Tag: erotic

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

This is just a bit of a catch-up, really.

If I have ANY regular readers, please let me know.  It’s a bit lonely in here, and for someone fighting depression, like my good self, it’s heartening to know that there’s someone out there.

So if there is, please leave a comment or something.  That way, when I do take a spiral down (which will happen at some point), I can hold onto the evidence that someone does actually give a shit.

Anyway.  Not been too bad recently.  The job bumps along.  Looks like a colleague is well and truly fucked off (and I can’t really blame him, based on what’s been happening and the changes of circumstances he’s been through recently), and is planning to resign in February.  I’ll miss him.  His truly (deliberately) awful jokes and puns really did help lighten the mood.

The experiment into dropping my dose of sertraline to 100mg per day seems to be working.  Although I’ve got less resistance built in to spirals, I do feel somewhat more in control and a bit more present.  So that’s a good thing.

Really do need to start going to the gym again, though.  I managed regular visits for nearly a month, but a few days of feeling crap have lead to me not going for something like a fortnight now.

I need to do something about that.  The workouts help the brain chemistry and therefore help the depression (and also help with the inevitable weight increases caused by the drugs), so this is something I really do need.

Something I also need to do is get back into writing.  I was somewhat (pleasantly) shocked to actually get a few quid from my novella, Wild Caught Are Always Better (available from many good ebook retailers… and probably a few dodgy ones, too – click on the link if you have a Kindle or use Kindle software).  It seems to be heading off into cyberpunk, which is interesting, not least for me as I watch it develop as I write it.

Might try and write a couple more paragraphs at least before I go to bed tonight.


Tuesday 8th August 2017

Monique Alexander… because she’s gorgeous!

So yeah… the epic 2000+ words sex scene.  Bit of a marathon, that.  Certainly in terms of the writing.  When you get to read it, you’ll hopefully notice that I tried to keep it interesting by swapping viewpoint and going into first person via the two protagonists’ thoughts.

This writing erotica isn’t the easiest thing to do.  I’m learning a lot from reading some of the amateur stuff that’s out there on Literotica.com and also stuff I’ve picked up from Amazon’s Kindle store by the likes of Narcissa Rivers, SL Hadley and Emma Tilton.

The thing about reading other people’s stuff is that you learn what works for you and what doesn’t.  You can then use that to inform how you write.  They can also show you how NOT to write.  One of the above authors definitely has moments of that.  Usually where their use of words lets them down, making things a little… twee.  For one of the worst examples of twee-ness, I can excuse it by referencing the POV character.  It’s how they probably would have put something, but when that carries across… Nah.  Then again, the author in question does keep their stuff readable and manages to create situations where the readers do want to know what happens next.

I know I’ve probably absorbed some of the style of all three of those writers mentioned above as well as the likes of Warren Ellis, Mike Carey, Douglas AdamsMichael Moorcock, Terry Pratchett and everyone else whose work I’ve ever read.

The porn-y bits, though, are largely from my own experience and imagination.  They always say to write from experience, and since I’ve actually had sex, I can draw on that.  OK, it’s never been as kinky as some of the stuff I’ve written, but that’s where imagination is used to extrapolate from experience. Some authors who shall remain nameless, but have multi-million dollar adaptations made of their modified Twi-shite slash fic don’t seem to have had that experience and rely on a not particularly active imagination…

One thing that’s worth mentioning is that when you’re writing this sort of thing, watching porn definitely helps.  It’s more to do with camera angles and making the scene hold together more than what happens in the scene.  There’s a certain narrative flow that the readers have come to expect.  Usually because that’s how actual sex tends to go, and porn is a fantastical version of what tends to go on, rather than being an accurate depiction.  After all, since when has real sex ever gone on for 20-odd minutes once arousal has been achieved on both sides?

So that’s something of a rambling glimpse into how I write erotica (or porn – although since I’m actually using imagination and depicting it with a medium of some kind, it can legitimately be called art).  Why not have a go?

If you’re wondering why there’s a photo of Monique Alexander on this post… I’m a real sucker for a girl with purple hair.  Or any sort of non-natural colour (we’re talking shades of blue, red and purple).  Tattoos are definitely a bonus and are part of my personal turn-ons list, but only if well done.

