Friday, 30 January 2015
Download Part Two for FREE from Smashwords (http://ow.ly/HYZ2E). Use coupon code WN77F at checkout. Be sure to act soon, the coupon expires on February 2! If you download it for free and enjoy what you read, please write a review with your favorite retailer.
Find Part Two Online
*Coming soon to more locations!
Paranormal Erotica/Dubious Consent
Part Two of Christina Harding's Underneath the Gargoyle paranormal erotic series: What happens to Trisha in the catacombs?
Also in the Series
*Underneath the Gargoyle: A Prologue (http://ow.ly/HYZ8Y)
*Underneath the Gargoyle: Part One (http://ow.ly/HYZbs)
*You can subscribe to Christina’s mailing list (http://ow.ly/HYY4i) for updates on her newest releases.
Advance Praise for Underneath the Gargoyle: Part Two
"The first installment in this series is what got me started on reviewing with Christina, and my only complaint was that it ended much too abruptly. This was certainly one of those stories that cries out for a sequel, and Christina has finally delivered.
The story picks up right where we left off, with naughty Catholic schoolgirl Trisha carried off into the catacombs. Her boyfriend Kyle and best friend Olivia are searching for her, though it’s not clear she even wants to be rescued: A new series of stone creatures is keeping her very busy. What will they find when they finally locate her?
Go pick this one up, you won’t regret it." ~5* review by Michael Dalton
"I do love the update to your story." ~First Pass Editor
"Would it be improper of me to admit that I enjoyed this?" ~Second Pass Editor
And here’s a real treat for you…I asked Christina for a juicy paragraph from her new book as a taster. She’s done you proud…here’s the little known prologue to Underneath the Gargoyle. Enjoy!
Underneath the Gargoyle: A Prologue
By Christina Harding
Copyright © 2014 Christina Harding. All rights reserved. Individuals pictured are models and are used for illustrative purposes only.
Marissa stares up at the gargoyles at the top of the church and frowns. She fumbles with her polaroid camera, frames one of the gargoyles in the viewfinder using the zoom function to get a close-up, and snaps a picture, her fingers going numb in the frigid cold air. I wish I had my textbook on gothic churches with me, Marissa thinks as she stands in front of the church, waving the polaroid and waiting for it to develop. Her eyes widen with excitement as she remembers she did, in fact, bring the text.
Still waiting for the photo to develop, Marissa sits down on the steps of the church, despite the fact that they have iced over, and flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. There is an entire chapter devoted to this church with detailed photographs of its features, including the gargoyles. She finds a photo of her gargoyle, the one who looks like a dragon. He is sitting in a crouching position, as usual, and he is baring his teeth as if he’s about to exhale a ferocious flame of fire.
The polaroid of this same gargoyle is starting to come into focus, but his teeth aren’t bared. He’s crouching, but he’s staring almost peacefully off into the distance. Her heart racing, Marissa slips the photo into the text as a bookmark, and stands up to get another look at the gargoyle.
His teeth are bared again like in the textbook, but not like the polaroid she took just moments ago. What the heck? Marissa thinks. Trembling, she looks down at her polaroid again. How could this be possible? The gargoyle must have moved while I was flipping through my textbook! she thinks. She takes another photo of the dragon-like gargoyle, now baring his teeth, and then sets off, hustling to the university with a skip in her step.
“Professor John!” Marissa calls out to her thesis advisor, knocking on the door to his office. He opens the door.
“Marissa!” he says, sounding surprised. “Come on in!” he opens the door wide, and Marissa slips through. His office is warm and welcoming with a fire sparkling in the fireplace.
“I have found some solid evidence to support my theory of cryptozoology.” she announces, excited and still breathless from running.
Professor John closes the door to his office and sits down at his desk, waving for her to sit down too. “What have you found?” He sounds eager.
“The gargoyle on top of the church,” she pulls out her two photographs, “I caught him moving today.” Marissa hands her photos to the Professor.
He adjusts his reading glasses and gives the polaroids a long look. “When did you take these pictures?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes ago. I came straight here. I took the photos only about a minute or two apart,” Marissa rushes to explain.
“You realize the implications of this are huge?” Professor John says, placing the pictures on his desk. “This could be a major breakthrough in the study of cryptozoology.” Marissa’s heart swells with excitement, but the professor continues, “You know, not everyone is going to believe the authenticity of these photos. To date, every picture of a cryptid has been debunked. How are you going to prove that your photos are genuine and that they were taken only within minutes of each other? Who’s to say they weren’t taken years apart and that the gargoyle was not modified?”
Marissa finds herself flushing; she was not expecting such a skeptical reaction. Stammering for a response, she asks, “Do you believe me?”
“I think, a girl such as yourself, should not sully her hands in such matters.”
Shocked, Marissa is speechless.
