C is for… Celebrity Skin

“I don’t want to go, and if I don’t want to do something, I do not fucking do it, so they’re gonna have to find some loser to accept the damned award on my behalf because I will not be there to do it myself.”

“But Miss Val–”

“No buts! When I say no, I mean no. You there?! Get Johnny on the phone. You?! Cancel everything in my calendar for the next five days, then book me a flight to Paris because I want escargot and I want it now. And you?! Get me a latte, and do not dare make it skinny.”

From his chaise by the window, Harrison watched Valerie breeze around the room. She barked order after order, stalking from one flunky to the next, grabbing arms, shoving, snarling. Raising an eyebrow in disapproval, he pursed his lips as she hollered at some cowering kid, pointing accusingly from him to the splashes of dirty martini that were seeping into the feathered hem of her robe. Poor kid hadn’t been anywhere near her, she’d done that herself with all her ill-tempered gesticulating. Continue reading “C is for… Celebrity Skin”

Oh, Lola

Lola is being a brat.

Her office is closed today. She wants me to stay home with her and I can’t, so she’s acting up.

First, it was pouting. Those soft lips of hers, tinted pink, puckering into a perfect little rosebud while her chin dimpled, and her Wedgewood blue eyes glittered with tears. She has this way of inclining her head and looking up at me through her dolly lashes. It looks innocent enough, but the way she pulls her arms in and leans forward so I follow the line of her eyes, to her pout, to her cleavage reveals it for what it is.

Manipulative little so-and-so. Every other time I’ve seen her pull that trick I’ve grabbed her and kissed her breathless, so why she thought it would work today is anybody’s guess. Continue reading “Oh, Lola”

The Legend of Lyonesse

Tommy stared at the sleeping girl on his bed. Her flushed cheeks were stained with the tracks of her tears, and right at the corner of her mouth, there was a blob of thick white gunk. He traced his fingers over her bottom lip, feeling his back sting with the stretch. He’d fucked her hard while she’d cried for him, and she’d clawed the skin off his back while he’d done it.

“Sweet Erato,” he whispered. “What a wicked, wild thing you were tonight.” Continue reading “The Legend of Lyonesse”

Spank You, Baby!


I took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for Laura’s room. I could hear her complaining her ass off downstairs, even though she was at the front of the house and I was right at the back. Yeah, the piece of wood she was holding against the wall was fucking heavy, and that’s why I was taking my time. I enjoyed pissing her off, it was my favourite thing.

“On the bookcase in a unicorn bucket,” I sniggered as I walked through the door. Continue reading “Spank You, Baby!”

The Instrument and the Ornament


Hands behind my head, I sang along with the song playing quietly on my iPod, plaiting my waist length hair into a thick black rope. It was awkward and time consuming, but this was the way it had to be and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Jagged Little Pill. I’d always loved this album. It had been released in the mid-nineties, around the time I was charging head first into adulthood and what my mother had cringingly called my sexual awakening. It was also the time I discovered boys, and what wondrous, horrendous creatures they could be. I’d been abused, deceived, used, and fooled. But that was then. My now was very different, despite its similarities to my past. Continue reading “The Instrument and the Ornament”

Candy, Caned

Two sexy seductive women in Christmas Mrs Santa Claus outfits, hats and lingerie in love

“Oh, Candace?”

My laugh died on my lips and I froze, one hand on the lapel of the dinner jacket that covered the broad chest of the guy I’d been flirting with for the last twenty minutes. He glanced over my shoulder, whistled quietly, then after patting my hand for a brief second, he walked away.

I didn’t dare turn around. It had been painfully obvious in the saccharine tone of Astrid’s voice that I’d angered her, and I couldn’t bear to let her see my face. Not because I didn’t want her to see my shame. I felt none of that, nor did I feel contrite.

Continue reading “Candy, Caned”