My last post was really made around Valentine’s Day and spoke about being true to yourself and maybe finding someone you can be true to yourself with?
It IS worth finding.
And turned out somewhat easier to find than I had feared.
And my sister (a wonderful wingwoman) is feeling justified as hell in getting me onto OK Cupid.
A lady doesn’t kiss and tell (or tie up and tell ;D), so that’s all for now.
Happy belated Valentine’s Day, whoever you spent it with. Including and especially to those who spent it alone, as I did–not the worst of company! And not just because it means there’s no need to share the pile of chocolate assortments I got on discount the 15th of February. ;D
Without digging too much into personal drama, let’s just say I spent Valentine’s Day alone partially by choice, because being alone is better than being in poor company, or company that can’t accept you as you are. And as I’ve had reason to reckon with that, I found some comfort in thinking about my story in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s recently released anthology, Erotic Teasers. 
“I mean, it feels personal. I’m not sure if it is. Which is weird, right? Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” she added. “I like hanging out with guys. But women, too…”
Roland nodded. “Would you like to get a drink?”
“Sure.” Marisol smiled, but five minutes later she was frowning into her beer. “It’s just a guessing game, I guess.” A grimace at the echo. “But how did I get to be twenty-seven without knowing if I’m lesbian or straight?”
“There are other options,” Roland said.
She looked at him across the table. “Yeah. And it’s even more of a guessing game how people will react if you bring that up.”
“Well.” He tipped his glass toward her. “My boyfriend, my girlfriend, and I all fall on the continuum.”
Her eyes widened. Then her mouth did, showing teeth in a grin. “You have both?”
“They have me.” Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the brightness of her smile and what it did to his heart jumping in his chest, but Roland decided to go all in. He pushed back his shirt sleeves and raised his wrists to show her.
As I mentioned in my blog post about my story in Best Lesbian Erotica, this story received a plot point, and some fuel, from certain signs held up at events in my generally pleasant Midwestern town. But it’s not just written out of defiance. I already had the idea of this poly group of two dominants, their submissive boyfriend, and the woman who joins them, and I was already excited about writing it, because it’s the kind of romantic fantasy that warms my heart (and not just my heart, I’ll admit, if we’re going to get personal).
More about the story, including another tease of an excerpt, is available HERE.
Meanwhile, I do have “set up an OKCupid” profile on my to-do list, so maybe a year from now I won’t have chosen to be single… but whatever you may be, so long as you’re being true to yourself, I’m happy for you and those you love in all the ways you love each other. And if you haven’t yet found your truth, I wish you luck. It’s worth finding.
Even though it’s been a winter with eerily little snow, it’s still winter. It’s gray, it’s cold, the kind slices like a knife. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be anywhere but where I am.
Since, because of travesties like “work” and other “adult responsibilities,” I can’t pack up a suitcase and follow the sun, instead I’m staying curled on my couch under a wonderful fluffy blanket and reading a lot.
If you’re in a similar bind, there’s one way to enjoy the better aspects of both options–to temporarily escape somewhere less gray, and to really warm your winter up. Escape to Pleasure; Lesbian Travel Erotica from Bold Strokes Books is now widely available at many ebook and paperback retailers. 
Have you ever fantasized about dipping into sensual waters? Tasting exotic fruit? Watching forbidden pleasures? Ever dreamed about the erotic games lesbians play when they’re far away from home?
When life becomes mundane, the best way to shake things up is by getting away from it all. On vacation, anything is possible and fantasies really can come true. Edgy, wild, and wanton encounters promise satisfaction for those ready to play while away. Join these award-winning authors as they explore the sensual side of erotic lesbian travel.
My story, “Like Flash Flood,” appears alongside 18 other tales of far travels, intriguing experiences, breathtaking scenery, and other other things that take your breath away…
Find Escape to Pleasure at:
Bold Strokes Books website
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
Smashwords
Goodreads
It’s been an exciting year! From flash fiction to novellas, sadism to sweetness to survival, 2018’s roundup has a lot of range. As I observed back in June, Write 1/Sub 1 (er, no, it might not be as kinky as it sounds…) is an extremely effective way to get your words down on the page and out into the world. It did slow down toward the latter half of the year, in part because of my first-ever successful NaNo! And, for what it’s worth, three stories on this list–“The Solution,” “Manifesto,” and “Guessing Game”–include characters and/or scenarios I’m thinking of developing into novels (“Manifesto” is from my femdom NaNo piece, in fact).
