Friday, 31 July 2015

#FFF - Flash Friday Fiction: Pearls

Flash Friday Fiction - one picture, one hundred words


"Come here," her lips said. So red, so beautiful.
"Yes," I said. There was nothing else I could say. No other words formed in my head, no other thought existed in my mind.
"Yes what?" the tilt of head said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I'd been wrong. I'd be punished. It was right. I deserved it.
I craved it.
"Kneel'" her eyes commanded.
It did not need to be said, I would always kneel for her. I was nothing to her. She was more than everything to me.
The pearls slid through her black-gloved fingers, my collar to wear forever.

Friday Flashers have 100 words (exactly) to tell a story from the provided picture prompt.
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Thursday, 21 May 2015

Raven and Taken Identity

I did wonder whether I could ask the fabulous Faberge, to find an appropriate song to go with this blog about Taken Identity. All I could think of was Take my Breath Away by Berlin.
Lovely song, but my heroine doesn't quite have all of her breath taken away, although it is a close run thing at times.
As I'm someone who doesn't really have to have music—or for that matter quiet to write—I just sit down anywhere, open the lap top and write, I do love music. Pop master on the radio is a must. (I suck at anything after about 1990 unless it's one my kids drummed into me, and I only get the years if I associate a song with something major, like leaving school or giving birth.
So ask me about most modern music and it's er, do they play it on a plane to get you to sleep?
I do love music, even if my tastes as my kids often tell me are weird. Maybe that's why a lot of my character musical tastes are as well.
Anyway, to get back to Taken Identity…

(and if you read it let's hope it does take your breath away)

Jules walked into the restaurant, her long, tanned legs—courtesy of a certain fake tanning spray—bare, and her feet encased in vertiginous straps that could loosely be called shoes, that she hoped to hell she wouldn’t fall off of. Shoes this high were not made for walking. Showing off legs, looking sexy—she hoped—but not for putting one foot in front of the other and moving. Her short, floaty dress, she prayed hinted at—rather than showed—her body and she’d kept her makeup minimal. She might want a certain part of his anatomy to sit up and beg, but she didn’t want to make it too obvious. She still hadn’t made her mind up if she was stupid, or lacking sense because she fancied the socks off him.
Probably both.
Gray stood up as Jules entered the restaurant and walked towards where he waited. She tried to stop herself from drooling. If she’d thought he was drop-dead gorgeous that morning, when he was tired and irritable—well, she’d been deluding herself. Be still, my heart, she thought flippantly as she took in every last, luscious inch of him.
Bloody hell. I sound like a corny, cheesy chic flick, but sheesh, the man’s dynamite without even trying. Heaven help any woman if he turns on the charm. Seen from a distance, he was pulse jumping. Up close, he was heart attack material. Just that lazy smile, those deep, dark eyes and that sexy mouth were enough to get a girl’s pussy eager for action. And if you added in that tight butt and toned body? Oh my. Jules mentally fanned herself.
She tried not to let any of her X-rated thoughts show as she allowed him to lead her to a deep comfy sofa. The hostess took her serape, and with a slight nod of thanks she held on to the bit of satin and ribbon laughingly called an evening clutch, which held her phone, keys and what her mother called ‘mad money’. Not money to spend madly, but to spend if she or her date got mad and she needed a taxi. A wise woman, her mother. Although she’d never needed to use it yet and didn’t think this would be the first time. She’d tucked the twenty-pound note and a credit card firmly in the inside, zippered pocket of the tiny bag. Jules didn’t go as far as her mum suggested by pinning the note inside her bra. She wasn’t that paranoid.
“Right on time,” she said lightly, as they followed the maĆ®tre d’ to an intimate bar area. She was impressed and showed it. Jules thought there was no point in dissembling. If you appreciated something, why not show it? “Bloody hell, you are pulling out all the stops.” Nerves and excitement made her chatter nonstop. “Tables are like hen’s teeth here. How on earth did you manage to get a reservation?”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Insider information. Jeff and I were at school together. I’m part owner of the restaurant.”
Jules considered his statement. Obviously a man of means, which from the top of the range Mercedes she had seen driving away from her gate earlier, to the material and cut of his suit, she had already deduced.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked. “You know what I do, where I live, the fact that I have an impersonator—who may or may not be going to get me into deep, er, um…trouble. But apart from your name, I know next to nothing about you. And as it’s your not-yet-ex-wife who is the one causing any not-yet-seen problems, a wee bit of info wouldn’t be amiss.”
She watched him consider his words. Did he know his nose crinkled when he was deep in thought?
Finally, he spoke. “I’m a businessman. I have very diverse interests, all over the world.”
Jules waited, but the clam impression continued. Well, that tells me a lot. Info central he isn’t. “Hence the restaurant and your visit to Melbourne?” She did her best to prompt him.
“Hence the restaurant and my visit to Melbourne,” he said, and then he gave his drink order to the wine waiter. “Champagne now and the rest I’ll choose when we decide on our meal. Thank you.”
So that, Jules my girl, is all you are going to get, she thought, as he made no move to expound further. A smiling youth of around twenty came over to them and handed a set of keys to Gray. Jules tried not to look as if she wanted to know who he was and why he had what must be Gray’s car keys.
“Jeff’s nephew. I have him on the car hire insurance, so he can help me when needed.”
Obviously he had noticed.
“He’s parked the car and will drive us both back tonight. As a result, I can have a glass of champagne with you.”
Jules looked up at him, not commenting on the inference that they would drive home together, but noticing the way his body moved under the superbly fitted suit as he pocketed the keys.
“Who says I want champagne?” She felt a frisson of excitement run down her spine as he smiled back.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage a glass or two. To toast our, shall we say, collaboration?”
I’m a goner. Done and gone. Collaborated, under, over, any which way, I’m your girl. And you are the man. Think, Jules, and not with your hormones. Use your brain. Ask him if he’s spoken to his investigator person.
“Of course.” He answered her question, one eyebrow raised as if to signify his surprise that she’d ever doubted him. “Before I flopped for an hour due to sleep depravation—or tried to. You didn’t make it easy.”
His twinkling eyes made Jules think her first impression—and every one since—had been spot on. Sex on legs!
“Me?” She tried to look innocent, but inside she was shouting, Yay!
“You, and those damn legs to your armpits, and that secret smile you have. I’ve been in a permanent state of arousal since I met you.”
She risked a quick glance towards his crotch. A definite outline of a hard cock showed beneath the material that covered it, and she swore it moved.
“Yeah.” He noticed her look. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to do anything about it—yet. Be warned… When I do, you’ll know about it. It won’t be easy, and you’ll need to be very sure it’s what you want.”

