October 29, 2014

Sex in the Real World




I always say that I see sex everywhere I go. I believe most people do. You simply can't help it. The difference with my brain is that I turn the sex I see into stories. But lately sex seems to be screaming from the stands. These are snips of four different magazine covers I spied on a rack this month.

I don't know if all of the magazines are now published by the same corporation. If so, you'd think the editors might purchase a thesaurus at some point: NEXT LEVEL SEXY! LOOK SEXY NOW! SLIM SEXY & STRONG! REAL SEX CONFESSIONS!

For some reason the punctuation also intrigued me. (Lots of exclamation points!)

I tend to finish the sentences in my head. "Look sexy now, or else!" "Next level sexy! Quick! Everyone you know has already reached the pinnacle! You're lagging behind, you loser!" "Real Sex Confessions—as opposed to fake sex confessions, which we ran last month." "Slim Sexy & Strong—because slim and strong is just not enough."

I don't buy most women's magazines anymore. I like the ads, but I'm tired of the plastic surgery articles and depressing editorials. But here's my point—which I only now realized I have... even after 50 Shades, erotica still feels relegated to the dark corners. The books don't exist at most stores. Sometimes there's a shelf. Sometimes the titles are mixed in with relationship manuals. And yet people want sex. We crave sex. Sex not only sells, as they say—whoever they are—sex is important. Writers of erotica are tackling a topic that shouts from the stands. But we're still doing it from the back alleys. Behind the gym. In the corner booth. It's just the strangest thing to me.

So I thought I'd start snapping the pictures when I see "sex" and sharing the images here. Kind of a collage of sex in the real world. If you see the word and want to play along, send me your snapshots, too! (I had to use the exclamation point. I just had to.)

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Alison on the Rocks received its—I want to say "her"—first review! The review is super clever and hits all of the different stories in the book. Obsession Suite by Sommer Marsden also received a super review, which you can read here.

October 28, 2014

Tuesday Two-Fer Part Two: Tamsin Flowers


We're back—and by "we" I mean Tamsin Flowers and me—with the second portion of Two-Fer Tuesday. (I was actually out in the car today and heard a radio station proclaim it was Two-Fer Tuesday and thought that they were talking about my blog! Just for a second, you know. Just because of the insomnia.)

So this is what Tamsin has to say...
The following excerpt comes from Alchemy xii - New Year's Eve, which is the first episode of my upcoming serial, Alchemy xii. It won't be available until December 31 (unless you hit me up for an advance copy...) but I couldn't resist sharing this excerpt with you. (And it's a world exclusive - the first excerpt of Alchemy xii to go up anywhere, including on my own blog.)

Here's a little of the blurb, to set the scene:

No one could ever accuse Harry Lomax of being a Dom's Dom. Sometimes he even forgets to make his submissives call him "Sir". But he is the charismatic Prince of Kink at Chicago's most secretive and exclusive sex club, where he runs Alchemy xii, the club's prestigious year-long training program for would-be subs.

When Harry spots Olivia Roux across a crowded floor, he's under no illusions as to what she is and what she isn't. A blond, Amazonian goddess, Olivia's no ingénue. She's a woman of the world whom he suspects might have a thing for kink, if only she realized it. One thing is for certain—Olivia is nobody's bitch.

Harry knows that he wants her. For his Alchemy xii training program, that's for sure. But for himself? Harry will try anything once—and Olivia's a woman who's got his name written all over her!

Excerpt:

The girl draped over the spanking bench mewled like a kitten that had lost its mother. Her buttocks glowed with radioactive heat. Between them, soft folds shone with her own pungent dew. Harry Lomax drew a deep breath—the aroma was captivating. Reminding him of long Saturday nights followed by intimate dawns.
However, the girl on the bench wasn't really the focus of Harry's attention. His eyes were scanning the clusters of people who had gathered to watch the spanking scene play out. They exhibited, as one might expect, a preponderance for well-worn leather, black kohl, thigh-high boots and fishnets. Some of them he recognized in person, the rest by type. Doms with a surfeit of self-assurance. Subs quivering with excitement. Brats with a challenge in their eye. Fragile-looking femmes who could reduce grown men to tears with the flick of a whip or the curl of their lip. He'd been here before. He'd worn the gear. He'd played all the scenes from the bottom up and the top down.
But tonight he wasn't wearing his leather. This wasn't even his club. Master Blasters was the sort of club he'd stopped frequenting years ago. He'd favored a low profile in black jeans with a T-shirt, giving away nothing about him. Acting like a tourist lurking here for thrills and titillation. But he wasn't. On this particular evening, Harry had come here to play poacher. Looking for fresh-faced, corruptible ingénues upon whom he could work his considerable charms. Searching for someone who might intrigue him.
The girl on the spanking bench lost count, so her Dom started over. Harry went to the bar and ordered a vodka straight up from the barman. He dropped onto a stool while he waited for his drink. Always the same. Always vodka. Always neat. Harry could see no reason to complicate alcohol delivery with sugar-loaded additions. And as he had no intention of playing tonight, he could afford a little vodka buzz.
As he raised the shot glass to his mouth he saw her. Four girls were clustered together watching the spanking scene, open-mouthed. But one stood out, head and shoulders above the other three. Not only literally—she had to be six inches taller than any other woman in the club—but an aura came off her telling Harry he'd found what he'd come for. When the other girls blinked or looked away as the paddle made contact with raw, ruddy flesh, this girl leaned forward, her tongue darting out between her lips. Her eyes were bright with excitement. She whispered something to one of her friends, causing the friend's eyebrows to catapult up with shock. The girl threw her head back to laugh. Wiping her eyes, she turned her attention back to the spanking scene like a vicar confronting a plate of oysters. God, she was magnificent!
Harry Lomax drained his vodka, smiled to himself and left the club.

To find out more about the Alchemy xii series visit Tamsin's Superotica.