Buy my porn! I’ve written some smut. Here’s the links:
Wild Caught Are Always Better       Amazon    |    Smashwords

Thursday 3rd August 2017

Just to prove I’m capable of writing more than kinky lesbian, toy-based and forced sex, here’s the build-up to some hetero action from Breaking The Chains

Shan is based physically on Jasmine James
Shan, physically based on Jasmine James

Shan’s tongue played over her lips as she started to walk slowly towards where her young partner was stood.  The way she walked made her hips swing seductively as she approached.  Jamie could smell her perfume and something else buried deep.  Her gloved fingers slid slowly up the skintight slick material that made up her camosuit, caressing her curves as they moved upwards from her belt, taking time over her toned abs and across her right breast and the lump that hinted at a piercing there, before she took the zip between her thumb and first finger and slowly slid it down, one set of teeth at a time.

By the time Shan was within touching distance of her young partner, her suit was unzipped to her waist.  Jamie had a close-up view of her full breasts and silky skin, slightly slick with perspiration from the suit.  She reached out and her fingers made contact with his chest.  His pectoral muscle twitched involuntarily at the caress.  Shan’s eyes flicked down to his crotch and a slight smile played across her lips as she noticed a familiar shape beginning to form.  Her eyes moved back up his body, taking in every contour, past the wiry stubble on his face, up into his pale blue eyes.

With a gentle push, Shan steered Jamie towards the wall, her eyes locked onto his.  Her other hand, still gloved, traced the opposite path to her eyes, ending on her partner’s rapidly swelling manhood.  With practised ease, she unfastened his belt and the fasteners on the lower half of his camosuit with one hand whilst gently and seductively stroking her fingers across his face, tracing the line of his cheekbones, curving around the back of his ear and down onto his neck.

Obviously I’ve not even got to the actual sex yet.

This, as you probably know, is an excerpt from the sequel to Wild Caught Are Always Better, which you can buy for your Kindle from here, if you’re in the USA, from here if you’re in the UK or here if you’re in Canada.  Of course you can also buy the paperback version from any of those links, too.  You can also buy the novella in epub format from Smashwords, where it is currently reduced in price by 50% until 20th August.

Saturday 22nd July 2017

I’ve sold copies of Wild Caught Is Always Better!

People… REAL people… have actually spent REAL MONEY on buying my writing!

One person bought a copy on Smashwords yesterday (where I’m currently running a 50% discount offer until a week on Monday), and one bought a copy on Kindle today.

Got to say it… I’m a bit chuffed about that.

Hope they liked it…  Why don’t you click either of the links and see what you’re missing out on?

18th July 2017

18th July 2017

I did mention yesterday that I suffer from depression, right?

I’ve seen a lot of posts about it recently.  Probably because, as a sufferer, I tend to spot things like that where a “cognitive normal” more than likely wouldn’t.  Usually, I have to admit, I’ll go look at the article ready to scoff and sometimes even get annoyed by some hippy twat who was a bit sad once recommending going for a walk in the country or something equally inane.

The main problem with that is, when you’re in the middle of an episode, you can’t move.  There may well be part of your brain trying with all it’s power to make your body take notice, but it just won’t.  You’d really quite enjoy a wander in the woods, listening to the birdsong, watching out for wildlife and so on, but the depression has cut off access to your motor functions so it can just squat there in your brain like a dark fog.

You’re just numb.  Nothing gets through.  Nothing.  All you want to do is curl up in bed and not come out.  Ever.  There’s a part of your brain that tells you that everyone else would be better off without you.  That’s the part that must have been whispering in the ears of Robin Williams, Heath Ledger and Chris Cornell on their last nights on Earth.  With Cornell, the episode was probably brought on by the adrenalin crash after the gig.