A few last quick updates before we get into the stories: first, I confess, some of these are slated for early 2019 publication. But I’m excited about them, and given Escape to Pleasure has a January 1 release date, I think it’s fair to share now! For more complete lists of my published fiction, you can check out my Stories tab, my Year in Review tag, or my author profiles on Amazon, Goodreads, BookBub, or Smashwords (their year-end sale rules December 25-Jan 1). I also have a Newsletter for book release updates in your inbox!
And with no more ado:
Maybe he was going to her—his own other woman. In all our confrontation, I hadn’t asked if he was still seeing her.
The one who smelled of vanilla. Whose scent, rising from his skin as he curled around my body in bed, had started all of this. Not to be confused with my woman who smelled of vanilla, who I wasn’t seeing anymore either.
I’m surprised the first time I feel it. I freeze up, as if in panic, but it’s the farthest thing from fear. The shock lasts only a microsecond, and I doubt you notice my stillness—of course, you’re kind of tied up at the moment, as the pun goes, no less true for being predictable.
There was room enough in my queen-sized bed for us to settle without crowding each
other. But we were on the verge of it. Sex, after all, involves some crowding. And here we were, two people who liked our space.
At first only our hands connected. Despite my impulse to touch him all over, to hold him, to cuddle, I was able to resist throwing myself onto him. I got the impression that, by keeping track of my hand in his, he was making sure of me. No sudden moves.
But one of us would have to make the next move. Since I started it, it felt like my responsibility—and my privilege.
Not to rub my greedy paws all over him, however much I wanted to. Instead I started by undressing myself.
I didn’t pull away from his hand to do it. While romantic in conception, in practice this became awkward. I got my sundress to slip down my shoulders and drew my free arm through the strap. With my breasts half-bared, I pulled up the skirt to reach my panties. At that point he let go of me, leaning back as if to watch.
I undressed in front of a mirror all the time; I knew how I did it. It didn’t look particularly sexy. I shrugged out of my clothes, rolled my shoulders and stretched my limbs as they were released. I luxuriated in nakedness, but I wasn’t showing off any one part of me, not even those most wonderful ones. I felt comfortable but I lacked the grace of a striptease. And my underwear and bra didn’t match. I’d dressed that morning for another hot summer day after the apocalypse, not for a seduction.
But he looked at me with wide and warm and admiring eyes, as if he was seduced. And his gaze was more than successful in seducing me. My mouth dried up as I became the center of his focus. Then he licked his lips, absently, almost innocently, and my mouth watered.
It gets to the point where you can’t even sit in the same room with him, because sooner or later your body and mind snap tight, contracting with what you want, an internal orbit around unspeakable things…
It’s one thing to say he’s so handsome you could punch him, but what do you really want?
Because it can’t be that.
Last night, when he took your ringing phone off the coffee table and handed it to you, his bent, broad shoulders and long, lean back and something about the points of his knees through his slim jeans made you want to make him crawl.
It’s a style I’ve come to associate with her, that flattering and sometimes deeply erotic modesty. She makes an art of it. I shiver with a memory of the night she opened her door in long-sleeved, loose and low-cut pajamas with jewelry glittering at her throat and wrists. Jewelry she didn’t take off with the rest. She makes an art of discarding modesty, too.
He gets out of his chair and kneels beside hers.
She slows her rocking and reaches for him. One hand tangles in his hair to hold him for a brief kiss, tender. Her other hand runs along his shoulder, over his neck; her thumb beneath his jaw nudges his chin up. His mouth opens. As she releases his hair and draws the knife, his parted lips tremble, just slightly. The blade is cool against them.
