Tag Archives: mischief books

A Little Show & Tell with A.M. Hartnett

Uncover MeA little show & tell …

“She didn’t think of it as porn.”

That’s the first line of my current release from Mischief. Uncover Me is about exhibitionist sex blogger Carrie, and certainly she doesn’t think of her pictures as porn. As is evident to one of her most avid readers and soon-to-be eager lover, Brendan, the pictures say something about the woman in the pictures. A still frame sets the scene — a woman in stockings brandishing a paddle, or lounging naked in her bed on a Sunday — and lets the story of her alter-ego, Maggie, unfold in the reader’s mind.

Brendan sees something else, something more.

With Brendan’s introduction into her life, and ultimately as a second player at her blog, the story of Maggie becomes the story of Carrie, the woman who had her heart broken and by letting another person into her most personal sanctuary, Dirty Pictures, begins to feel something more than mistrust.

 

Excerpt

Under the table, he slipped his hand between her legs. Comfortable with this more discreet play, Carrie parted for him and sighed as he stroked through her panties.

The waitress returned and he leaned back, but he still played with her as dessert, Brendan’s coffee and Carrie’s tea were laid out.

‘We could take the dessert to go,’ she said, and swallowed a gasp when he slipped his fingers beneath the band of fabric covering her pussy.

‘I don’t want dessert to go. I want to sit here and watch your reaction from the first mouthful to the last.’ He slowly circled her clit, his smile quirking at the corner as she shuddered, then leaned closer. ‘Take your time. I know I will.’

‘None for you?’

‘Not yet. After.’ He leaned in again, his mouth close to her ear. ‘Have a taste.’

Carrie touched her forehead to his and giggled. ‘You’re a very bad man.’

‘That is a very ungrateful attitude. Eat.’

Her fingers trembled as she picked up her spoon and dipped into the dessert. Meeting his stare, she brought it to her lips and smiled.

His gaze travelled down to her mouth as he slid his fingers to the hot mouth of her pussy. Carrie held her breath as he pushed deeper, until he was buried to the knuckle, and then closed her legs to keep him there.

She licked the tip of the spoon for her first taste and could have fainted from the rush of pleasure that swept over her as the succulent concoction melted on her tongue. She closed her eyes and moaned, then moaned again as he flexed his fingers.

‘Is it good, baby?’ he whispered, and curled his fingers against the sweet spot.

‘So good,’ she murmured and sucked the rest from the spoon.

She placed her fingers over her mouth as she swallowed, holding in a second moan as he rolled his thumb over her clit.

He withdrew, fingers spreading her with every inch. ‘The first taste is the best. The first time I had it, I actually got hard.’

She scooped up another spoonful and took a deep breath. ‘Are you hard now?’

‘What do you think?’ He shifted in his seat and moved closer as she took another mouthful. Two fingers slid on either side of her clit, and Carrie shuddered as she swallowed.

Another spoonful, another spiral of pleasure darting from where his fingers worked her as she gobbled it down.

The buzz of voices around them faded, replaced by the thump of her pulse. The candlelit room had been so cosy moments ago, but now it was sweltering.

She held up the spoon between them. ‘You sure you don’t want some? Only a few more bites left.’

He shook his head. ‘All for you.’

 

Blurb

The photos are becoming a compulsion for Carrie. As soon as she wakes up, she feels the need to engage with the readers of her erotic website, Dirty Pictures. No matter how hard she tries to focus on her real life the need is always there. The high is knowing that men desire her.

One day a comment on her erotic website makes Carrie go cold: one of her readers, Brendan, has recognised a landmark in the window of one of her pictures. Brendan knows where to find her and has sent a tantalising private message. His invitation to play was so tempting in no time at all, in a variety of settings, their sensual adventures become wild. Her sexual and emotional reawakening reaches peaks she never imagined possible.

 

Book Links: Amazon UK | Amazon US

Me: http://www.amhartnett.com

 

New Release: Kinky Boots by K D Grace

Kinky BootsKINKY BOOTS

K D GRACE

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US

More links will be added here as they become available:

http://kdgrace.co.uk/books/kinky-boots/

After a sizzling encounter in DEMON HEELS, a quirky all-night shoe store, with the store’s hot owner, FINN MASTERS, JILL HART walks away in the most gorgeous boots ever. Her new boots come with an unexpected bonus, a sexy demon named ELEANOR, who’s looking for a good time. All she lacks is a body, and Jill’s will do nicely.

Jill quits her dead-end job and, not knowing what’s come over her stops by the nearest pub intent on doing tequila shots until she falls off the stool. Instead she does FINN MASTERS in the beer garden, unwittingly participating in her first ever threesome. The boots were the bait, the timing was right and Eleanor has new digs. It’s Finn job to prevent Eleanor’s misbehaving. His failure means he’ll have to ride shotgun and do damage control until Eleanor moves out at the next full moon.

With Eleanor in residence, Jill’s bolder, sexier, willing to take risks. But is she a whole new Jill, or is it just demon courage? And how will Finn feel about her when she’s just plain Jill again? Will the maddeningly magical ménage make Jill’s dreams come true, or will it break her heart?