And there you have it... the end of another Two-Fer Tuesday. Thank you for playing—and reading—along!

XXX,
Alison

Two-Fer Tuesday: Tamsin Flowers


I'm here with Tamsin Flowers for my third installment of "Two-Fer Tuesdays." (Damn, that's starting to sound like a math problem. But have no fear. Math is not here.) Tamsin absolutely wowed me right from the get-go. She has a wicked way with words and a magician's way with a plot, leaving you breathless and surprised with her ability to paint a dirty picture.

She has ever so kindly allowed me to publish one of my favorite of her stories here in its entirety for your reading pleasure.


Tea or Coffee?
By Tamsin Flowers

So, hell, now I find myself hog tied, wrists bound to ankles with silky red rope, in the swanky riverside apartment of some guy that, until just over an hour ago, I’d never laid eyes on.  All I’ve got on is a pair of black lace panties and a pair of Rupert Sanderson stilettos, having left my dignity somewhere over by the door.  I’ve never been tied up before, I’ve never been spanked before, and I’ve certainly no idea what’s going to happen next. And I have to say, I think I’m enjoying myself.  But how the fuck did I get myself into this in the first place?
I think it was something I said.
Tonight was an evening that came with expectations built in.  An expectation of meeting someone, the anticipation of excitement or of disappointment, a feeling that one thing might lead to another.  Speed dating.  It wasn’t my first time but it’s definitely the first time that the one thing has actually led to another.  Previous outings on the speed dating merry-go-round had been underwhelming but, eternal optimist that I am, I couldn’t see any harm in giving it another go and – hey presto – it seems to have delivered.
This is how it went down.  The first two guys that sat in the hot seat opposite me were dull.  One was tongue-tied, while the other couldn’t stop talking.  About himself.  The third man was nice but ancient.  The fourth, good-looking but weird.  But the fifth was interesting.  Tall, I noticed as he approached my table.  Confident, authoritative, he had the air of someone used to being in control.  He sat down and gave me an appraising look; there was no trying to hide the fact that he was looking me over, checking me out.  I might not have liked a look like that in a different situation but I wasn’t gonna kid myself – this is what we were both here for, after all.
I looked him up and down, too, and he was some physical specimen.  Strong jaw, broad shoulders, beautiful hands and a luxuriant head of burnished copper hair.  His dark eyes held mine until I felt compelled to look away.
“What’s your name?”
“Vayle.  Yours?”
“Lucas.”
Our eyes met once again.  There was a certain intensity to his stare that made me want to find out more about him.  Made me want to touch him or see him without his clothes.
“What do you do?” I said.
“Tea or coffee?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you drink tea or coffee?”  His voice held a note of impatience.
“Coffee.”
“Whisky or gin?”
“Gin.”
“Chanel or Prada?”
“Prada.”
“Negligee or naked?”
“Naked.”
There was no pause between questions, no time for me to consider the answers I was giving.  It was like a game of word association and I was happy to play along.
“Oral or anal?”
I faltered for a second and then said “Both.”
“Top or bottom?”
“Bottom.”
Lucas suddenly stood up.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, holding out a hand to me.
I glanced around the room.  Everyone was busy talking as fast as they could to get in all they needed to say before their four minutes ran out.  The man at the table next to mine, my next prospect in other words, was ugly beyond ugly.  Lucas was good looking and unpredictable.
“I’m with you,” I said, pulling my coat off the back of my chair and grabbing my bag.
So that’s how it all started.  He took me to a bar and ordered me a gin and tonic.
“Drink it,” he said, already halfway through his.
He ordered us each another.  There was no doubt who was in control.  Lucas set the agenda and I was content to sit back and enjoy the ride.
“I’d like you to come back to my apartment,” he said.  “Would you consider it?”
I knew what that meant.  He wanted to have sex with me.  And after two gins and a month long sex drought, I wanted to have sex with him.  He seemed like someone who would know what he was doing.
Lucas did know what he was doing and now I’m lying on my back on his bed, tied up and virtually naked.  He walks across the room towards me, still fully dressed in a crisp white shirt and sharply tailored grey trousers.  He’s taken off his shoes and socks and his belt is undone, flapping around the waistband of his pants.  He has thoroughly kissed me and I have allowed him to undress me and tie me up.  I feel sexually charged, wet and ready for his pleasure and mine.
He stands over me, looking down, and I can read naked lust in his eyes.
“Safe word?” he says.
More word association?
“Firebreak.”
Then he flips me over, so now I’m half kneeling on the bed, with my face in the pillows and my arse in the air.  With a rip my panties are gone.  I feel his hands slowly caress my naked buttocks and a shiver of anticipation runs through me.
“God, you have a beautiful arse,” he says.
Warm juices are pooling high in my cunt and I know that if I shift my position, they’ll flood down my leg.  I hold as still as I can, relishing the thought of how that’s going to feel.  But then Lucas trails a finger down my arse crack and round to the soft folds of flesh between my legs.  He discovers the reservoir of my desire and I hear his breath hitching in his throat.
“You’re so ready to play, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say.  “So ready.”
And he uses his hand to spread my wetness, forward to my clit which hardens at his brief touch, and back between my buttocks, making me arch my back to push them higher in the air.
“There’s only one thing I can do to a beautiful arse like yours,” he whispers, his face close to my ear as one hand runs down my back in a long stroke.