While you’re being treated (and the medication helps with this), you learn to spot the signs you’re going to start spiralling down.  If you’re aware of it, you can at least attempt to either stop it or at the very least minimize its effects.  That usually (for me at least) requires some very loud music.  Either something aggressive along the lines of Slayer, Judas Priest (Painkiller is a favourite for this purpose) or any Thrash or Melodic Death Metal, such as Arch Enemy or Amon Amarth.  Something with a bit of a sneer and some swagger, such as Mötley Crüe or Zodiac Mindwarp & The Love Reaction is good.  Then there’s the really big guns:  Fight Until We Die by Manowar, Valhal Awaits Me by Amon Amarth and Overkill by the mighty (and much missed) Motörhead.  Another one of the better ones is the more “up” material from The Wildhearts.  Something like 29x The Pain, Greetings From Shitsville or Vanilla Radio.  A big part of the attraction towards using The Wildhearts is that Ginger understands.  He knows exactly what depression is.  He’s come very close to following the likes of Robin Williams, Heath Ledger and Chris Cornell.  He’s even got to the situation of being sectioned (I believe the USAnians call it “committed”), yet he’s come through and he’s still here.

Therein lies the rub, as Bill The Bard once wrote.  You’ve got to keep on swimming.

…and since I mentioned “rub”… you know what else helps?  Masturbation.  If you can feel it coming, get yourself somewhere you can concentrate and rub one out.  Do the five-knuckle shuffle.  Bash the bishop.  Spank the monkey.  Whatever you can do to get your brain to release an endorphin rush will help.  Going to the gym always helped me.  That’s something I’m going to have to do, by the way.  Get myself signed up for a gym membership.  And actually start using it at least twice a week.

Might get rid of some of this extra baggage I’m carrying.

In other news, remember to go to THIS LINK and get your FREE download of my debut dark erotic fantasy novella, Wild Caught Are Always Better.  The free offer is available until Friday, so if you want some free literary smut, get over there.  If you could take the time to write a review, that would be very much appreciated.

If it’s all getting too much and you can’t talk to someone you know, there’s always these guys, if you’re in the UK.  Never used them myself, but I’ve never needed to.

14th July 2017

14th July 2017

As something of a surprise, I wrote a novella over the last few days.  I stumbled across the whole “hucow” thing a few weeks ago, and this blast of writing was inspired by the discovery of Narcissa Rivers’ stories that I picked up from Amazon.

I got hard a few times and the whole milking thing is one of the fantasies that runs around my brain from time to time.  So does fucking a blindfolded woman who’s manacled to a table.

Anyway, here’s the cover and the first chapter as an extract.  I’ll be putting the rest up on the Amazon Kindle shop as well as here.  The first five people to either write a comment or subscribe to this blog will get a free copy.



It was dark and she was laid on her side on a cold, concrete floor, as far as she could tell.  As she came around, she realized that she couldn’t move.  Her wrists and ankles were tied behind her back with some kind of plastic binders.  She tried to scream out for help, but the ball gag rendered the scream into not much more than a gurgle.  She suddenly discovered that she had been stripped down to her underwear.

The light snapped on.  It was a single incandescent bulb hanging from a single pendulum lamp that had been attached to one of the rafters in what appeared to be a small barn.

She felt a rising tide of dread.  What was happening to her?  Why was this happening?


Kay McCann was a short natural redhead.  Her voluptuous figure formed a virtually perfect hourglass shape, topped off with a set of very large natural breasts.  To keep them under some kind of control, she wore a specially ordered 28FF bra, usually with a tailored blouse, open to show off her impressive cleavage.  Her wide, perfectly toned hips were poured into a short, tight pencil skirt.

She’d called in at her normal coffee place on her way to college.  She’d never been very good at school, but she was generally pretty eager to please and she could easily be described as excellent eye candy.

The coffee had taken a little longer than normal to arrive, but that really didn’t matter since no one really minded if she was late.  There was a slightly unusual flavour to it, but she put that down to it being a different barista to the one who normally worked there on a Thursday morning.

She remembered feeling a little odd as she walked down the road to the college.  She’d stopped and sat on a bench in one of the town squares to try and clear her head.  She remembered someone… a man, she thought… coming to ask if she was OK, and then the next thing she knew was waking up in the dark.


She heard a snapping sound and rolled over to look in that direction.