Hope you are intrigued now…

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Raven lives in Scotland, in the land of the midge, whisky (no E) and men in kilts. Both she and her hubby have learned to put repellent on for the first, savour the second, and blink when they see the third, as really there's not a lot of men in kilts around most days.
(Okay her hubby doesn't pay any attention to the MIK and she give them marks out of 10)

 You can find out more about Raven on

Saturday, 17 January 2015

Angelica Dawson - Gentleman

Harrold lives an empty life. He has no joy in his marriage, no love of his work. His only reprieve is found at the hands of the whores, the ones he pays to beat and debase him. Upon being accepted into Blue Moon House, he learns the real cost for his desires, and what underlying need is really aching to be filled.

In the third installment of her Blue Moon House series, Angelica continues to push her characters outside their comfort zones and gets right to the heart of their needs. You can find Gentleman at Naughty Nights Press, AllRomanceEbooks and Amazon. For the month of January, you can also pick up the original Blue Moon House for only $0.99.

Angelica Dawson is the author of Blue Moon House, which has been in the top ten best-selling titles at Naughty Nights Press for over six months. She has also written two short stories, “The Highest Bidder” and “Leave Taking” which were each included in anthologies.

She contributes flash fiction to several blogging collectives and excerpts from work in progress can also be found on her blog. She is active on Facebook and Twitter.

She has been writing for several years and having sex a lot longer than that. Angelica is a wife, mother and environmental consultant. Her love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards – mosquitoes and black flies, not vampires.

Here is an excerpt from Gentleman. Let Angelica know what you think by leaving a comment and entering a draw for a free copy.


Harrold sucked breath through his teeth. The belt was his own, removed from the trousers he still wore. His shirt formed a white pool in the corner and his black jacket hung from the bedpost.

Crack. Creak.

The wood of the bedpost groaned as Harrold pulled on the hemp rope securing his hands on the other side. However, he fought the pain and the desire to scream.


The burning intensified and a scream erupted, echoing off the walls. He heard the door open and looked over his shoulder, panting as the pain leaked away.