…His eyes fall shut. Under his knees he feels the ancient boards whisper as she shifts her feet, planting them firmly with a final creak of the chair. The sound and that distantly felt thrum are the only clues to movement. The blade is a lynchpin fixing everything in place.
“Open your eyes,” she says.
With the apartment door locked behind them, they started undressing. Tessa tossed her hat onto the table by the door and wiggled out of her sundress, shrugging her shoulders through the straps that had left them bare and twisting her arms in movements which were unselfconsciously awkward. Jenny’s heart ached as she watched, as if it was constricted in a cage almost too small to let it beat. Then Tessa let the dress fall around her feet and stepped out of it.
A tan showed on the caps of her shoulders and her arms, and then a little less brightly on her neck and the tops of her breasts. Below that, everywhere she was normally covered, her skin looked cool, pale, both voluptuous and vulnerable. The surgery scars were fading.
Jenny took a step toward her only to realize she still wore shoes. She kicked her feet out of them, then pulled off jacket, tee, and jeans. Her stomach was cool with sweat, making the heat below even stronger. Her pulse beat between her legs as she approached Tessa.
When she was naked, Jenny always felt more powerful—paradoxically untouchable. It was almost as good as being transparent, like sunlit air, like water. She felt strong enough to say, “So… you want to do this?”
Smiling, Tessa reached for her.
“I know.” Blushing, she continued with her apology: “But…this? We could try another day.”
“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Tessa said. “I have.”
I don’t know where on the library shelves they keep the grown-up women’s versions of the stories I grew up reading. The mythology—Prometheus bound, Loki too, lots of heroic suffering and immobilization for that matter. Men sure take pride in their ability to withstand pain, and seem to have since the dawn of time. Maybe women have taken pleasure in the same for about as long. Oh, and the Hardy Boys! The moment I realized that every book would have at least one scene of them captured by the bad guys, tied up or imprisoned…
The Odyssey’s another great one. Our wily hero—let’s not forget all the paintings of him bound to a post before those Sirens—and his brave, if significantly dumber, crew keep getting waylaid, enslaved, befuddled, possessed by sorceresses and goddesses…
There’s a theory that the author of the Odyssey was a woman.
“Yes,” Kim said cheerfully. “I know what it looks like.” Rosa heard the smile in her voice as her girlfriend led the way in. “It’s called a slot canyon.”
Also, in this position it framed a great view of Kim’s ass, the way it pressed her shorts as she strode right in.
“The traders who joined us after the rescue carried some surprising things,” Bela said.
“And yet I’m not entirely surprised.” He pulled her close again. “It’s a brilliant idea, Bela.”
She nipped his jaw. “You haven’t even heard my idea yet.”
“I hope I’ll get to watch you…” The words trailed off in a sigh as her kisses moved lower, eventually reaching the sweet spot where his neck joined his shoulder.
“That would be nice,” she whispered over his collarbone. “But you could participate, too.”
“I mean, it feels personal. I’m not sure if it is. Which is weird, right? Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” she added. “I like hanging out with guys. But women, too…”
Roland nodded. “Would you like to get a drink?”
“Sure.” Marisol smiled, but five minutes later she was frowning into her beer. “It’s just a guessing game, I guess.” A grimace at the echo. “But how did I get to be twenty-seven without knowing if I’m lesbian or straight?”
“There are other options,” Roland said.
She looked at him across the table. “Yeah. And it’s even more of a guessing game how people will react if you bring that up.”
“Well.” He tipped his glass toward her. “My boyfriend, my girlfriend, and I all fall on the continuum.”
Her eyes widened. Then her mouth did, showing teeth in a grin. “You have both?”
“They have me.” Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the brightness of her smile and what it did to his heart jumping in his chest, but Roland decided to go all in. He pushed back his shirt sleeves and raised his wrists to show her.
Lastly, in 2018 Betina Cypher and I tried something a little different: a podcast! You can check out our 3 episodes of Smutty Storytelling here on iTunes, Player FM, and here on SoundCloud. 
For their 50th issue of poetry, short fiction, and essays addressing the intersection of women’s sexuality, Cliterature has released the double-sized “Anthology“.