“It’s all yours,” I say.  “Do what you need to.”
Lucas steps away from me and bends to open a drawer in the bedside cabinet.  I hear him rifling through stuff and wonder what he’s doing; looking for a condom, I hope, a little belatedly given my situation.  But when he straightens up, it’s not a condom that he has in his hand.  It’s a red leather paddle and he’s using his other hand to test its flexibility.  He slaps it against his palm a couple of times; the slapping noise has some weight behind it and deep inside me muscles clench.  Goosebumps rise and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.  But at the same time I’m excited, more excited and more turned on than I can ever remember being.
I shut my eyes and bite my lip, waiting for the first slap.  A soft caress of my left buttock takes me by surprise and relaxes me a split second before the paddle makes contact with my right.  I gasp as the sting radiates through my flesh, leaving a burn on the surface and a spasm deep within.  A cool hand assuages the burning sensation but then my left buttock falls victim to the paddle’s bite.  I shriek at the shock of it as it burns a path through me, waking up feelings and desires, making me shiver as I realise I want to feel it again.
And it comes again, on the other side once more, adding another layer of pain, building on the last one, and then again, like a series of seismic waves, shaking me to the core.  I’m breathing fast as a firestorm grows between my legs; each soft caress Lucas administers between the blows becomes torture in its own right as I push back against his hand, willing it to stay there, to press harder, to slide down between my cheeks, to press his way into me, into my arse, into my cunt, to fill me up as my muscles clench around him, as I reach that perfect moment... but he doesn’t do it.  He withdraws his hand and replaces it with the sting and bite of the paddle, making me cry out again or making me bite my lip.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispers in my ear at one point.
“Yes,” I hiss.
And I realise that he’s right.  I might not have known it before; it was beyond the realms of my experience.  But this is what I’ve needed all along.  This is what’s been missing so far.  The thoughts blur as the pain builds and the longing for fulfilment sweeps over me again and again.
Then I hear the paddle drop to the floor.  In the silence that follows, I can hear Lucas breathing heavily, either with the exertion or excitement.  Both I think.  He pulls something from the drawer.  A condom this time; I hear the rip of the package.  Seconds later, the soft firm nudge of his cock.  He guides it up and down between my buttocks and then lets it slide down and lie along the folds of my labia.  I push myself against it, moaning softly with my need to feel it plunging deep inside.
“Where would you like it, babe?” he says.
He teases me with a finger, first sliding it slickly into my cunt and then, once it’s wet and slippery, easing it into my butt, making me gasp loudly.  It feels so good both times I can’t decide.
“Wherever you like,” I say.
“Good answer,” he says.  “But first I’m going to untie you.”
Seconds later my wrists are free and Lucas places my hands gently on the top of the headboard.
“Hold tight,” he instructs.
I do as I’m bid, stretching my back up; I’m still kneeling on the bed, holding the bed head, awaiting his pleasure.  He’s kneeling on the bed behind me.  He uses a hand to spread my legs wide and I feel his fingers parting my labia.  Then, ever so slowly, he pushes the tip of his cock upwards into my cunt.  He’s large, one of the largest I’ve ever had, and it’s a good, tight fit.  With his hands on my shoulders, he rams it home, and then his hands slide round my sides to cup my breasts.  He pulls me back against him and starts rolling his hips to draw himself in and out.  Now my body’s arching against his as his big cock grazes its way up and down against the sweet spot inside.
An orgasm starts to bubble softly as he sweeps in and out.  Then suddenly he changes the game.  Lucas pushes me forward and his hands pull my buttocks wide apart.  From somewhere he grabs lube and I feel a shock of cold down the length of my crack; his fingers getting me ready.  Without a change in the rhythm, he pushes his cock into my yielding arse.  My orgasm explodes on the first stroke, making my muscles clench hard around him.  With a cry as load as my own, he comes, his cock surging and throbbing within me.   I can feel its heat and I can feel the pulse of his climax, the sensations stoking my own.  My body spasms again and then the heat starts to dissipate.
I feel limp and wrung out; and there’s a final bite of pain as he pulls out his cock.  We slump together on the bed, our bodies slick with sweat, awash with the smell of sex.  I wait for the pulses to subside and slowly my breathing returns to normal.  Lucas, still panting, peels off the rubber and drops it over the side of the bed.  Then he flips me onto my back and straddles me.  His face is serious as he looks down on me.
“You’d never been spanked before, had you?”
I shake my head, still not trusting myself to talk.
“You’d never been tied up?”
“No.”
“You’ve had no experience of domination and submission?”
“No.”
“Did you know you could have stopped me with your safe word?”
I swallow.
“I didn’t want you to stop.  I wanted it to go on.”
His eyes soften.
“When I asked you, ‘Top or bottom?’ what did you think I meant?”
“Top or bottom bunk.”
I feel stupid.
He climbs off me and off the bed, walking over to the window.  The lights of the city are spread out before him.
“Lucas?” I whisper. “Don’t send me away.”
He turns around and his eyes still have the soft expression.
“You’ll need to be trained.  I want a lover who’s willing to wear my collar.  Could you do that?”
I don’t know what he means but I want to find out.
“Yes, Lucas.  Please train me.”
So that’s how it went down on that evening of expectations.  It was all due to something I said.  I wonder what would have happened if I’d said ‘top’?