Noticing her vulnerability, Professor John continues, “It must have been hard to get here so quickly.” He looks pointedly at Marissa’s stretching belly. “When are you due?”
Marissa rubs her growing bump, finding her voice again, “In thirty-five days.”
“As it seems, a child out of wedlock will cast shadow on your moral integrity. You are going to need someone to support your claim, someone with credibility.”
“As my thesis advisor, can’t you…?” Marissa begins to ask.
“Oh yes, that would seem like the obvious choice, wouldn’t it?” Rising from his seat, Professor John rounds his desk and approaches Marissa, “That would require extra effort on my part. And so, I would expect extra from you in return.”
Hoping she’s hearing him correctly, Marissa eagerly responds, “Oh thank you, Professor! I would be happy to do whatever it takes!”
Professor John reaches up and brushes the hair on the side of her cheek. “I was hoping you would say that.” His hand traces down her neck and starts circling her breast.
Marissa tries to back up, but has nowhere to go. She tries to protest, “I love Matthew Cohen.”
“Even though he won’t marry you? He has left you for any man to take.” Professor John reaches up with his other hand and starts caressing both of her breasts.
“Matthew’s status with the church requires certain obligations.” Marissa futilely explains. She tries to squirm away from the Professor.
“None of this. Lay down on my desk now,” the Professor commands.
“No, and get your hands off me!” Marissa insists. She stands up and attempts to brush by the Professor, but he blocks her way.
“If you’re not going to play nicely, I can just get rid of your evidence,” the professor says, grabbing the polaroids off of his desk and holding them over the fire.
“No! Don’t!!” Marissa exclaims, lying down on the desk. “Please….”
“I knew you would come around.” Much to her surprise, the Professor grabs the elastic waist band of her maternity clothes and pulls them down exposing her to the office. Marissa tries to clench her legs together in a last attempt for modesty, but even as she does so, she feels her pussy start to tingle with expectancy.
The Professor pries her legs open and props them on his shoulders, one on each. Marissa feels the heat of the fire directly on her most private space as it starts to drip. Out of obligation, Marissa cries out, “Please don’t. I love Matthew!” even though her body is yearning for more.
Ignoring her pleas, the Professor zips down his fly and pulls out his swollen cock through the front of his boxers. Even though the skin around his potbelly is loose with middle age, his rod is still firm and hard, ready to enter this flesh which is thirty years younger than himself. Professor John caresses Marissa’s youthful labia with the head of his dick, following the folds around her cunt. Marissa tingles as a rush of blood to her pussy makes her fully engorged. She moans.
The professor is still fully dressed in his suit, his pants hiked up around his waist. Just his pink, swollen dick is unveiled, poking out of his boxers from a mass of curly pubic hair. Meanwhile, Marissa is completely exposed from the waist down, and her shirt is starting to ride up over her swollen belly.
Smearing his pre-cum across her labia, the Professor observes, “I wonder how much you really love him. You seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit.” He poises the tip of his cock right at the opening of her throbbing hole, entering her with just the head, wavering on the brink of her crevice.
“Oh please…” Marissa starts whimpering. But as she says it, she realizes she’s not asking him to stop, but actually begging for more.
“Now tell me, what are you planning on naming your child?”
Marissa tries to focus, “If it’s a boy, we want to name him Kyle.”
The Professor enters her completely. Marissa’s vagina seizes with surprise, but releases with pleasure. She feels a gush of wet escape her pussy. “Kyle is a solid name,” the Professor tells her.
He draws slowly out of her, but then thrusts in again, quickly. Marissa shouts, “Oh, Professor John!” Her body shakes with pleasure, droplets of sweat forming on her pregnant belly.
Her baby has increased the pressure inside of her, making her tighter than she was as a virgin. Her toes curl as she revels in the exquisite sensation. She’s more sensitive than she’s ever been before. Maybe it’s the change in my hormones? she asks herself. Marissa can feel Professor John’s every movement as his aged, but rigid, cock rocks inside of her. “You are so tight,” he moans.
The Professor cups his hands around her belly and feels her baby kick. “Your child knows you aren’t being faithful to its father.”
Marissa feels the baby kick too, and tingling excitement ripples across her abdomen. She looks up at the professor and sees his face contort in pleasure, his bifocals sitting askew.
The professor reaches down and starts stroking Marissa’s clit. Her legs twitch involuntarily, and her body shudders. Marissa grabs the edge of the desk and pulls herself towards her superior so that he can drive more deeply into her. The Professor grabs around Marissa’s legs with his free hands and bucks harder into his student.
All of a sudden Marissa, feels her orgasm coming. “I’m almost there!” She rolls her head back, “Don’t stop!!” The professor obliges, continuing to pump into her and rubbing furiously on her clit.