“Still alive in here?” the mistress of the house asked. She clicked her tongue. “You broke the skin, Miranda. I'm sorry, sir. I'll bring bandages.”

The girl dropped the belt in a clatter, running to untie his hands. Her normally dusky complexion was white with red lines tracking her cheeks.

Harrold seized her hands as soon as his were free. “I asked. You did nothing wrong. Thank you.”

“I-I can't do this, Harry. I'm not- I'm weak.”

He smiled, brown eyes dancing in relief and joy. “Your arm felt strong a minute ago.”

She squeaked and more tears fell.

“Go collect yourself, Miranda,” Delores, the Madam, ordered. Cool wet cloths were spread on his back. “Mister Long, that is the third girl you've made a blubbering mess.”

“If I must, I'll find another house.” There were several brothels that would be glad of his business.

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Thursday, 23 October 2014

Writing a-gender? Grammar checkers think it matters.

It would seem that women write better than us chaps...

Well, at least it seems that while women write better, male writers get to the point faster, and both sexes are more likely than not to write about people like themselves, according to a poll by the staff of Grammarly, the very handy and jolly useful grammar checker.

You know that I like to explore gender and challenge that it's a 0 or 1 aspect of who you are, it's not an all or nothing thing, so this interests me. And it breaks down like this -

So what do you think? I write as a man, but I write characters who are male, female and transgender, as well as gay, bi and straight. Does it matter to you what gender I am? Does it affect how I write? And.... does it affect what you choose to buy and read?

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Raven's uncovering the secrets of Diomhair

Today my most favourite author, Raven McAllan, is here to uncover some secrets...


What happens there stays there.

Except I'm writing about it. Secrets Uncovered is book two of six planned, all about a BDSM Club in a renovated Scottish Castle. There is a ruined castle I've renovated in my books and based it on, not that far from where I live. I often pop over and look at it and smother a giggle. You can't get into the ruins, but it's a lovely spot, and it does give me such fantastic ideas.

I try to write about normal people and their lives. Just because they are involved in BDSM—or not—doesn't mean they're not normal. After all people aren't one size fits all, and we don't all like coffee (why not) or the movies.

I try to get inside their heads and see what's motivating them. It's not always easy. No it's not procrastinating, honestly, when I'm gazing out of the window. Just me thinking hard. A process that involves copious amounts of coffee and chocolate.

This series is so much fun, because all the characters have a secret, and something strange is going on at Diomhair as well.

For instance, Kath and Jeff gave me more than a few moments when I wondered if we'd ever get to a happy for now, let alone a happily ever after. They had such different opinions about something that loomed large in their lives. To whit, just what was okay to do when Kath was pregnant.

And oh boy did their ideas differ, They both wanted what was best for the baby of course. However what was best, shall we say, caused a massive difference of opinion.

I guess it was inevitable. A Dom and a sub. A man and a woman. And both strong personalities.

Eventually they get things sort of sorted, but that's not their only problems.

Life at Diomhair is never peaceful. But it is fun… and at times tense… and, well you'll need to read it yourself…

Here's the blurb…

Convincing a Dom that pregnancy doesn’t mean the end of all play can take some doing. Kath is horny and determined, but what does Jeff think?

Pregnancy should be the happiest time of your life. What’s a sub to do, however, when her Dom won’t touch her? Kath can’t understand why Jeff is being so difficult. After all, she’s pregnant, not ill, and she’ll combust with sexual frustration if she can’t seduce Jeff into play.

Jeff can’t help but worry over Kath’s health. It doesn’t matter what anyone, including the doctor, says about sex being okay, his mind tells him otherwise. It’s his duty to protect his sub, even if he’s giving himself blue balls in the process. He’ll do anything to keep her and their baby safe.

With the two of them at an impasse, tension runs high, especially when the future of Diomhair is threatened by an unknown enemy.

As they pull together to secure their home, and their workplace, can they also resolve their personal problems, or does pregnancy spell the end of their Dom/sub relationship?

And a wee tease…

“Boy have I enjoyed myself, but, ohh, now my feet ache, and I’m dying for a cuppa. You should see what I’ve bought.” Kath kicked her shoes off and dropped several carrier bags on the floor. “That new shop is enough to set any woman drooling, pregnant or not. And I got some kick ass flats like you said. Though I have earmarked some fuck me heels for after Bump arrives, and you should see…” Her voice trailed off as he stood with his arms folded and grinned at her. “I distrust that grin, Jeff Sutherland. What have you been up to?”