As a naughty girl on a journey of self-discovery as an erotic writer, Tamsin Flowers is as keen to entertain her readers as she is to explore every aspect of male and female erotica.  Find out more at www.tamsinflowers.com

Please stop by this afternoon for the second half of the Tuesday Two-Fer!

XXX,
Alison 

P.S. Many people have written to me to ask how we might support Sommer. The answer at the moment is that I honesty don't know. But I will post something as soon as I can.

October 27, 2014

Pause


Sommer Marsden's husband passed away this morning. I am unable to put into words how sad I am for her and her family. Her husband was an amazing, inspiring, positively great guy, and I feel lucky to have known him and crushed for Sommer and her family.

Sommer said, "At 9:33 this morning I lost my very best friend in the world. Please send him a good thought and rejoice that he is no longer in pain."

Please pause and send good thoughts their way.

XXX,
Alison

Trollop with a Question #28


A fabulous thing someone said to you. Quick. What comes to mind?

It's so easy—at least for me—to remember the cruel things. The put-downs. The snide remarks. The snarky asides. (Did they all happen in junior high, or is that simply my imagination?)

But the flip of that. The compliment you didn't expect. The sticky-note with the happy message on your coffee cup. The heart drawn in dust on your windshield.

I don't need the very best thing that anyone ever said in your entire life. Just one example that stands out. The lifted you up. The made you smile all day long.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. If you answered last week's query, send me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. I actually have a really incredibly cool prize to send to everyone. I'm so pleased with myself.

October 26, 2014

Alison's Cheating Heart


Two steps forward, three steps back. I'm finalizing "Alison After Dark," while looking ahead to "Alison's Cheating Heart." I swear, whenever I have an idea, Riendo is right there with the perfect picture. I can't seem to move fast enough to get to everything I want!

But this morning, I woke up with a brand-new idea. You know my club—Club Alison Tyler—which has been lacking in fresh content since July. (Sorry!) Well, I thought that I would start posting advance excerpts from my new titles on the blog. I haven't done so yet, but I will soon. To join the club, simply shoot me a note to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com with the email you prefer. I will send an invite.

Back to my cheating heart... who knew I had so many infidelity stories? I'm spilling over with this one: Heat, Too Dirty to Clean, In the Land of Milk and Honey, an unpublished story called Peeled. (You know me and past-tense verbs.)

I fucking love the cover.

Yet I have to proof my other book before I can focus on this one. I need more time. More fingers. More coffee.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. If you want a cheating story right now, check out the new collection by Sommer MarsdenObsession Suite, which features four sultry stories—one about an affair....

October 25, 2014

Power On


Sometimes I'm a little baffled by how excited I can still be for a new project. I mean, I have been doing this for quite awhile now. We've passed the 5, 10, 15, 20 marks. We're way into double-digits. We can count decades. And yet I stayed up late working on a new story and woke up early to pen a foreword.

The latest collection I'm producing will have one brand-new long story ("All Things to All Women") and a trio of flash-stories (each about 1500 words). The three flashers are linked and deal with the fetish of watching a girlfriend with another man—and fucking her after she's been fucked. The stories ("The Keymaster," "The Key," "The Keyhole") are making me supremely happy. I'm sort of rocking here wanting to post them now. But I need another day, another set of edits, another cup of Joe.

But if you were wondering, my power is definitely on.

Hence the picture.

And yet, this post has a double meaning. Because when I visited Sommer Marsden's blog yesterday, I saw that she'd posted two of my books in her sidebar, recommending my titles to her readers. And I thought—holy fuck (I think that a lot because I have a filthy, filthy mind), this is power. This is the power of writers helping writers try to make a splash in this nearly impossible environment.

What if we all did that? What if we promoted each other in little surprise ways like this—posting covers, pimping stories, sharing the wealth. Read a book you liked? Put up the cover and a link. Discover an author you think is fabulous—give an unexpected shout out, an unplanned review.

Yes, a lot of people already do this. I know. But for some reason, the thought hit me last night that we all could—every one of us. Fuck self-promotion. Do the opposite. We could be a flash-mob of indies. We could all rise on that tide.

That's power. And the power is on.

XXX,
Alison

October 24, 2014

Alison After Dark


This one may be my favorite yet. The book will be available (fingers crossed) by Tuesday. This one features seven stories—four that are brand-new, never published, hanging on the clothesline to dry. If you would like to review one of the collections, please drop me a note to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. I'm spreading the word as hard as I can!

My other two newbies are Alison on the Rocks and Alison on Top. Photos for all of these collections are taken by the extremely talented Riendo. Her work delights and excites me. Her magic eye makes me want to be a better writer.

Alison on Top received a fab review this week: "I don't think I've ever been as jealous of a fictional character as I am right now of Nate in the story 'WYSIWYG.' Fantastic story of a young cocky guy put in his place by two sexy dominant women."

Seriously grateful. Thank you so much. I'm over the moon!

XXX,
Alison

October 23, 2014

E is for Expert: Violet Blue on Pegging...


I love the concept of my "E is for Expert" column. I feel really lucky to be able to put my finger on so many different experts in the erotic field. For my latest topic, the experts overflowed my inbox with their exceptional information, which is why I've divided this one into multiple orgasms. I mean, posts.

My original query was based on the fact that I often have people land on my blog based on search strings regarding male anal penetration. So I wrote to a slew of my favorite erotic educators and said: "I thought we’d simply take it slow. Imagine you’re talking to an anal novice. Or even someone wanting to broach the topic with a partner.  What do you recommend? What is the proper procedure?"

The first response was from Karen Blue. You can read her suggestions here.

Now I have Erotic Powerhouse Violet Blue, who wrote:

Some guys may try out pegging, or have strong sexual interest in anal play, and find that it raises uncomfortable questions or difficult, confusing feelings. This can also happen when the stimulation is accompanied by a fantasy that doesn't match how we see ourselves. It's easy to feel out of control when it comes to things we don't understand, especially when they trigger strong emotional feelings and sexual impulses, or sexual shame. Think about where your feelings of shame and confusion are coming from; stop giving someone else your power. Learn as much as you can about anal play, and how it makes you feel by asking yourself questions, and checking in with yourself often.

Perhaps your discomfort doesn't come from an outside-the-norm fantasy, but instead it raises upsetting questions about sexual orientation. Scenarios involving male anal penetration play can be as simple as a man masturbating in the shower while sensuously soaping his bottom with a finger, or as ritualized as having his female partner dressing as a man in a "gender swap" strap-on sex scene. Neither scenario means that the guy is gay, transgender or wants to become something he's not.

But male anal play can be frightening if you don't understand how it works, how common it is, or how you feel about it, and the feelings can be so strong they challenge your ideas about your sexual identity in ways that make you feel uncomfortable. Many guys don't see it that way at all, but simply as use anal penetration play (and fantasies) as just another sex toy or masturbation aid. 