Marissa and Professor John reach climax at the same moment. She twists and contorts as the pain of a contraction mixed with the releasing pleasure of an orgasm emanates across her body. John clutches her legs to his chest as he shoots deep within her expectant body. He lets out a grunt of pleasure.
There is a knock at the door.
Abruptly both teacher and student are both brought back to the present. Before they have a chance to respond, the door opens and they hear, “Is everything okay Professor?” Then a head pokes through the door.
It is Matthew.
His eyes go round as he takes in the scene in front of him.
Marissa stumbles up as best as she can with her baby bump. “Matthew, this is not what it looks like!”
Matthew’s face gets dark. “I saw he was inside of you. I know what happened here; there’s no need to say anymore.”
“No, Matthew!” Marissa insists, but Matthew has snapped the door shut. Tears start to stream down her face.
“Like I said, he’s left you available for anyone to take. And, there’s no need to lie; we both know you enjoyed it,” the Professor tells her, zipping up his pants. He casually picks up her polaroids on his way out of the office and tosses them into the fire. “Also, the cryptozoology of the gargoyles – that needs to remain a secret.”
If you liked Christina Harding’s free story, then you may enjoy the rest of her UNDERNEATH THE GARGOYLE series as well. A PROLOGUE is also available for FREE download from Smashwords.
Christina Harding is a pseudonym. She is a guest blogger for Romance at Random of Random House and the author of Underneath the Gargoyle, a paranormal erotic series. She also blogs at www.christinahardingerotica.blogspot.com and tweets @tinaerotica. Christina is happily married and enjoys reading sexy stories with her husband.
Friday, 23 January 2015
Directed and written by Liliana Cavani, the controversial film “The Night Porter,” “Il Portiere di Notte”, was released in 1974. The film features Dirk Bogarde, as Max, a discreet, unassuming night porter in an exclusive Viennese hôtel and Charlotte Rampling, Lucia, as the figure from his past, who continues to haunt Max.
The year is 1957. Max tends to the hôtel guest’s needs; everything to providing a glass of cold water, to a bed-warming gigolo. Through a series of flashbacks, we learn that during the dark years of World War II, Max was an S.S. officer at a Nazi concentration camp where Lucia was a beautiful, young prisoner. Lucia, became Max's sexual slave, a position that she apparently relished.
The moment where the two recognise each other in the lobby of the hôtel is compelling. Both remember. The flashbacks tell of the chilling photographs Max took of Lucia, while pretending to be a physician. Through the flashbacks appropriate to Lucia, the viewer learns of episodes of rape, sodomy, and torture. Lucia is afraid. The viewer soon realises that it is not Max that she is afraid of, but the primal, carnal power of their relationship.
Max was not simply Lucia’s tormentor. He was her protector. It is a scenario which we see rewritten in our own contemporary erotica. “The Night Porter” is a pertinent template for any “Daddy’s Little Girl”, tale; it whispers and awakens forbidden fantasies. It allows us the space to relish the darker side of desire.
Charlotte Rampling, for her part, insisted that she knew nothing about sadomasochism before embarking on the film. 'The girl had to be an innocent, both fearful, and tempted by the mysteries of unknown pleasures,' she said.
If the scene in the hôtel lobby is compelling, the scene at the opera is electric. Max is seated a few rows behind Lucia and her husband. A sensation causes Lucia to turn. She meets Max’s eyes. She turns away, then turns again. He is still there, willing her to hold his gaze. She turns away, then looks again. Max is gone.
Lucia stays in Vienna after her husband travels on. She wants to see Max, and they find themselves caught up in a renewal of their former sadomasochistic relationship. But Max is to be tried for his war crimes. His former S.S. comrades have been carefully destroying documents and "filing away" witnesses to clear all their names, and while Max tries to keep Lucia's existence a secret from them, they eventually find out about her. They consider her a threat, and they urge Max to turn her over to them. He quits his job, and he and Lucia hide out in his apartment, while his former friends keep watch, waiting for the opportunity to strike.
Filmmaker Liliana Cavani visited a Nazi concentration camp after WW II and interviewed a woman who had been involved in a sadomasochistic relationship with a guard. She then made her story the basis for this powerfully, compelling film.
Liliana Cavani certainly gives her audience a strange and unforgettable picture that questions deeply the psyches of torturers and the tortured, “The Night Porter” presents its psychoanalytically provocative material without exploitation. On another level it deals with the psychological condition known as Stockholm Syndrome
where the victim develops an empathy with his or her abuser.
In an iconic scene, Lucia sings a Marlene Dietrich song to the concentration camp guards while wearing pieces of an SS uniform, and Max "rewards" her with the severed head of a male inmate who had been bullying the other inmates. Max has previously described his relationship with Lucia as “Biblical,” but he cannot remember the story in the Bible that draws him. Then he remembers. It is the story of Salome. King Herod presents Salome with the severed head of John the Baptist as a reward for her display of erotic dance.