It includes my piece, “Manifesto,” best described as a fictional essay–written in a voice that is not quite my own. Actually, the voice belongs to the heroine of my NaNo novel. But her manifesto certainly draws a lot on my own reading and thinking.
What I’m trying to do with the parable above (besides explain why I couldn’t see you on Saturday) is make the point that I hate appearing soft, sweet, harmless. But it’s not that I hate softness, sweetness, harmlessness themselves.
Because you’re soft. Sweet. And I’d trust you with my life.
You’re, if you’ll excuse my saying so, pretty fucking cute. And I like it.
For that matter, especially when it comes to you, I don’t hate being harmless. Maybe I do want to be defanged. I want to do things to you that could hurt, without you being hurt. (Please believe me that I never want you to be hurt.) Is that benign, compassionate, or simply unrealistic? Careless, even?
I’d like to write a little more about the things I want to do to you.
I’m writing this while I’m supposed to be writing something else, because I’ll always be supposed to be writing something else. For the rest of my life.
That’s exhausting to think about, somehow less exhausting to write down. Feels better to have it contained on the page. Although writing is also exhausting, and it’s exhausting to think about how much is left to be written—which, according to this writer Cixous I’ve been reading in my downtime (by which I mean reading when I should be doing something else), is almost everything.
About sex, specifically. And this manifesto of mine is about sex, specifically. But you already knew that.
You can read the full story HERE.
I am so excited to contribute to Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Vol 3, and to contribute to the anthology’s blog tour today with some behind-the-scenes information about how and why I wrote “Fearless.”
Tessa loved how she made love to her, Jenny knew, because Jenny was the one person willing to treat her as if she were unbreakable. Even though everyone was breakable. They’d never forget that. Yet here Tessa stood—swaying a bit on her feet, but holding her ground—open and unafraid.
I don’t think it will surprise my longtime readers, and I hope it doesn’t alarm anyone, when I say I wrote “Fearless” out of grief and rage.
Grief because it’s one of many stories I’ve written about living after loss. I realize that’s not the most usual topic of choice for an erotica writer! But I’ve found it a natural fit: what’s lost and what’s left both inform our relationships to ourselves, to others, and to our bodies and experiences.
I’m interested in writing in the gaps, and around gaps, and in filling gaps with my writing.
Which brings me to rage. Not just because it belongs in the cycle of grief, though that too. In this case, I was reading a comments section somewhere—yes, I should have known better—and stumbled on a predictable but no less tired comment about dating, or rather not dating, women who have had mastectomies and breast reconstruction. As if surviving breast cancer rendered someone’s body unsexy because of what treatment survival might involve. This prize opinion struck me as one more example of an infuriatingly narrow standard for beauty and sexiness that requires people, especially women, to be “flawless”–which in practice means showing no sign of ever having experienced anything. Life does not leave us unmarked! And how could anyone claim this means life leaves us less beautiful or worthy and capable of pleasure and eroticism?
So, I decided to write a story showing otherwise (not the last such story either, I expect). I always have a number of different works in progress, and when deciding which to complete next, I knew one of the heroines would have had a mastectomy. I usually build short stories by combining details and images that have caught my imagination or attention, and I already had some: first, a beautiful dark-auburn-haired woman walking toward my city’s farmer’s market in a deep red sundress that left her shoulders bare. And, thinking of that farmer’s market, I remembered the people who sometimes gather in this public space to push certain religious and political views. Views and people which I try to cross the street to avoid. And I thought of how rage is not only a response to loss, but to fear.
Fear and rage are difficult emotions to handle. But I’ve found writing—even/especially erotic writing—isn’t an unproductive use of them*.
So there I had my two heroines, Tessa and Jenny. I had vivid encounter to open the story, one that showed their personal histories and emotions conflicting without imploding. And then another item on my to-write list: fisting. In fact, I’ll just quote my notes for this story from my backup files:
>“You have no fucking concept of fear!” (Yeah, that can get kinky in other circumstances.)
>By which I mean this is also a fisting story.