“Is that anyway to great your Master, pet?”

Her eyes widened as she took in what they called his Dom attire. The soft leather trousers she stroked like they were alive and his tight back T-shirt she almost drooled over. He’d deliberately left them in the wardrobe of late, feeling it would be unfair to remind both of them what they couldn’t have. Now in his new mindset—partly due, he admitted, to a strong talking to from David, but more from a need and a desire to reassert their way of life—Jeff realised how much he wanted to wear them and see her reaction once more. Kath had said her response to those clothes was almost Pavlovian. He wore. She drooled. He said jump, she said how high? They were, she admitted, her trigger. Now, her grin almost split her face before she dipped her head.

“No, Sir.”

“Exactly, pet. I’ve been somewhat remiss lately, and I have to remedy that. I don’t want my pet to think I’ve forgotten her.” He slid back into their dynamic like a knife through softened butter. It seemed so right, and so perfect. Now all he had to do was convince Kath to be happy with the changes he’d decided on.

“I’ve thought things over, and we’re going to rewrite some of our protocols. Remember, you can traffic light me, but for now I’m going to ask you to listen to what I want before you comment. All right?” Jeff held his breath. If it wasn’t, there was no way he could force anything on her. Force in any form had never formed part of their dynamics, not even in role-play. It wasn’t them, and never would be.

Kath looked from him to the cushioned chair he’d added to the room. He'd placed it in front of the chair he himself preferred to sit in, right over the spot Kath usually liked to curl up on and cuddle his legs. Then she looked across the room to where he’d put a new sofa. Jeff didn’t dare think of the strings he’d pulled or the favours he now owed so he could have it in place and waiting for Kath’s return.

“Yes, Sir. Green, Sir.” She grinned, then looked down in a hurry.

“That’s my good pet. Now as you get less…” He chuckled. “I’m not sure how to put this any way subtly, so I’ll just say, less svelte-like and more uncomfortable, it wouldn’t be practical to kneel as we have done before. So our new protocol involves this chair.” He took her arm and helped her sit. A soft smile played over Kath’s face, but she didn’t say a word. When they did play like this, she always waited to speak. “Instead of kneeling, pet, you’ll sit on here and face me. Then I’d like…” He hesitated. This could be sticky. He didn’t want Kath to think she mattered less than their baby. “I’d like for you to accept me touching our child. To feel the swell of your stomach, the flutters and kicks as you get bigger, and rest my head on you so I can engage with you both, I guess is the best way to put it. However, your greeting to me will be equally as important. I want, while it’s still comfortable, for you to dip your head and accept my kiss on your neck. Then, eventually, once it’s time, we’ll move on to our normal greetings. The new sofa is for our evening together. We’ll have none of the sitting at my feet. I don’t think either of us would find it a turn on if I had to haul you up like…”

“Using a JCB?” Kath giggled. “No, Sir. I’d be honoured to sit next to you. Oh, sorry. Mind engaged and mouth opened.” She wriggled her butt, in a way he well knew meant ‘spank me’.

“Behave. The punishment won’t be physical, not now. Maybe I need a book? To write your misbehaviour in.” She nodded eagerly, and Jeff had to laugh. Kath in this mood was incorrigible and nigh on irresistible. “Colour?”

“Green and green. And may I say the day I can start touching you in our greeting again can’t come soon enough, Sir.”

She’s up to something. The look on Kath’s face was so innocent he distrusted it.

“That’s a maybe. However it isn’t yet. Not until we pass the three months. So behave.” He lifted her chin in a light grip. “Understand, pet?”

She sighed. “Only too well, Sir. By God you’re infrangible when you want to be.”

“I’m a Dom. It goes with the territory.”

You can buy Secrets Uncovered here…

For a chance to win a copy of the first book in the series, Secrets Shared, just tell me, where you think is the prefect place for a BDSM club and why. I'll chose a winner from the comments at random.

Happy Reading,

Love R x

As always it's lovely having Raven here but I'm not letting her leave without telling us a little bit about herself - 

Well what can I say?