*****

Excerpt:

There was a soft knock on the door and Meinrad entered the room with several hanks of what looked like ordinary rope. He nodded his greeting to Finn, then his gaze came to rest on Jill, and she felt her entire body blush at his inspection. ‘Turn around,’ he said.

She obeyed.

He made some sound low in his throat that could have passed as either approval or not. Then he placed a large hand on her shoulder and turned her back to face him. She noticed he wore the Kinky Boots uniform T-shirt stretched tight across his very broad chest. The shop name was punctuated by the hard pressure of nipples on muscular pecs. The black jeans he wore rode low on his hips. The wave of lust that rushed over her was staggering. How had she not noticed how sexy he was?

Then Finn moved to stand beside him, and she understood. Even though Meinrad was by far the larger man, Finn dominated the room. Finn dominated the space. Finn dominated every second of the last twenty-four hours of her life, as though he had shoved his way in and pushed everything else out. It did things to her, that thought, things that were way beyond lust, things that were a lot more frightening than being possessed by a demon.

He stood gazing down at her from some neutral distance that made her feel very much alone, as though the world and everyone in it had receded, leaving her to await her fate. Eleanor was keeping a low profile. Finn spoke without preamble. ‘Unless something’s hurting you, while Meinrad’s binding you, you’re not to speak. You’re only to move when he moves you. You’re to do exactly as he says. You’re to accept what he does to you in total passivity. Is that clear?’

‘Is he going to fuck me?’ She was embarrassed the minute she said it but it was too late to take it back.

‘If I want him to, yes,’ Finn said.

If Finn wanted him to. Dear God, what was she doing? Suddenly she felt unsteady on her feet. She didn’t know Meinrad. Not like she knew Finn. And yet the thought of the big man hammering her with his enormous cock while she was all trussed up was at least as exciting as it was uncomfortable. The thought that he would do so only at Finn’s bidding excited her even more.

‘There’ll be no safe word,’ Finn continued. ‘All you have to do is tell Meinrad to stop. Or if at any time he thinks you’re not fit to continue, he’ll stop, and that’ll be that. Are we clear?’

She nodded. ‘And what about you?’

‘Meinrad’s acting on my behalf.’ Finn held her in a cool gaze. ‘He’ll do as I say, and so will you, unless you choose at any point not to play.’ For a long moment he studied her, as though he might see something, perhaps some flaw, perhaps some weakness, she didn’t know what. He seemed too far away to tell. She held her breath. Waiting.

At last he blinked and stepped back, still holding her gaze. ‘I’ll ask you again, Jill. Are you sure this is what you want?’

She nodded, afraid to speak for fear her heart would jump out of her throat. Then she remembered to breathe again.

Finn said nothing. He took her hands in his and offered them to Meinrad, who took both her wrists in one huge palm and tied them across one another in a simple looped knot from which she could have easily escaped if she’d wanted. Then he led her to the bed and guided her onto it. There, he secured her hands to the headboard with several feet of slack, enough to allow him to work around her and at the same time allow Finn to observe from every angle. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Finn had pulled a ladder back chair to the side of the bed and sat emotionlessly looking on. A quick glance was all she got before Meinrad settled her into a kneeling position facing the wall with her hands resting on the headboard.

In the beginning, it felt as though she were being decorated with rope; that’s the best way Jill could describe what Meinrad was doing to her. The rope was softer than she expected it to be and not unpleasant against her bare skin. The embarrassment she felt came, flashed hot, then passed as Meinrad looped the rope and efficiently placed knots above her breasts and then below and then tightened and cinched his efforts until the harnessing effect squeezed and pinched and offered up each of her breasts in a tight little nest of rope, like ripe fruit topped by the cherry-hard rise of her nipples. She’d always had sensitive breasts and to have them so handled and bound made her whole chest burn with a need that was replicated in her pussy.

Meinrad worked in complete silence, his hands moving over her body as though she were nothing more than the canvas for what he was creating. His touch was exacting and his rhythm as he worked was hypnotic. Early on she realised that one of his hands was on her at all times. She remembered basic knot training from her childhood days in the Girl Guides. Right over left and under and through. Left over right and under and through. Rope threaded through competent fingers, rope slid over bare skin, coiling, twisting, binding, descending right over left and left over right, pressing a column of knots down the length of her spine before looping around her waist and embracing her belly. Again. And again. Yes, she was his canvas, and what he created took its shape against her flesh, but his art didn’t happen without exacting a price from him, and in her peripheral vision, as he reached around her to secure a knot over her navel, she caught a glimpse of the erection set tight in his black jeans, and she felt the hitch of his breathing not quite hidden in the rhythm of right over left, left over right. As he crossed the ropes around her body, she felt the heat of his breath whisper along her back next to the weaving and twisting and soft swishing of the rope along her spine.