Then came research, and decisions about my heroines’ specific experiences, and more research. Shout-out to all the helpful educators online offering advice for fisting and for having sex in remission from breast cancer that show how these experiences—when preparation, communication, and patience are involved—can be anything but frightening! (Oh, except for the story about the top getting sent to the emergency room with a sprained wrist after her gf’s orgasm. That was a little unsettling, I admit, but also fascinating and hilariously told. I wish I could link to it but I’m having trouble finding the right search string that produces the clip on YouTube and not porn, alas!)
From the storage bin under the mattress, Jenny pulled out a vial of massage oil, then a pump jar of lube. Tessa lay back, resting on her elbows.
“I want you so much,” she said.
Jenny wasn’t eloquent at moments like these, struck speechless by the gorgeous body spread naked on their bed, words drying in her mouth with emotion. “Me too,” she said at last. “I mean, you too. I want you. Here.”
So, maybe it seems odd that grief and rage and fear can make something erotic, or maybe it makes perfect sense to you. They are intense emotions, after all, and they can arise in response to love and desire. And it’s also important that, just as they don’t crowd out the erotic, neither do they crowd out hope. What’s lost and what’s left aren’t all there is: there’s also what comes after, and that can include triumph and joy.
“I’m green for this,” Tessa said, but slowly, reverently, as if she couldn’t fully believe it herself.
“You’re doing awesome,” Jenny said, her own voice hushed in awe. “Let me know if you want to try something different.”
She moved into her. Reached into her. Slid into her, a key into a lock. Not easily—nothing so overwhelming could be easy—but fearlessly.
Find Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 3:
Sparking off the blog tour: Introduction by editor Sacchi Green
Cleis Press Bookstore
Amazon.com
Amazon.co.uk
iBooks
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Google Play Store
Powells
Booktopia
Foyles
Overdrive
IndieBound
Goodreads
*Indeed, the unpleasant signs and speakers in my downtown have also contributed a plot point in my story in Cleis’ Erotic Teasers anthology, coming out in January. Though I’m unlikely to do it, for various reasons, the thought of going up to them and saying “Thank you for helping me find the plot points to finish two queer erotic short stories!” warms my heart often. While my experiences differ from Jenny’s, I’ve also written about my own religious background, Roman Catholicism, in my stories in the Sacrilege anthology from Mofo Publications.
In brief: I did it. 50,000 words in one month—actually, 62,006 words—were done. By me!
It’s completely unexpected, and delightful, but not the golden promised land of a happy ending I…was never actually promised.
Caveat: some wordcount came from revising (and expanding, and finishing) scenes I started writing last NaNo. But to make up for that, I went 12k words above the minimum to “win”, and I’m sure I wrote less than 12k of the scenes in question last year, since NaNo 2017 only produced something like 22,000 words. (Only. Pah.)
My favorite part of doing NaNo is posting the numbers, so here’s lots of numbers:
First, for the contemporary project—it’s New Adult, which is new for me, and it’s femdom, which is not unlike me at all (of course, it’s high time I wrote a femdom novel! That’s how this wound up as a NaNo project): I wrote just under 19,000 words this November. Because I’d written some other chapters previously, it’s about 28,000 words total. Since the projected final length is around 80k, this is a significant start!
The historical M/M project, one of those 16th century plot bunnies that could not be stopped, is about 40,500 words longer than it was on October 30—and, since I started writing Chapter One of it a month before that, it’s currently 49,900 words long. The projected final length is also about 80k, so let’s say I’m halfway through (uniquely, I expect it to get shorter by editing; plus there are 30+ “TX” notes where I have historical info to look up later).
I also completed and sent off a short story, total length 7000 words (exactly; it took editing to stay within the limit!) of which…enough were written during Nano to make all the other numbers here add up to 62,006, at least.
I surprised myself by reaching natural pause points in both of the novel WIPs: after one couple broke up and the other couple got together for the first time, respectively.
The next step is, of course, to finish them. Up front that means outlining the next chapters—I have detailed notes for each project, but currently their outlines resemble amorphous blobs with lots of navel-gazing about character motivation. I need to consider ways to turn that into scenes.
