Tudor Sex Toys

I'm currently doing a Google search for possible Tudor era implements that could be used as sex toys. My prince has to figure out a way to procure said inventive "toys". I love my job.

Research and Handi-Snacks

I'm munching on old school bread and cheese Kraft handi-snacks as I do a little cover my tracks work this afternoon. I signed up for my second course in Romance Writing 2 at Gotham Workshop's which is slotted for October 9th. I've also been agonizing over every word in chapter three of my book. I've revised it three times. Now I just think it's time to move on, but it will be hard when I'm not entirely happy with it. This is where my book starts to pick up speed and get a little messy, a part of me just wants to avoid the conflict altogether by keeping everyone safe. Like my characters are real people. Funny how that works.

I also have the job of re-working an erotica piece and figuring out where it's going to go after being rejected by another anthology. Just drowning in work lately with not a whole lot to show for it, at least in the finance department. Let's hope that turns around after I edit this piece.

My boss had to lay me off after a massive virus wiped out a good portion of his blog sites. So no secondary income for me anymore. But it does give me more time to create what I enjoy rather than just creating for simple word counts.

I only have to wait until February before my four e-books come out. I've been frantically checking out Excessica's "Coming Soon" section at least once a day because their display is on December now.

My husband and I just had our reception. It was really, really nice. Totally perfect with my color scheme of lime green, dark purple, and blue. I loved it. Now we also have a large assortment of rolls and corn in our fridge. The pig we had roasted got devoured really quickly. Sad.

Romance Writing is F**king Hard

So, my class is going fairly well. Although, getting criticism on a book that you're only three chapters into is aggravating at the best of times. I have to change so much already before I continue it makes me want to run away from my computer screen and never open up the document again. The way I write this book though, well I might just finish it.

I've never made my own paranormal world let alone one based off of succubi and incubus. It's hard to give the readers enough information, when they keep calling for more, but not doing a massive info dump and turning everyone off from the storyline. This is quite possibly the hardest task I've ever set myself towards. Although, I've found writing in separate word documents for each chapter so that it looks like only ten pages each is a very nice way to go about things. There's less mental strain on my brain and less pressure to create because I can't see the pages that went before the one's I'm looking over.

For homework I'm transfixed with Succubus Blues by Richelle Mead. It only started out as a way for me to size up competition while figuring out how she managed her characters in a contemporary setting like mine. Now not only do I love her books, I don't really have a whole hell of a lot of answers to my questions. Although, I have sized up the competition, and I am scared. Can I write to her level? I have no idea. But now is not the time for an Emo-like rant. Now is the time for action. Or more reading of Succubus Blues.

Spanking Tour Spot 2!

If you love, love, love spanking, or just want to read about it, head on over to Heidi Champa's blog for the next installment on Alison Tyler's Spanking Tour. Where the fun stops, nobody knows!

Spanking Tour

This is a small snippet from the middle of a short e-book I have coming out in February 2010 from Excessica.com called Checkout. Hope you enjoy!

“I need identification, Paul.”

“You...what?”

“Identification. For your cigarettes, it's state law here. If I don't check it I'll get fired.”

I knew I wouldn't get fired. I just couldn't watch him move away from me as the ache in my pussy grew worse, untouched. I pushed the only button I had left and watched his eyes smolder and bore into me with his anger. I knew what was coming next. I had baited it.

“What the fuck, Jennifer? Are you serious? You know how old I am!” He hissed under his breathe.

He was close to me now. Hovering over the counter-top with his hands spread apart. They were larger than I remembered. It formed a lump in my throat. I could smell the mint on his breathe. Feel the clothe of his shirt as it rubbed against my wrist. A faint pounding in my head. I twirled my pink hair around my finger feigning disinterest. Leaning against the counter so my v-neck shirt gave him a good view of my ample cleavage.

“ID. Please. Sir.” Each word soft and slow.