In responses to “The Night Porter”, Liliana Cavani was both celebrated for her courage in dealing with the theme of sexual transgression and, simultaneously, castigated for the controversial manner in which she presented that transgression: within the context of a Nazi Holocaust narrative. The film has been accused of mere sensationalism: film critic Roger Ebert calls it "as nasty as it is lubricious, a despicable attempt to titillate us by exploiting memories of persecution and suffering.” Given the film's dark and disturbing themes and a somewhat ambiguous moral clarification at the end, “The Night Porter”, has tended to divide audiences. It is, however, the film for which Liliana Cavani is best known.
I was transfixed by Liliana Cavani’s film when I first saw it, many years ago. I was transfixed again when I watched it yesterday. “The Night Porter” tells of terrible things, and the Holocaust tells a tale of the worst that human beings can ever be. Would Max and Lucia have entered into this distorted, warped love affair -- and it is most certainly, definitely a true love affair, without the Holocaust? Well, of course we don’t know. Would our world today be the same had the Holocaust never happened? Again, we don’t know. The Holocaust is our shame as human beings. We need to be reminded, we need the mirror to be held up to our dirty faces, and if this can be only achieved through a film such as “The Night Porter,” well that’s fine with me.
“The bulk of the Nazi war crime trials took place right after 1945. Basically, from 1945 to 1949, there were parallel Allied tribunals and German courts. The German courts largely dealt with crimes committed against German citizens; the Allied courts dealt with all others, which meant the majority of Nazi crimes. These proceedings petered out by the end of the 1940s and early 1950s largely because West German society suppressed the past and preferred not to talk about it. Nazi crimes hardly found mention in public discourse in the early 1950s.
Thus the Ulm trial in 1958 marked the reopening of criminal proceedings against Nazi criminals. It was seen as a sign that the West German judicial system was taking the Nazi past more seriously. But the most striking thing about the Ulm trial was that it made clear that Nazi atrocities were not just committed within the Third Reich but largely in Eastern Europe.”
Friday, 16 January 2015
After the startling, yet most welcomed success of my memoir “First Tango in Paris” (which after only two months became an Amazon #1 Bestseller) I decamped to Southern Spain armed with a car boot full of my diaries and collected pictures and scribbling’s, to research and compose its ‘Conclusion’.
It was during the early stages of this process when Antonia, whom many of you will recall from “First Tango”, paid an unexpected visit. It was supposed to have been a quick five-day catch-up, which wholly unintentionally turned into a fourteen-day adventure like no other, culminating in a very intense erotic evening of pure decadence and debauchery held in the Marbella villa of Antonia’s ´Master`. Breaking boundaries and pushing limits was the theme.
In the period before she arrived, I personally experienced as you’d expect a number of highly erotic interludes of my own, several occurring at a rather fun beach close to the house I was renting, all of which are explicitly documented in the book.
The following accurately recaps what transpired during this brief but fun filled period: A period I feel that I was justifiably ‘Distracted’.
Warning: Not for the Shy or Feint of Heart
Chapter Two: The Beach “Au Naturel”
Thursday arrived, yet another sunny warm day was predicted, and having popped to a sports shop in the local shopping mall a few miles away and buying a really swish ruck sac with pockets everywhere, chosen with great care, or rather closer to the truth, getting swayed by the pretty coloured one, which conveniently had a compartment that would comfortably take a freezer brick and a bottle of white wine; I was prepared!
Having packed a few beach essentials along with two plastic wine glasses that I’d found in one of the cupboards along with a bottle opener, I was ready for my first little sortie. Having talked the previous evening to Paul on Skype and telling him my plans he told me in his own inimitable way to go explore, have fun but above all enjoy.
Promptly at midday there was a knock on the door and Rubens stood there smiling, explaining that to save walking we’d be going in his jeep, and to pop the ruck sac in the back with what looked like his own very “comprehensive” beach equipment.
Absolutely true to his word we were only on the main coast road for a few hundred meters until he turned off on to a well-worn track heading towards the beach. It was definitely an ‘off road’ experience, all dusty and very bumpy, but we arrived at a spot virtually on the beach, where there were already a few cars and 4x4’s parked up on a bit of scorched land, which was obviously a popular parking spot and could accommodate about a dozen or so vehicles.
Either side there were large Palm tree growing areas, which ran right up to the edge of the sand and stretched as far as you could see left and right. We quickly unloaded his jeep and I followed him to what he said was his preferred spot.
Having pitched up he very swiftly erected a small half tent, which served three main purposes, namely, a privacy area, a wind break if it got breezy and a cool shaded area to keep the wine and nibbles that he’d also brought along.