I’m glad this is the next step and I don’t need to worry about editing or (shudder) publication just yet. (Well, if you spot a market for post-apocalyptic romance novelettes, shout my way.)
Takeaways: writing takes so much TIME. On average, I logged 1,000 words an hour. That seems slow—that is slow when you’re a self-employed service provider, ie someone who makes a living by selling your time. I took a pay cut to do this NaNo (by setting aside time for this personal project that I could have used on client projects). It’s one I’m lucky enough to be in a position to afford, but still, this would be an expensive hobby to keep up, to say the least. And I’ve got at least 100 more hours to go just to finish the first drafts (on second thought, that sounds low—inclusive of outlining I must be doing far less than 1k per hour, even if a given hour when the stars align turns out 2,500 words).
One of the biggest benefits of NaNo is also one I get from Write 1, Sub 1: I am now confident that when I sit down to write, I will write. When at the beginning of the week I decide I want to write 3500 words, I will write 3500 words that week. The words are not in front of me right now, but I will find them.
I know what the process feels like. You sit down. You find something to say. You figure out what to say next. You say it. It reminds you of what else you want to say. You keep going. Sometimes you need to pause to find the next thing; you will find it. And you write, because you keep finding what to say next, sometimes until your laptop battery is drained and your muscles ache. When you’re really finding the words you want to say next, you can block out annoying and mysterious environmental sounds, you can forget the carbs you have cooking on the stove (finally a solution to avoid my pasta being too al dente!). It’s worth it.
The joke about writers being like, “Yeah, my cat ran away, my house burned down, but I wrote 500 words today so it was good!”…is not really a joke. It was striking how much more peaceful I felt after having written something each day—for the most part; there were also days I wrote a lot and still wound up feeling defeated. But less defeated, probably, than if I hadn’t written.
Plus I found myself looking forward to writing: I was eager to write the next scene, even if I had to beg, borrow, and steal time to do it.
Tips and tools I found: the “TX” notes mean that when I come up against something I don’t know (how did Elizabethans say hello? Is this guy a Master or Mister or a Goodman? Which part of the churchyard would this guy have been buried in and would he have a monument?) I write something like “{tx say hello in Elizabethan}” or “{Master? TX}.” The letters “TX” don’t appear otherwise in the manuscript—or in most English-language manuscripts, unless characters are mailing things to Texans—so it’s easy to track down these notes with the Find tool. And I’ll do that when I edit. This was mostly for the historical; in the femdom novel, if I needed to know someone’s job or name or the term for a thing, I looked it up or made it up on the spot. Both strategies worked well—notably, it’s easier to pull up a name generator online than it is to quickly look up the details of 16th century burial practices.
I also talked a bit about my “arc word” strategy here on Tumblr. Note that I’m still semi-ironic about using it, and it’s something you should be using once every other chapter, not twice every page (I mean, you can use it twice every page, but it’ll be hell to edit and frankly that would seem like a sign of deeper problems with bringing the story together).
Also, yes, I outline. I could not write without outlines, any more than I can operate in life without a calendar and to-do list. Specifically, I “zeroth draft”. I wrote about how I do it here but really, whatever works for you works. If what you’re doing isn’t working, give something else a try next NaNo!
One other tip I’ve picked up, including but not only from Julia Cameron, is to “hold nothing back” (Anne Dillard puts this as “spend it all”). Basically, while I did keep surprises up my sleeve, because certain mysteries and revelations needed to be maintained, I did not try to be coy—hiding everything leads to dull scenes and confused readers. Each POV character’s feelings and the reasons for them were clear to the reader, and even sometimes to other characters. Backstory was sprinkled in when appropriate. I added symbols and I even explained what the symbols meant. Foreshadowing was known to occur. I can always delete stuff later, but one major benefit of not holding back: my “big” revelation scenes had a lot more strength when they were building off of things characters had already felt or expressed in earlier scenes. Instead of going from a 0 to 3 on a given theme, I went from a 3 to a 5 to a 10 in successive chapters.