Meanwhile, some men might feel so strongly they embrace the challenges to their sexual identity, allowing the transformation to shape their sexual identities into configurations that are much more comfortable for the individual than their original manifestations. Either way, don't believe the bullshit bro stereotypes about things, sex acts, people, or lifestyles that can "make you gay." It's hurtful hype designed to shame men, pure and simple.

Male anal penetration cannot make you make you gay, bisexual, or change who you are attracted to, or how you sexually identify. It will also not show you what it's really like to be gay. It does not mean you are transsexual, transgender either, though for those individuals it might be a step (among many other steps) toward feeling comfortable with who they really are. It's also important to point out that a number of gay men aren't into anal sex, giving or getting.

Playing with male anal penetration does not indicate that any individual is "confused" about their sexual orientation or gender. Being a man and playing with your ass during sex doesn't mean you want to be gay, or for your wife to be a man. Anal penetration play is just that.

###

Beautiful. Perfect. This is exactly what I was hoping for!

About the Expert: Ms. Violet Blue is  an award-winning sex author and columnist, making her the foremost expert in the field of sex and technology. She travels to hacker conferences and hacker gatherings around the world to cover hacking, cybercrime and personal privacy violations in countries such as Malaysia, Germany, Morocco, China, the Dominican Republic, the United States, and Serbia. Visit her at TinyNibbles and follow her on Twitter.

More experts to come...

XXX,
Alison

October 22, 2014

Go Ask Alison #4



We're back—see, for some reason I keep wanting to be a "we"—with another "Go Ask Alison" query. This one comes from Jenne Davis, who is also known as CliticalJenne. She has been putting together her first book, and she recently wrote to say:

I have so many emotions going through me as this project gets closer to the finish line, the main one being fear. I'm doubting myself more. I keep wondering what people will think, will people love it or hate it—you know, the usual roller coast that I would imagine all writers go though. Any tips on how to stop the doubt creeping in and taking over? 

Alison Answers: Welcome to my world. I question all of my projects. Seriously. Even after all these years, I worry with every single story. Will readers understand my goals? Will they appreciate my characters? Will the get the gist of my concepts? 


One way I've learned to combat fear is to find solid beta readers. People who like your style but will be honest with their reactions to your latest work. It's important, in my opinion, to listen only to readers who can be positive with their critiques. Early on, I asked a friend to read my novel in progress and he was so harsh with his criticism I never was able to muster the nerve to finish the book. I'm more selective now with who I ask for feedback. Super helpful readers have included Sophia Valenti, Vida Bailey, Helena Black, A.M. Hartnett, Oleander Plume, Jade A. Waters.

Also important to me—friends you can whimper to while you're slamming yourself against the project. Sommer Marsden has talked me off several writing ledges. Violet Blue has held my hand. Thomas Roche has ridden shotgun.

Finally, there are your fans. Readers who are happy to read and review your book early on, so you can have some happy stars up on Amazon. There's no special trick to getting these. I'm grateful for every one. Angell Brooks rocks my world. Jeremy makes me smile. Karen Blue makes me want to write just for her.

Now, I'm happy to toss this query out to other writers. How do you get over doubt? Tricks? Tips? Tequila?

XXX,
Alison

About the askee: Jenne Davis can generally be found working on her website Clitical.Com. Clitical is a site devoted to female sexuality but mostly the art of female masturbation. She is currently busy working on her new book, "The Clitical Guide To Female Self Pleasure," that is due to be released in May 2015. 

October 21, 2014

Two-Fer Tuesday Part Two: Saskia Walker


Yes, I'm back. (I keep trying to write "we're back," as if I am a plural noun, when really, I'm not.) The second part of today's "two-fer" is dedicated to Saskia Walker's sizzling collection of short stories: Unleashed.


This excerpt is from the seductive Sign Your Name:

Molly stared at the pen in his hand, immediately aroused and self-aware. The key to her kink was right there in his hand. She liked to be written on-in fact it aroused her to the point where she could come from that act alone. This was the time to show him, then she could see how he would react.
She took a deep breath. "Tell you what…" Her voice sounded shaky, and she hated that. She didn't want this to go wrong. She wanted him. Badly. "Why don't you give me your number? It'll be better that way. Really, I promise. "
Before he could question her, or show doubt about why she'd said that, she shoved her forearm out across the counter between them, pulling up the sleeve of her top. She ran her finger up and down the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of her forearm. "Write it…here. Please. "
Would he laugh at her? One corner of his mouth was still lifted and stayed that way. He toyed with the pen, his eyes assessing. Her breath was trapped in her throat. A moment later he slowly moved one hand and held her wrist down on the counter with it, while he began to write on the spot she had indicated with the other.
His hand around her wrist was warm and strong, sure. And then-oh. The pressure he applied through the ballpoint on her skin made her nerves leap, the sensation chasing itself up her arm and through her body, flooding her with arousal. She bit her lip.
He looked up from the place he was writing and back at her. She could tell he'd sensed this wasn't just about exchanging numbers. A needy moan escaped her lips.
He stared. One eyebrow lifted, the pen, also. "Did I hurt you?"
"No. "She could barely get that one small word out, and when she did, it was with a breathless, relieved sigh."I like it. "She shrugged."It makes me really hot. I'm wired weird. I just wanted you to know. Up front. "
She snatched her arm away, bracing herself for the disbelieving laughter, the snide remark. Tension hung in the air between them, seemingly endless. Then he looked down at the countertop. What was he thinking?
He glanced up. "Kinky girl, huh?"
She stared him directly in the eye, her heart beating fast as she braced herself for rejection. "Does it bother you?"
"Quite the opposite," he replied, and flashed her a grin. "If I know what turns you on, it gives me power… and it just so happens I like to be in charge."
Oh, that made her hot. It was so far from what she had expected him to say, so direct. And then he moved. In a heartbeat, he levered himself over the counter, jumping lithely down onto her side of it. For the first time, he had breached the physical divide between them-and he'd brought the pen with him. Holding it aloft in his hand, he put his free hand on her shoulder and walked her through the rails of plastic-covered clothes, backing her toward the wall behind those rails, out of sight of the shop front. He cornered her up against the wall.
Her body pulsed with the thrill of his actions.
He grasped her two hands easily in one of his, and lifted her chin with the pen under her jaw, an action that shot sensation down her neck and chest, right into her hardening nipples. She gasped for breath, her eyes closing and her head moving back to lean against the wall.
"Oh yes, it really does it for you, doesn't it. How bad is it?"
He still had of the pen under her jaw, controlling the position of her head and where she could look. Could she tell him? Her eyes were shut and she kept them that way. "I need it."Her voice was a mere murmur. "It's crazy, but I can't come any other way, not the way I do if…"
When her voice trailed off, he moved the pen just enough to apply pressure to the sensitive flesh beneath her jaw. Her eyes flashed open.
"Is this making you wet?"
"Yes."
He was close, staring at her, his eyes bright and focused. The curiosity she had sensed in him had multiplied. He was aroused by her responses; his body shifting close against hers, one knee pressed against the wall at the side of her body.
He gave a soft chuckle. "You know, Molly, I used to wonder about you when I came in here. I liked the way you looked, very pretty but different, and always thinking…always with the sexy eyes. There was something else though, wasn't there. You were always playing with your pen, always sucking on the end of it. Couldn't just be ready for the next customer, I figured. Couldn't quite work out what it was, but it made me hard just watching you play with the damn thing. "His voice turned husky, right at the end there.
"Are you hard now?" She flashed her eyes, her responses rolling out readily.
His grip on her wrists tightened and he moved the back of her contained hands against the zipper on his jeans. "Well, what do you think?"
Beneath the black denim he wore, his cock was rigid.
Her skin tingled with awareness when he brushed it over that spot. She nodded. He moved the pen, lifting it from beneath her jaw and taking it down to the hem of her miniskirt. Putting it under the fabric and between her thighs, he tapped it from side to side then up and down, making her thighs tremble with the need for a deeper mark, the pressure, and the stain-the written evidence on her body.
He let go her wrists, and lifted her skirt right up, exposing her. "Ooh, white cotton panties. Just like a blank page. "
She stepped from one foot in the other, wired. "You're torturing me," she breathed.
"Maybe this will help."He ran the pen down the front of her panties, pushing both pen and fabric into the groove of her pussy.
Her flesh blazed under that touch. She glanced down to look at the solid line he had drawn, but he was still moving the pen, pressing deeper into her groove, rolling over her clit. When she gave a sudden gasp, he paused and concentrated on the same spot, drawing back and forth over it. A jaggedy blue scribble was forming right over the spot.

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Saskia Walker is an award-winning British author of erotic fiction. Her short stories and novellas have appeared in over one hundred international anthologies as well as several international magazines including Cosmo, Penthouse, Bust, and Scarlet. Fascinated with seduction, Saskia loves to explore how and why we get from saying "hello" to sharing our most intimate selves in moments of extreme passion. 

After writing shorts for several years Saskia moved into novel-length projects. Her erotic single titles include The Burlington Manor Affair and the Erogenous Zones trilogy. Her novels Double Dare and Rampant both won Passionate Plume awards and her writing has twice been nominated for a RT Book Reviews Reviewers' Choice Award. Nowadays Saskia is happily settled in Yorkshire, in the north of England , with her real-life hero, Mark, and a houseful of stray felines. You can visit her website for more info. www.saskiawalker.co.uk

Please stop by tomorrow for a new installment of "Go Ask Alison." I'm juggling so many themes right now, I can hardly keep up with myself!

XXX,
Alison

Two-Fer Tuesday: Saskia Walker


Last week I created (if "created" means "stole right off the radio") the concept of posting Two-Fer Tuesdays on my blog. I sort of madly love the idea of a double-shot from one author. Gosh, I guess I could have called it double-shot Tuesday—but where's the alliteration in that? Today, I'll be posting two pieces by the seriously talented Saskia Walker, an author I've been lucky enough to work with for more than a decade.

First up is a free story that she penned for one of my early collections. The piece is here for your enjoyment in its entirety. (How cool is that? It's like Christmas in October!) About mid-day, I'll be back to post the second part of this exciting event.

This story is one of my favorites by Ms. Walker. Romantic, erotic, flat-out filthy. The sex is searing, but the raw emotion matches the sensuality beat for beat.