We both quickly took our clothes off, both pretending not to be looking and checking one another out, and placed them out of the way inside the tent. Immediately we both decided it would be rude to not open the wine and make a toast to the day ahead. Also it would give me a good opportunity to take in the scene around me, while he explained the very clear etiquette expected at this particular beach.
Relaxing with a nice glass of wine I had a good view of the entire beach, quickly noting that there was a good mixture of couples and singles enjoying the weather and ambience, whilst having plenty of space to themselves. I could see what Rubens meant when he’d said that it could get a bit overwhelming at weekends, especially during the main holiday months of July and August.
It was an idyllic spot, which had a very definite frisson of electricity running just under the surface, which gave it a bit of an edge and a very exciting hedonistic ambiance.
Over the course of a few glasses of wine I noticed a few people disappearing into the palmed area, which left nothing to my very vivid imagination. I soon came clean with Rubens, explaining to him the purpose of my stay in Almayate and the success of my first book; this had him intrigued. I knew as soon as he was back at his “casa” he’d be downloading and reading it.
When I mentioned to him that I’d noted the comings and goings behind the beach, he explained that it was known as a ‘play area’, where people who felt the urge could go and play alone or in groups, basically a fun area where anything goes. He explained it was very safe and great fun, but that you were fair game if you wandered inside. This coupled with the wine and being naked was having its normal arousing effect on me. Rubens was very different from the type of man that I’d normally enjoy a one on one with, however, there was something about him that was very sexually inviting.
I could tell he was really enjoying the whole situation and he was most definitely getting turned on explaining the extracurricular beach activities. He was most undeniably not the shy type and he was getting a real thrill knowing that I was openly admiring, what was by now was a most impressive erection. His body was well defined which he explained was due to long walks and frequent mountain climbs in the close by Sierra Nevada mountain range, close to Granada.
It wasn’t long till the conversation got very flirty and daring, which was just heightening the tension and the feeling of the ‘will we, wont we’ scenario. Thankfully when things started to play out in earnest there was nothing as obvious as offering to rub sun cream in my shoulders, he just on occasion and fleetingly teased my already erect nipples with a small feather from a Spanish Imperial Eagle that he’d found in the mountains on a recent trek and had kept in his ruck sac. It was a sublime and was making me very wet and ready for whatever was on the menu, which even to me was a new and wildly exciting scenario. He asked me if I was up for a dare, and taking my grinning face as a positive “yes”, he suggested that I wandered in to the palmed area through the well beaten pathway nearest to us and he’d do the same from the top end and we’d meet in the middle, and discuss what if anything we’d encountered along the way. I had the distinct feeling he’d played out this scene on more than one previous occasion, so I felt secure knowing that I was in a safe pair of hands so to speak, and said “I’m game if you are?” Upon which he scooped up any valuables and quickly went and locked them in the secure box in the back of the jeep, giving me time to compose myself and freshen up ready for the woods.
It was very exhilarating walking slowly towards the entrance, naked with a warm sun on my back and an intense heat radiating from my vagina. I soon noticed that a young guy had set up his towel and beach brolly very close to the ingress in the palms, and was watching me intently as I nervously approached, just as I was about to enter he smiled and nodded giving me an encouraging wink.
Not knowing my way, or what to expect I entered very slowly and cautiously at first, my senses were on full alert, which added to my sexual anticipation. The wine as always gave me a high degree of bravado and the overall feeling of being naked and not knowing what lay ahead was intensely liberating. I slowly followed the path and within a few minutes I passed an elderly couple that were walking back towards the exit with grins and knowing smiles, which encouraged me to continue. Seconds later I saw out the corner of my eye some movement, which as I got a bit closer turned out to be a middle-aged man enjoying himself, gently stroking his cock while smiling my way. Being the generous natured person that I am I stopped, and made eye contact and returned the smile whilst gently playing with my nipples. My reaction encouraged him to really stroke himself in a more lewd and exhibitionistic fashion, I could feel I was rapidly approaching a long overdue orgasm. I raised my leg against a palm and slowly exposed myself to him, I quickly started to spread my labia and play with my clitoris, which had an immediate effect on him, as he let out an audible groan and increased his pace. After a few moments he gasped and ejaculated a torrent of semen, the spectacle of which made me gush heavily over the trunk of the palm tree. After a few moments he wandered off, not before smiling and saying “gracias”. A great start to this little interlude at the beach, I was now well and truly in the zone and ready for some serious playtime.
Having no idea how far in I’d gone every step was like a mini adventure, always alert, always watching for movement. From the way the pathways crisscrossed and meandered in all directions it was very evident that it was a hugely popular area. I could only imagine how busy it got at the weekends. The thought of being naked in there as the sun went down and things became even wilder and above all more anonymous was raising my levels of excitement to new levels.