I'm growing old disgracefully and loving it.
Dh and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.
Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.
I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I'm often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I'm not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.
Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

The gender agenda

The gender agenda – take pride in who you are

OK – fact: The Rolling Stones are the greatest rock band in the world.
But The Who are definitely the second greatest, and one of my favourite song lyrics is from a little known 1967 Who song – Tattoo:-

Me and my brother were talking to each other
'Bout what makes a man a man
Was it brain or brawn, or the month you were born,
We just couldn't understand

So that's the question – what makes a man a man?
I can quite happily live without football, rugby, cricket and almost any sport and to some men that makes me more or less a woman.
And yet when my wife asks me which shoes go with which dress and I shrug and go "dunno" she says "oh, you're such a bloke".
Can't win… but whichever way - are you either male or female? Are you either a boy or a girl?
I don’t think so, any more than you are either tall or short, fat or thin.
6ft is tall to you if you're 5ft but short to you if you're a 7ft basketball player; 9 stone is massive if you're a supermodel, miniscule if you're a heavyweight boxer.
I once offered a bull necked, muscle-bound rugby player, who sniffed, a tissue and he was horrified – "you're such a GIRL" he sneered.
No, I just happened to have a packet of tissues on me, but to him this was a 100% feminine trait that no real man would ever display.
Am I confused? Is my sexuality in question?
The point is, gender – and I'm not talking genitalia – isn't 0 or 1, + or -, all or nothing.
It's a vast confusing ocean of currents, eddies and tides from blokes who define themselves by sports, drinking statistics and breaking wind in public to women who can only giggle, file their nails and think that kittens are sweet, via a whole world of individuals in between those two stereotype extremes.
We all know blokey blokes and we all know girly girls just as we all know men who are 'in touch with their feminine side' and 'ball breaker' women.

The Final Taboo – to boldly go where no man has gone before?
So my hero in His Secret Dancer is also my heroine. Dan/Danielle is on a journey of discovery. She, Danielle, is a very feminine and sexy girl and he, Dan, is a very attractive and sexy man. S/he is exploring gender and sexuality and I look forward to you reading about the journey s/he is on. I certainly enjoyed writing it.
Dan's journey is a romantic one in His Secret Dancer, but in the real world it might be fraught with problems. No one embarks upon the trans-gender journey for a laugh. Can you imagine going into work and saying "as of Monday I will be living as a woman so I'll no longer be Adam, I'll be Eve".
That takes balls. Huge, great determined balls of steel.
So, the person in the dress you're staring at and wondering about their gender?
They are too, but they are trying to find their way. They are on a scary and uncertain journey, but they have made a huge decision and they are sticking with it.
Be a man and cut them some slack – whatever your chosen gender.

Clothes maketh the man?
'His Secret Dancer', was inspired by a burlesque dancer I met in South Africa. A tall, bearded chap was chatting about his past, over dinner, and showed us a picture. My jaw fell through the floor. He looked really quite different in fishnets, leotard and big hair. I've still never seen a pair of legs as good. I thought “now there’s an interesting angle on ‘boy meets girl’.

His Secret Dancer:
Dan's drab life is a world away from his secret life as Danielle, the burlesque star of Tomasz's transvestite nightclub, Trans-Action.
Having found 'her' inner T girl as a student, Danielle has discovered the power of her femininity and her talent to entice and excite - but she realizes that Dan's life is losing the passion it once had.
As Danielle's relationship with Tomasz takes her deeper into both her lover and his world, encountering passions neither thought they dare explore, demure Francine is too often left to her own devices and desires. Her only release is in the fantasies inspired by the customers who pass through her life and her patisserie.
Does she want a man in her life or a woman? Or both…
Seeing her man exploring her wardrobe she decides to embrace the power of her own sexuality. Then a sizzling encounter with Tomasz unlocks the vixen in her and sets their two worlds on a collision course.
Can Dan bring Dan's world and Danielle's together - especially when he discovers Danielle's secret lover secretly loving Francine?

Available from Breathless Press
and from Amazon on both sides of the pond - and
and on iTunes

Friday, 21 March 2014

#FFF - Flash Fiction Friday: Cocktail Hour

Flash Friday Fiction - one picture, one hundred words

The desire and the fear burned in her; burned like the flame red of her hair, burned like the scarlet passion of her lips.
It was the same bar in the same town, just a different night. The night after the day before.
That day.
"Come with me," he'd said.
"When?" she'd asked.
"Tomorrow night," he'd answered.
"For how long?" she'd asked.
"Forever," he'd answered.
"What shall I bring?" she'd wondered.
"Only your heart," he'd told her.

She slipped the jewels he gave her into her ears.
"Drink this," he said.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Our blood," he said.

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