Arran’s Lure
Saskia Walker

Alone in her bed, Juliet lay with her sheets twisted between her arms and legs, thinking about Christopher. Wanting him. Craving him. There was a point where her physical desire for him had turned into an all-consuming hunger. Since then, she had been continually restless with need. Finding sleep was no longer easy. The longing she felt for that one person whose shared passion would provide her lifeline, her relief, had long since become overwhelming.
“Christopher Bardsley, what on earth have you done to me?” she whispered into the night, and a smile passed over her lips.
She felt high at times, at others wretched. Her fierce physical desire also manifested itself in a painful, gnawing ache that emanated out from between her thighs, through her core, as far as her throat and mind, where she was tortured with memory and longing. Her fingers tightened on her rumpled sheets, as did her thighs, her body rolling restlessly. Masturbation just left her hungry for what she couldn’t have, a particularly cruel twist of fate. She needed to express herself to him, to join their bodies together again. And he was so far away. Over four hundred miles, to be precise. It might as well have been ten thousand, the way she felt.
She was at home in London, trying unsuccessfully to focus on her freelance journalism—her one and only love before she met him—and he was off the coast of Scotland, on the Isle of Arran. That’s where she’d met him, interviewing him as part of a series of features on unusual people who had forced their careers to fit their lives, instead of allowing the opposite to happen.
Christopher owned and ran a major Internet provisions company. He’d built it up from nothing, but when he’d inherited his uncle’s farming land in the south of Arran, he’d decided to up sticks and move there. He managed his Internet company from an entirely different kind of base, in order to maintain the traditions of his family line, making both aspects of his life work.
Juliet had traveled up by train and ferry to meet him, and found herself stunned by the beauty of Arran, even as she looked at it from the windswept ferry on the approach to the port of Brodick. It was this landscape that had motivated his monumental move, his choice to oversee the farm, meshing a long-standing farming lifestyle with that of a modern day businessman.
“I came to look at the place, and I experienced the lure of the island. I’d visited as a child, and I had very fond memories of the farm, but as an adult who has traveled the world, it just took hold of me.” He observed her as he spoke, turning a heavy tumbler in his hand, warming the rich local malt whisky it contained.
She nodded, feeling the place and its master instill their lure in her, too. Sitting opposite him on the sofa, sipping the fine scotch, her desire ran rampant. From his hand nursing the glass, to the strong outline of his thighs through his black jeans, he drew her attention in every way. Desire thrummed in her every pulse point, her blood racing, her lips eager to brush against the firm line of his mouth.
As soon as she saw him, she wanted him. He said it was the same for him, too. She’d booked into a B&B, but never spent a single night there. Arriving at his house, she saw him in action, instructing the land workers for the following day, answering a call from Denmark in the next moment.
“What drives you?” she asked, later that evening, as they sat in his comfortable sitting room after a dinner prepared by his housekeeper. It was a question she'd asked all the men and women she had interviewed for the series.
“The need to make the impossible work.” He paused, and the corners of his mouth lifted in an insinuating smile. “What drives you?”
No one had ever turned the question on her before, and it wasn’t something she had ever thought about, but still she knew the answer. “The need to express myself, I guess.”
He nodded. “I’ve read your work; you express yourself well. I’d like to see more than that, though.” His gray-green eyes twinkled. He asked her questions, found out things she didn’t even know about herself.
“Are you interviewing me now?”
He smiled. “Kind of.” He looked her over with an unambiguous stare. “I’m sure I could find you an appropriate position.” The expression he wore was filled with raw, uncompromising sexuality, that aspect of his personality just as forthright as every other.
            She gave a soft laugh. “I’m sure you could.” They both knew it was going to happen, but they talked on, savoring the rich sense of anticipation that built between them.
What was it about him?
She’d never met a man so intensely male, that was for sure. There was an inbuilt sense of power about him, and yet he wasn’t blatant or egotistical. It was a calm, self-assured way that he had. He wasn’t classically handsome, either. His dark hair was unruly, his body built large and strong. He’d had a rough childhood, but that only seemed to make him steadfast and sure of what he wanted in life. She ached to have him over her, to feel him thrusting into her.
“What’s life without a few risks,” he commented, and she knew he wasn’t just talking about business ventures. He put his glass down and reached out to touch her face.
She’d never been shy about letting a man know what she wanted. “I’m right with you on that one.” She turned her face into the palm of his hand, kissing it, opening her mouth to taste his skin.
Their kisses were raw, needy, while they stripped each other with eager hands. The first time was hard and fast, right there on the rug in front of the log fire. She welcomed the hard strength his body, hungry for it, her cunt hot and grabbing, holding him tight as he pulled back and lunged. As they got closer to the climax, he raised up on his arms, looking down at her with searching eyes, and she latched her legs over his shoulders, sucking him ever deeper. The climax hit her in a dizzy, wild rush, and he followed fast, one hand pressing her pubic bone down onto his cock, the pressure releasing a second wave of pleasure through her.
Her fingers knotted in his hair when he lay over her, holding him close. Something unstoppable had been set in motion between them. He’d kissed and touched her everywhere, before he carried to her to his bed and fucked her again, slowly, taking shallow strides, making her mad for it. He laughed softly when she begged him for more, looking at her in the light that spilled in through the large picture window. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was all that had anchored her to the reality of the moment, when he drove the length of his cock inside her, filling her to overfull.
She’d phoned the agency, called in sick, something she’d never done before, lengthening her stay on the island, lengthening her time with him.
“Tell me now, what do you want?” he said against her ear, whilst he screwed her from behind.
“I want it to last and last,” she’d cried out, poised on the edge of her orgasm. “I want to feel your cock right through me.” Moaning loudly, she drove back onto him, spilling down her thighs as she came. He’d pulled out, pacing himself when he got too close, giving her exactly what she wanted. He possessed her over again, until she could barely move and her cunt was blissfully sore, riotous with sensation from fucking, her mind and body senseless with multiple, rolling orgasms. When she collapsed on the bed, he knelt over her, taking his cock in his hand. She caught sight of the pent-up ecstasy and pain of his held-back release in his expression. In that moment she saw it all, this was a man who got what he wanted, who worked for it, no matter how hard, no matter what the sacrifice. He came over her belly. Panting hard, he bent over her, rubbing his semen over her breasts and torso.