After a few more minutes wandering I heard a rustling as I rounded a corner, and there standing with a big grin and an even bigger erection was Rubens. It didn’t seem appropriate to say anything; we just leapt on one another and began to kiss, slowly, wetly and very erotically, all the time his erect penis was throbbing against my hipbone. He pulled me gently into a small area and immediately knelt down and slowly ran his tongue up and down each thigh, teasing me, making me groan in anticipation, as I knew that very shortly his deft tongue would find and explore my wet and very eager pussy. Indeed it didn’t take long, and removing my hands from his shoulders I seductively opened myself up for him. I was rapidly reaching that point of no holding back as he nibbled my clitoris and gently chewed on my engorged labia. I suddenly felt hugely dominant, and with one hand holding his hair I began to grind myself over his mouth, rubbing my wetness over his face until with a huge spasm pulsating through my body I gushed violently into his mouth. It was such a forceful and voluminous orgasm he struggled to cope, gagging as he tried to drink it all in. It was a wonderful feeling as he licked the remnants of liquid from my thighs, praising me on the power of my ejaculation.
It was only natural to reverse roles, so I slowly lowered myself, kissing and licking his chest on the way down to my prize. For a good length of time I used my tongue on him, running it all over his penis and gently taking each of his testicles in my mouth in turn, whilst all the while maintaining full eye contact. Suddenly his eyes gestured to me to discreetly look to the side, where standing riveted to the spot was the young man from the entrance, his large erect penis firmly throbbing, as he proudly stroked it. Clearly enjoying showing its size to me.
This was such a huge turn on for me that I just leant back on my haunches and offered Rubens my mouth to use, while firmly maintaining eye contact with the young man. This seemed to really appeal to Rubens, as he relished fucking my mouth and rubbing his erection over my lips and gently cock slapping my cheeks. It was having a similar effect on our watcher, who was now intently staring into my eyes and simultaneously increasing his ministrations to his rather splendid endowment. After several minutes I began to feel Rubens penis start to twitch and jerk as he forcefully began to ejaculate a vast stream of semen into my eager mouth, this was the catalyst for the watcher, who himself began to enjoy his own volcanic orgasm. Rubens orgasm didn’t die down for a good few moments, during which time each jet of his hot semen got progressively less until he was completely spent.
As we wandered off it was at this time that I mischievously winked at the young watcher, as he stood, still riveted to the spot, but now smiling and nodding a courteous thank you.
We made our way together this time back to our pitch and relaxed with a well-deserved glass of wine, and the promise of more to come another day, as it was fast approaching food time and my prearranged Skype catch up with Paul to discuss the updates on the house. Upon leaving our watcher waved, I waved back as I had a small inkling that I would bump into him at some stage during my time here.
One thing I also did that evening after checking in with Paul was to have a peek at the area on ‘Google Maps’. I would urge any of you interested in visiting this area and the beach in particular that you have a look. Just search ‘Almayate Playa’ and locate the wooded area between the Almanat camping site and the Rio Velez, you will have an amazing birds eye view of the play area, and can see very clearly the well-trodden paths between the trees. I was thankful that the Google satellite wasn’t overhead taking snaps whilst I was in there!
Distracted, is available at Amazon UK and Amazon US
Friday, 9 January 2015
I know I’m all about going to the extreme but, telling us where we can and can’t sit?
Last month the government made it illegal for us ladies to ‘face-sit’ a guy. Well, it’s not quite that. It’s videoing the act. Hang on, it’s not quite that either, it’s watching the video of the act of ‘face-sitting’! If all this sounds fucked up to you, then how fucked up are the knob-heads who have plotted it!
Apparently, we are not allowed to face-sit for health and safety reasons. We can gag and choke on a cock quite happily. Well, that would be right, it’s not a danger to the man. Nor can we whip some fucker’s arse unless we have a smile on our face as we do it, in case it is deemed ‘aggressive’. Personally speaking I always have a dirty grin slapped on my face when I’m whipping a guy. But, I don’t slap the grin on too hard!
Buggery was legalised some years ago. Buggering a nice tight arse is perfectly fine. That doesn’t come under the health and safety heading. Again, that’s more for the men’s enjoyment, and mine when I get the chance.
Joking aside, what are we talking about here, doing to men what they love doing the most? And, I should know, I wrote a book on it. ‘Will You be My Fantasy? When grey isn’t quite dark enough’ is all about face-sitting and dedicated to one of my callers who is in the book with his permission!
Why did I write a book on it? It’s the most popular subject my boys want to enjoy. There is nothing better than having a juicy fat cunt smothering a guy’s face. I talk about this so often I sometimes think it’s all they have on their minds.
It’s ok to die for Queen and country but not under a cunt! (Although since we live under the rule of politicians, that’s debatable…) Ask any guy which he would prefer… Can somebody tell me how many men have died this way? Fucking none, that’s how many.