With a tug of the rope every pore of her body responded to the tightening just as he nestled a knot against the pucker of her bottom and her gasp sounded like a rush of wind in the stretching silence. Meinrad gave a little pull and her clit hardened in empathy with the pressure between her buttocks. Then without warning, he slipped an arm around her and turned her over as he pulled two strands of rope up between her legs, up tight against her upper thighs like the elastic of knickers, or a tightly cinched climber’s harness. That done, with a deft movement of his fingers he secured a knot just over her clit, and this time she cried out in the strange mix of discomfort and arousal. The whole gape of her was pressed between the two strands of rope, knotted at fore and aft like a ship, narrow and thick-hulled.

There was barely time to get used to the strange rub and pressure between her legs, or the knot that felt like the tip of a thick finger attempting to breach her bottom, before Meinrad began to bind her thighs to her lower legs and ankles, making the position in which she knelt mandatory. With each knot, with each looping of the rope, he forced her bent legs further apart until she was wide open, yet at the same time held closed by the ropes between her legs. Bound and kneeling on the bed, she tried to breathe deeply, tried to fight back the panic of her own helplessness, something she had never experienced before. She was dangerously close to hyperventilating, and Eleanor seemed to be completely absent from the whole event.

‘Shall I continue?’ Meinrad asked.

*****

K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she, cuz otherwise, what would she write about?

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband recently walked the Coast to Coast rout across England. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots.

K D has erotica published with Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.

K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Book two, Riding the Ether, is now available.

K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall.

http://kdgrace.co.uk
http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
http://www.twitter.com/KD_Grace

Guest Blog: Justine Elyot

His House of SubmissionCountry House

There’s something about a country house, isn’t there? Especially when it comes to erotica. So many of my favourite stories take place in remote ancestral piles that I could almost classify it as a fetish.

I’ve indulged this taste of mine in my new Mischief novella, His House of Submission. Jasper’s house full of antique furniture, set in lavish grounds, makes for a perfect bubble away from the real world – a fantasy place where he and Sarah, the graduate student he has hired to catalogue his collections of artefacts, can play to their heart’s content, away from prying eyes. (Or can they?)

I’m a lover of rolling lawns, overgrown walled gardens, gravel paths and statuary outside. Inside I like a huge central staircase, wood panelling, writing desks and four poster beds. All of these are in evidence at Jasper’s house. I wish I could live there. With Jasper.

Here’s an excerpt:

‘What room are you working in at the moment?’ he asked.

‘The, uh, the one with the piano.’

‘The drawing room,’ he corrected me. ‘I’ll be in the study. Come and wait outside in, shall we say, two hours? That’ll give me enough time to devise something suitable.’

Instant shivers. Something suitable.

‘Run along then, Sarah,’ he said with a ghoulish smile. ‘We mustn’t neglect our work, must we?’

But I’m afraid I did neglect my work.

Over and over again I came to with a start, some ornament or other in my hand, after drifting into reverie. If I carried on like that, something was going to get broken. And then what might be my fate? I kept going to the door and looking around it, towards the study, listening. Sometimes I could hear his voice, faintly, making telephone calls, or the tap of a keyboard.

While he worked, he was thinking of me. Thinking of what was to be done with me, for my shameless behaviour with his property.

And while I worked, I was thinking of him. Thinking of how he compelled and disturbed and attracted and repelled me. I had never met a man who could do all those things simultaneously before. Perhaps there was no other man in the world who could.

The hands of all the antique clocks made their slow forward progress through time until the two hours had elapsed and I put down my clipboard and pencil, patted down my skirt and left the room.

I could keep walking, walk to the front door, walk to the car, get in the car, drive away.

But I stopped at the study door and lifted my hand and…

I heard his chair creak.

I knocked.

He didn’t reply.

I knocked again.

‘Come in.’

The study was a glorious room and his desk was one of my favourite pieces in the whole house. Mahogany with brass handles and a green leather writing area in the shape of a cross, on top of which his computer looked somewhat incongruous. He should be writing longhand with parchment and ink. There was a raised gallery at the back of the desk, along which were perched a procession of film awards, the Palme d’Or in pride of place.

I breathed in the beeswax and stillness, letting it calm my jangling nerves.

‘Sarah,’ he said, sitting back in his oxblood leather chair. ‘Now we come to the real test.’

‘Do we?’

He opened a drawer and brought out the strop. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, staring at it.

 

Uh oh! What happens next? Well, here’s the blurb and a buy link:

He’s a collector with some kinky interests on the side. She’s here to catalogue his possessions. But will she end up being one of them?

Sarah turns up at Jasper Jay’s country house thinking she has been hired to make an inventory of his large collection of historical artefacts. But when she and her lover, Will, are caught by the boss sneaking a peek at some of his more private pieces, she starts to suspect an ulterior motive. Alone with Jasper Jay in his secluded manor, Sarah finds herself enthralled by the enigmatic collector, especially given the intimate interest she shares with him. Pretty soon, they’re entangled in an intense relationship of domination and submission that excludes the rest of the world. Until it intrudes, in the form of a vengeful Will, bent on exposing everything his erstwhile boss has worked so hard to keep secret.

Available at Amazon etc. and via Mischief Books website: http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/his-house-submission/