“Yes, yes,” she begged, “stain me, mark me.”
His expression was fiercely possessive as he marked his territory, the ritualized action making her feel gloriously proud as she lay sated in his arms.
They barely slept, afraid to waste the precious time together. Instead they fucked hard, then made love slow. They lay awake in the moonlight communicating with mouths, fingers, and tongues. They explored each other almost continually, talking endlessly, then rolling together, his mouth on her pussy and hers on his cock, devouring each other.
“Why did you come here?” he whispered with a dark smile, one night, in the midst of their passion.
“I’m not so sure anymore,” she replied, joyous laughter escaping her mouth.
She’d never expressed herself so thoroughly, giving everything, opening herself in ways that she hadn’t even considered possible. He confessed he was stubbornly independent, and she knew that alone made this hard for him. She recognized that was why he was alone. Too focused for his own good.
In the daytime, he drove her across the island to the rougher landscape of the north, where he took her down to the cliffs. The blustery autumnal winds nudged them up against shoreline. Their words and laughter were lifted on the whirling wind around their heads before disappearing.
“Come here, I have to be inside you now,” he’d said, and backed her against the cliff wall. He opened her coat and lifted her skirt, his hands moving fast into the heat of her. Over his shoulder she saw that the tide was coming in, the waves rolling over the sand in the timeless embrace between land and sea.
“Now?” she replied, weak with desire, emotion catching in her throat.
He answered by stripping her underwear down her legs, knocking off one shoe and lifting one leg in his hand, before plunging deep inside her.
She was acutely aware of the rough rock at her back as he rode her against the ancient cliff face, lifting her bodily with each thrust. “The tide is coming in,” she cried, her hands around his head.
“There’s enough time,” he replied, hoarsely, and she gave in to his overwhelming need.
She’d never been fucked the way he fucked her, like he was claiming her to the core, to the very soul. And now, lying alone in her bed in London, it was driving her slowly insane with need.
Now.
I want that now.
Flinging the sheet away, she got up and pulled on a T-shirt. Uselessly, she wandered to her desk, where she nudged the mouse. The screen flickered into life as she sat down. There was an email from the main news agency she took assignments from. She’d been ignoring it all day. They were asking if she’d finished the Arran article yet, and if they could have the title, ASAP.
Sighing, she clicked over to the unfinished document. At first, she told herself that when she finished up the article, she’d get over it. Only then would the pain and the intense desire begin to fade. Then, as she found how hard it was to finish, she realized she didn’t actually want to, because she didn’t want to break that connection with Christopher.
“Face it, girl, you’ve got it bad,” she murmured, as she looked over the copy. And the worst of it was that it hurt. Hurt bad. Being in love was a screwed-up painful thing, if you were apart from the one you love.
Her phone bleeped into life. Picking it up, her spirits lifted and she smiled at the name on the screen.
“I didn’t wake you did I?” His voice.
“Hey you,” she said. “Nope. I can’t sleep. Thinking about you.”
He gave a soft growl. “Good.”
“I can hear the sea. Where are you?”
“In the bedroom, standing by the window, looking at the empty bed, wishing you were in it.”
“Wanting to make the impossible work?” she teased.
“With a fury.”
His tone had a low intensity about it that melted her. She bit her lip, her head dropping back. She could just picture him. Reaching over, she flicked her monitor off, allowing the enveloping darkness to take over. If he were by the window in his bedroom, the moonlight would be at his back. In her mind’s eye, she touched his outline, reaching out for him with every atom of her body. Between her thighs she was hot and wet, her inner flesh clutching rhythmically, wanting him there.
“Touch yourself, now,” he instructed.
The pulse in her groin beat wildly in response to his words. Her free hand moved between her thighs, her fingers dipping into her well of slick heat, the palm of her hand crushing her clit.
“Do you want me there?” His tone was demanding, almost desperate.
“Oh, yes.”
“Make yourself come, let me hear you.”
She put one foot up on the edge of the desk, opening her legs wide. He was breathing close to the mouthpiece, and the sound fueled her.
“Describe it, tell me how it feels.”
“I’m swollen, I’ve been thinking of you all evening. My clit is hard, so sensitive.” Almost too sensitive, it stung as she flicked it. “Oh God.”
“Come, please…let me hear you.”
She moved her hand, her cunt locking on one hard finger, hips moving back and forth, palm rocking against her clit. Her moan of release was long and breathless.
            “I wish I was there.”
            She laughed breathlessly. “So do I, believe me.”
            “It’s not getting any easier, is it?” he commented, with a dry laugh.
            “No,” she agreed. “I’m going to finish the article tonight,” she whispered, before she said good-bye.
“That’s bad isn’t it?”
She couldn’t help smiling. He knew that she had been dragging her heels. How had he come to know her so well? A feeling of destiny surrounded her. “No. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I’m not going to let it be a bad thing, Christopher.” In the moment of silence, she sensed his relief.
“Remember what I said.”
Her heart brimmed. On their last night together they had lain silently in each other’s arms, talking whilst barely speaking, drinking each other in through their eyes. When dawn broke through, he’d fed her breakfast in bed before taking her out to walk across the land. On the hilltop, there was an early morning mist that seemed to hold them to the ground they stood upon. He told her then that he wanted her to come back, that he’d be there for her. Deep inside, she already knew that. She put her fingers to his lips and sank into his embrace, wishing they could stay shrouded in the mist forever. Far too soon, the midmorning sun broke through and it was time for her to catch the ferry to the mainland.
“I remember everything you said,” she whispered into the phone. “And you’re right. You always were. What’s life without a few risks? I want to be with you.”
“In that case, I’ll move back to London.”
For a moment, she was stunned. “No way. You belong there.” She paused. “Christopher, trust me, I can make the impossible work, too.”
            “Yes…?”
It was the first time she had ever heard any hint of vulnerability in his voice, and that told her everything she needed to know.
“Yes, love. You’ve made me braver.”
When they finally said good-bye, she poured herself the last measure of Arran malt from the bottle Christopher had hidden in her overnight bag when she left, and sipped it slowly, savoring its rich, full-bodied taste. Switching on her monitor, she typed a letter to the agencies she worked for, informing them of her upcoming change of location, flagging up her availability for assignments in Scotland and the north.
            Turning to the article, she rubbed her hands together and added her conclusion. Despite her earlier unwillingness, it took her only moments to complete the article. Now that the decision had been made, everything fell into place. Finally, she scrolled to the top, smiling to herself, and added the title: Arran’s Lure: making the impossible scenario work, despite the odds.
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Tune in around noon for the next portion of today's schedule!
XXX,
Alison