Does this read too ridiculous for words? Well, guess what, the whole thing is too ridiculous for words. What are we talking about here? Killing, maiming or mutilating? No, we are talking about some people being more sexually adventurous than others.
Why the fuck should we be told what we can and can’t do in our own homes! Do we have to look out for face-sitting police checking where we are sitting?
I bet more people have died from chip pan fires. What’s next, banning us from frying our own chips!?
Get a fucking life and stop messing about with ours!
Jenny Ainslie-Turner has been working as a phone sex operator for 12 years and runs her own chatline, Jenny’s Extreme Chat. She is the author of ‘A Hands-on Guide to Phone Sex’, and ‘Will You be my Fantasy?’ and was featured in the Channel 4 documentary ‘My Phone Sex Secrets’, currently being shown on More4.
She writes a regular column for us, Gentleman Caller, about her experiences as a sex chat line operator.
Friday, 2 January 2015
I am a self-descried feminist, yet at the same time I also enjoy reading and writing BDSM. These two traits seem to contradict each other. On one hand, feminism is about the equality of the sexes, while on the other hand “dominance and submission” is literally in the definition of BDSM. And so, it has been a bit of a grapple for me to figure out how to rationalize these two opposing values.
In this rationalization, I think it’s important to keep in mind exactly what feminism entails. For this, I would like to refer you to this speech given by Emma Watson to the UN:
If you have not yet had a chance to watch this powerful and eloquent speech, I highly recommend it. Ms. Watson perfectly encapsulates my views on feminism. Unfortunately the word “feminism” has become synonymous with “man-hating” and with cold-hearted women who only care about their career. But this is not the integrity of the ideology which feminism stands for. Feminists simply believe that both sexes should be treated with the same respect and privileges. It would be hard for me to list an ideal which I hold closer to my heart.
However, I remember back to when I was as young as seven years old having dreams in which I was a slave being whipped, which I strangely enjoyed. At that time, I didn’t have the understanding or vocabulary to describe this strange joy, but in my later years I came to realize I was experiencing arousal. This type of dream reached an apex for me many years later when I was traveling in Venice, Italy (strangely enough). In this dream I was being gang-raped by three different completely unattractive men. They were practically fully clothed and I was naked. Over the years I’ve learned to have some control over my dreams, and so I manipulated it to make the scenario as vulgar as possible. I woke myself up, soaking wet. I had to go to the restroom to dry myself off. When I woke up the next morning I had completely forgotten the dream, until I discovered I still needed to dry myself off.
At this point, it’s important to backtrack. Both of the stories I have provided have been dreams. The reality of the matter is that truly whipping a slave or gang-raping a woman are horrible crimes which will have lasting effects on the physical and mental well-being of the victim. Nearly ten years ago I was home alone at around 12:30am when a stranger tried to break into my home with the intent of hurting me. Fortunately the criminal was unsuccessful in his ploy, but it left me terrified of being home alone at night. It’s a fear that has lead me to install alarm systems in my home and avoid being home alone at night whenever possible. This close call nearly ten years ago has made me feel uncomfortable in my own home ever since. I can only imagine the impact it would have had if this criminal had actually been successful.
Clearly I become aroused when BDSM graces my dreams, but pushing this line in reality is a completely different matter. However, that’s where the important distinction lies. Dreams, much like fantasies, are not reality. Many little boys love the fantasy of killing a dragon, but if faced with the “reality” of a huge fire-breathing dragon, would probably feel otherwise. This is the same case with BDSM.
There are many authors who refuse to write BDSM because they “know too many people who have been raped.” I completely sympathize and respect this concern. However, I think psychotic men who would actually rape a woman would do so regardless of whether or not they read my work. A man who would do such a thing has a lot of other problems which have little to do with my writing.
Additionally, I personally found I could only truly appreciate my own sexuality when I learned to embrace my desire for the fantasy of BDSM. Finally learning to embrace and express this fantasy originated in the very safe place of reading BDSM. Then it progressed into role-play with my husband. While this may seem more like “reality” the fact of the matter is that I’m in a loving, committed, trusting relationship, and I know that if I ever seriously conveyed any kind of discomfort my husband would stop immediately. This is fantasy because we’re “pretending.” Finally, I continued to explore my thirst for BDSM by writing some of my own in the form of a paranormal erotic novelette, Underneath the Gargoyle. The fact that this is a paranormal novelette couldn’t underscore more the fact that this is a fantasy. Embracing and exploring my love for BDSM has enriched my sex life and strengthened my relationship with my husband.
I am a feminist who also believes that sexuality is an integral part of human existence and a happy marriage. Sometimes fully embracing our sexuality entails accepting and cultivating a desire for BDSM. I write BDSM because I believe enacting our sexual fantasies in a committed, trusting relationship is another way to express our love.