The man who wandered in was tall and muscular.  His jet-black hair was cropped close to the skull.  His square jaw was roughened with dark stubble.  His black denim jeans were fading at the knees, held up by a thick, black leather belt.  The black t-shirt he wore clung to his frame, showing off his pectorals and his broad shoulders.  If not for the terror making her heart feel as though it was climbing out of her chest, she would have been watching the way he moved with great and not unlecherous interest.

She tried to scream, but the ball gag reduced it to a muffled whimper.

As he slowly sauntered towards the squirming shape on the floor of the barn, he slowly unsheathed a large hunting knife, holding it so she could see it.  The light from the single bulb high above glinted off the point and the exposed, wickedly sharp cutting surface.  A small smile played across his lips as he saw her eyes open wide with fear.  The smile widened into a salacious grin as he saw the tears begin to well up in her eyes and the whimpering grew louder.

He knelt beside his prey’s struggling form and used the knife to expertly slice through the thin strips of black fabric of her bra straps.  Her breasts broke free of the ragged remains of black lace.  They were large and firm, the fear making them quiver in a way that made the man’s cock begin to harden.  Her silky skin was tanned and supple, stretched across her voluptuous form.  From each hardened nipple oozed a thick stream of white liquid.

He’d been right on the money.  He leaned in and give the powder brown areola of her right breast a lick.  A jolt of pure ecstasy roared through her body as he gave the nipple a sharp pinch with his teeth.  Her wide hips tried to wriggle away from him, scraping across the floor.  He grabbed her with strong, callused hands, fingers digging into her yielding flesh.  The tears were now flowing freely.  That made him harder still.  This was a man who loved his work.

Using the knife again, he sliced neatly through the thin strips of expensive lace that made up the tiny G-string she wore to expose her neatly trimmed, throbbing, sopping wet pussy.

He put the knife back in its holster and pushed her legs apart.  He grabbed her hip with one hand, pushing it down to open up her legs.  His powerful fingers slid easily into her lubricated cunt.  He curled them up and round, expertly finding the ridging of her g-spot and putting just the right amount of pressure on it to trigger one of the most enormous orgasms she’d ever had.

He nodded in appreciation as the orgasm made the milk almost spurt from her.  Now for the final test.

He rolled her onto her back, her wrists and ankles still bound together.  She’d stopped trying to scream now and was reduced to whimpering as she lay there.  Thing is, it wasn’t the whimpering of someone afraid for their life.  This was something else.  This was the whimpering of someone who wanted badly the very thing he was about to give her.

The man unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans.  She hungrily eyed the large, throbbing rod.  She needed that inside her.  That need overrode everything else.  The fear of being hogtied and gagged was gone.  The fear of what he might use the knife for also faded.  She wanted that cock inside her and she was willing to do anything to get it.

He smiled knowingly as she lifted her pelvis, opening her knees wider to present him with her saturated slit.  With no hesitation, he plunged the head of his penis into her.  Through the gag, she screamed in a savage mixture of lust, pain and pure rapture.  She was tight and he was too big for her, but he didn’t stop and she didn’t want him to as he rammed his way deep.  He pulled out slowly, until just the tip was still inside her before jackhammering in again and again, thrusting hard and without any shred of mercy.

She could feel another orgasm building.  She realized that her captor had attached something to her nipples – they looked like pumps of some kind, and they were sucking rhythmically in time with his thrusts into her.

The orgasm crashed over her, just as his cock bucked inside her blasting streams of cum into her warm darkness.  She screamed in ecstasy one last time as she orgasmed so powerfully she blacked out.

He pulled out and wiped his shaft on the remains of her discarded underwear, before shaking the last rivulets of cum onto the cow’s skin.  After zipping back up, he looked at the portable milking machine.  The yield was impressive.  She was a good fuck, too.  He’d enjoyed that one.  He dispensed a small sample of the milk he’d just extracted into a small paper cup and tasted it.  It was smooth and creamy.  It had been a good long while since he’d tasted better.  From this small sample, he wasn’t sure, but this could have even been the finest he’d ever tried.

This one would make him a lot of money.

Leaving her insensate on the floor, he gathered up her clothes and tossed them in a small metal bin he’d brought with him.  He poured in a small amount of lighter fluid and flicked in a lit match.  The expensive fabrics caught fire easily and quickly.

She wouldn’t be needing any clothes where she was going.