so easily? Not even the tiniest flash of fear showed in her eyes. Before he could retreat, before he could explain to her such carelessness would never happen again, another thought came through to him.

Want more.

More? He frowned down at Charlotte. He was so sure the bond would be the solution to every problem between him and his pet. He’d been so eager for it to be a magic pill.

Want more!

The thought rammed into his mind, hard and certain.

Zachariah stopped trying to think about anything logically. He stopped trying to think at all. It was impossible to argue with the bond when every single part of his brain told him to trust it.

Aware he might be about to make the biggest mistake of his life, he replaced his hands around Charlotte’s wrists and slowly tightened his grip.

Yes!

She liked it. Even if he’d mistaken the words, the bond whispered into his mind, unequivocal hot pleasure flowed in a steaming torrent across the bond.

Zachariah tested his theory. He cautiously tightened his grip again.

Like.

He pinned her wrists firmly to the mattress. “Do you like this, pet?”

“I like whatever my master wishes to do with me.”

He hated those words so much.

Suddenly he had to get truth from her lips. He kissed her—not the usual gentle brush of mouths he was so used to employing with human women. It was a harsh demanding kiss, all about making her show a response—any response.

A soft whimper escaped from the back of Charlotte’s throat.

Zachariah felt the pleasure course through her and pushed her harder, letting more of his weight rest on top of her so he pinned her firmly against the bed at every point of contact. He made the kiss even rougher. Keeping his teeth to himself be dammed. Nipping at her lips, he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss became a simple statement of dominance. She was his. He could touch her however he wanted, kiss her however he wanted.

Yes! Want! Master! Please!