Christina Harding is a pseudonym. She is a guest blogger for Romance at Random of Random House and the author of Underneath the Gargoyle a paranormal erotic series available at Amazon US and Amazon UK
She also blogs at www.christinahardingerotica.blogspot.com and tweets @tinaerotica. Christina is happily married and enjoys reading sexy stories with her husband.
Friday, 26 December 2014
I want to introduce Jenny Ainslie-Turner to you; Jenny is my friend and we follow each other on Twitter. Jenny is also a sex chat line worker. I asked her to tell me about her life as a sex chat line worker and how she got into it. As her alter ego, Jolene, Jenny talks about anything and everything to her clients. The phone calls that she responds to are graphic; taboo, not for the fainthearted. As Jolene, Jenny spins a confection of seductive dreams and garish, ghoulish nightmares, fetish and fantasy for her clients; the men who call her….Here’s what Jenny told me…it’s an intriguing slice of life…
I started doing sex chat some 12 years ago, with Datapro Services I was a complete novice at talking dirty and they gave no training. I had always worked with Army and RAF
lads for 18 years prior to this, so I sort of already knew how their minds worked.
It was at a time where I’d just broken up from my second husband and thanks to him selling my home from underneath me I became homeless. My mother, back in my home town of
Newark, found me a place close to her. So, leaving all my friends and the area that I knew and loved so well I became rather isolated. Shortly after moving back to Newark my mother suffered a heart attack and needed to be care for. I became a carer for her but the benefits to help with her care were a pittance and I was used to taking care of myself financially. I had actually seen a documentary on Channel 4 about single mums who, once their kids were at school, logged on to a sex chat company and straight away I knew that was the job for me.
I’d been around men most of my working life and rather missed the banter. And, as I was always a suggestive digestive, a prick-teaser in other words. It was the perfect job for me and I could do the hours to fit around taking care of mum. Not long into the job I realised I’d got this outrageously dirty imagination. I had discovered my writing abilities a few years before but as I was not educated I struggled to perfect my writing skills over quite a few years. As I found myself creating little fantasy worlds for my callers my writing also improved.
So, I wrote my book, “How To Talk Dirty, A Hands on Guide to Phone Sex”.
My video on YouTube was picked by a TV production company, they thought I’d look good on TV and was perfect for their doc, ’My Phone Sex Secrets’ which was shown on Channel 4. Who would have thought the documentary that started me in my line of work would eventually have me starring in a similar documentary.
Also, I now give relationship advice as part of a panel in the Metro Monday supplement. My next achievement is to have my own column of sex advice and tips. I just love helping people in all kind of ways. And, thanks to my documentary I have a successful training business, teaching would be chat girls and all ladies in the art of phone sex.
Added to this, I am writing my first work of fiction – it’s not totally fiction because there’s a good part of me and my chat calls in the book. I am writing it with one of my callers Alix James; by coincidence he’s a writer too and when we created our fantasies together over the phone we discovered a compatibility neither of us had experienced before, so much so we plan to write many books together. In fact we have become the very best of friends and I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
Alix and I are really good close friends now. I’ve met him and his family many times. We have another book out, “Dragon's Flame”. It's the first in a trilogy of shape-shifting dragons. We plan to write many more in the next two years. That's what I hope to be, just an author.
You can find Jenny at her website. Jenny’s books are available there too.
Jenny can be found on Twitter; jennyjo121
Her books are all available at Amazon UK and Amazon US
Jenny also has a column in Rude magazine -- Rude conversations -- every fortnight. There is a channel 4 tv programme about her -- My Phone Sex Secrets -- you should be able to find it on 4oD.
Friday, 19 December 2014
It was our anniversary. This is what I asked for, I kept telling myself. I never thought that she would come in with so much violence, so much spunk. My own cock started to stiffen as the hot water washed over me in the shower.
She looked at me, and laughed. She stroked the strap on like it was part of her. I went to touch myself, and she boomed at me "DON’T TOUCH THAT PATHETIC THING!"
The door to the shower flung open, and she stepped in with me, water running down her heaving chest, rivulets coursing over her nipples and flowing through her cleavage.
"Suck it slave" She commanded. I got to my knees, and tried to get the hard, veiny, cold cock in my mouth. It was huge. I was trembling, with anticipation and just how it was going to enter me.
With strength that I did not know that she had, she pulled me up by my hair, and spun me around. She pushed me roughly forward, to get me into position. I slipped.
A tile cracked. I felt cold.
I could see her. It was a funny angle. Too much on the side. She was kneeling over me, the strap on still sticking up from between her legs. She was sobbing, holding me.
Why was the world such a funny angle? And where did the red shower gel come from?
And why can't I move my body.
MJ Lewis is a writer to watch. His book, CLIMBING THE WALLS;a sexy adventure, is available here and here
He can be found on Twitter @lewismj78 and at his blog; scribblesoflewis.blogspot.co.uk