I am extremely impatient with repetition in the books I read, but I threw that to the winds here. Again, I can always take stuff out later! If I say something 5 times in the book, I can delete 3 instances more easily than I can find/insert the right time to say it once afterward if it went unsaid in the first draft. But thinking about how I will edit is still…not a pretty picture. I love editing, but it takes. So much. TIME. (I’ll be seeking beta readers down the line, so feel free to message me if you’re interested, but I have to complete the first draft and at least one self-editing pass before I can show anyone else any of this.)
Next year’s NaNo? Hell yeah. I already have plans for the 2 stories I want to try next year (a haunted house piece and a “fix-up” of several connected short stories. Oh, I also have another femdom novel idea, but its outline turned into an OT3 and currently scares me too much to start writing. Obviously, I can approach it better after finishing a different femdom novel first). Now, it might seem reckless to juggle too many stories at once–but holding the intention of working on a story for a year or more gives me time to build up my outline/zeroth draft, and in fact I think it’s a major reason why the historical novel was so prolific this November: I’ve been building up my thoughts & intentions toward it for 13 months now, even though I didn’t start really writing until September 30. So something similar may be in play here. Assuming I can finish one or both of the novels I started this NaNo before next November.
The big day is coming, and it seems like an awesome time to try Smashwords’ new (or at least new to me) tools to create public coupons. So, starting now and running through the beginning of next year, amazing deals are on offer for my fiction featuring seductive dominant women and willing submissive men on Smashwords:
Content: These four short stories about a Dominant lady and her loving knight make up 28,000 words of tender romance and chivalry along with scorching erotic content, including knives, riding crops, bondage, sensation play, tease and denial, and oral and vaginal sex. Adult readers only.
AVAILABLE WITH A COUPON DISCOUNT ON SMASHWORDS
Evann follows the summons of the Green Road and comes under the power of an Elven woman, curious and cruel, whose intentions are impossible to predict but whose methods are seductive and at times even sweet. Despite his fear, Evann finds some pleasure in being her plaything, and can’t deny a curiosity of his own.
@}-^-^–
When Henry goes to visit the Rosewich Desidiria for a love potion, he has a lot to learn about his true desires. Happily, Desidiria is ready to teach him.
AVAILABLE WITH A COUPON DISCOUNT AT SMASHWORDS
She’s going to make him writhe in those bonds and eventually come, all through the power of pure sorcery.
This 6,600 word story includes explicit sexual content with bondage, teasing, a psychic touch, squirting, orgasms reached in a way you’ve probably never seen before, and an asexual witch enjoying her magic and dominance.
…Halloween was a full week ago? Already!?
My participation in NaNo has devoured vast swathes of time, so much that I’m a little nervous to look at the calendar. But yep, there it is.
As on previous Halloweens, I have a story at Circlet Press’s website. If you’re up for something delicious and unnerving, “The Season” might be just up your alley. 
And now I must get back to writing. 18,155 words so far this month on three projects: one short story, the manuscript that might become my first full-length femdom novel, and a historical story that’s very close to my heart (possibly too close to ever publish, but I have to remind myself that that is far, far too many steps ahead to worry about during NaNo).
Just thinking about that is a little unnerving.
I’m lucky in that I’m self-employed and can assign myself hours of each day to write.
And that’s what I should be doing right now.
Until next time, lovely readers.
Today I’m at Pink Litter with a flash piece about bodies, intimacy, display, and pleasant surprises:
It’s a style I’ve come to associate with her, that flattering and sometimes deeply erotic modesty. She makes an art of it. I shiver with a memory of the night she opened her door in long-sleeved, loose and low-cut pajamas with jewelry glittering at her throat and wrists. Jewelry she didn’t take off with the rest. She makes an art of discarding modesty, too.
This slip has deep cut-outs around her waist, lace-edged scoops that reveal her hips and thighs. Framing the way her body fills out and curves, and showing off her stretch marks.
Mouth dry, I cross the room without bothering to take off my sandals and kneel before her. My head drops to kiss the top of her thigh. As her hand settles in my hair, I hear her breathy laugh.
Read the rest HERE at Pink Litter.
(Note: site has NSFW images…and text…like, it’s kind of their mission statement. Still, fair warning).