I smirked and smacked my lips together trying to look as innocent as possible when his hands plunged down to the sides of my shirt collar and lifted me from the ground. I dangled like a helpless rag doll. A secret laughter bubbled up inside me from his angry touch. The feel of his now warm hands on either side of my neck made my pulse quicken, mouth dry. My fingers roamed over the crotch of my pants. I giggled in relief as he pulled me against the counter so hard I knew my hip bones would bruise in the morning. He flicked his tongue over my lips. The light sensation undid me at the seams and my body shuddered in his grip. A gasp that made the lines he was tracing on my upper lip cold, sensual.

Then he was kissing me, pulling at my lips with his teeth as the distant rip of fabric pulled me back to a solid reality. He, with help from gravity, had torn the collar off my polo shirt. I was back on my feet, his arms around my waist, a solid immoveable force. Several layers of concrete separated my hands from the straining cock in his pants. My hands were pressed against the cotton of my hips by his grip. I longed to have his solid length pushing against my throat. I could see if I looked down over the edge of the counter.

He watched me looking at his slacks as they became a cage of flesh for his hard-on and he yanked me up, out, and over the counter top. One minute I was standing straight, his hands along my lower back, fingers a vice against my hips. The next minute he had lifted me up and placed me on my stomach over the counter. My head hung down underneath the register. The wind knocked out of me as my head swam from the swift blow to my stomach. I could smell my fear. My hair obscured everything in cotton candy rainbows. There was no time for a protest. I wouldn't dare. But my hands grasped for purchase along the underside of the counter. I gripped it for dear life.

Blood thundered towards my skull. The silence after every movement made me freeze up. I could taste the rush of adrenaline lacing my limbs as I heard the familiar click of the pocket knife. A solid rip of pressure down the seam of my jeans. I prayed he wouldn't flinch as a whimper passed my lips. The knife blade grazed my skin. A pins and needles tickle that ran down my ass crack and taunted my clit. He was carving at the fabric. Every push-pull made the jeans ride up higher against my slick pussy. Every inch he gained made me gasp from the cold air prickling on my skin. Adrenaline made me faint with the need for contact. I was sure he could feel the wetness of my hungry cunt. The sweet smell of my uncontrolled pussy juices as he peeled away the cloth from my ass cheeks.

My jeans were slinking down my legs in his tight fists. His cropped nails grazed my calve and I tried not to writhe. He wouldn't like me to writhe. A slight tug at my shoe and I was exposed. Hot breathe trailed up me from ankle to ass as he moved from his crouch eliciting a shiver.

He murmured in appreciation before rubbing his thick calloused hands over the globes of my ass. My whimpers became audible to my own ears and he hadn't even done anything yet. It made him chuckle before I could hear his strained voice and feel his breathe along the center of my spine.

“I saw you reject that poor boy, Jennifer. You lied to him when you should have been moving on from me. Good girls don't lie, right, Jennifer?”

I bit my lower lip to keep from talking and nodded, simply knowing what he wanted me to do in my role. My breasts ached heavily against the counter they were draped over as my thighs and knees grew tense and raw with the need to stretch. My ass was in the air and my feet couldn't touch the ground. I tried my best not to squirm into a more comfortable position as his hands smoothed down my taunt leg muscles.

I heard the blow zing through the air before it hit me on the right ass cheek, making me suck in a sharp breathe. The palm of his hand cupped me gently for just a second longer. My pussy clenched rhythmically as the next blow fell on the opposite side. Heat melted from my ass to the rest of my body. A pleasurable sore tingle mounting along my spine.

I couldn't help but struggle against the sticky Formica. He held me in place with one bruising hand along my hip and delivered one hot smack after the other, alternating sides of my ass. The sound of it echoed up to the rafters and the store was alive with my moans. I began to pinch my hard nipples in time to his spanks as my stomach and breasts jutted up and down across the table with every thrust of his palm. Everything grated against my sore, eager flesh.

* * * *

You'll be able to read more of that next year in Checkout. Along with three other awesome flavors of BDSM goodness in e-book form on Excessica.com shortly thereafter. I'm also working on an anthology of erotic fairytales, short-short 250 lines of erotica in every story anthology, and an anthology all about little plaid skirts and the people who like to wear them, erotica, of course. So, update your calenders and look for those next year!