It’s the 19th of May. Do you know what that means? It’s time to post your Sexy Snippets!
The ERWA blog is not primarily intended for author promotion.
However, we’ve decided we should give our author/members an occasional
opportunity to expose themselves (so to speak) to the reading public.
Hence, we have declared the 19th of every month at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association blog Sexy Snippet Day.
On Sexy Snippet day, any author can post a tiny excerpt (200 words or less) in a comment
on the day’s post. Include the title from with the snippet was
extracted, your name or pseudonym, and one buy link, if you’d like.
Please
follow the rules. If you post more than 200 words or more than one
link, I’ll remove your comment and ban you from participating in further
Sexy Snippet days. So play nice!
After
you’ve posted your snippet, feel free to share the post as a whole to
Facebook, Twitter, or wherever else you think your readers hang out.
Have fun!
~ Lisabet
Sex and writing. I think I've always been fascinated by both.
Freud was right. I definitely remember feelings that I now recognize as sexual, long before I reached puberty. I was horny before I knew what that meant. My teens and twenties I spent in a hormone-induced haze, perpetually "in love" with someone (sometimes more than one someone). I still recall the moment of enlightenment, in high school, when I realized that I could say "yes" to sexual exploration, even though society told me to say no. Despite being a shy egghead with world-class myopia who thought she was fat, I had managed to accumulate a pretty wide range of sexual experience by the time I got married. And I'm happy to report that, thanks to my husband's open mind and naughty imagination, my sexual adventures didn't end at that point!
Meanwhile, I was born writing. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration, though according to family apocrypha, I was talking at six months. Certainly, I started writing as soon as I learned how to form the letters. I penned my first poem when I was seven. While I was in elementary school I wrote more poetry, stories, at least two plays (one about the Beatles and one about the Goldwater-Johnson presidential contest, believe it or not), and a survival manual for Martians (really). I continued to write my way through high school, college, and grad school, mostly angst-ridden poems about love and desire, although I also remember working on a ghost story/romance novel (wish I could find that now). I've written song lyrics, meeting minutes, marketing copy, software manuals, research reports, a cookbook, a self-help book, and a five hundred page dissertation.
For years, I wrote erotic stories and kinky fantasies for myself and for lovers' entertainment. I never considered trying to publish my work until I picked up a copy of Portia da Costa's Black Lace classic Gemini Heat while sojourning in Istanbul. My first reaction was "Wow!". It was possibly the most arousing thing I'd ever read, intelligent, articulate, diverse and wonderfully transgressive. My second reaction was, "I'll bet I could write a book like that." I wrote the first three chapters of Raw Silk and submitted a proposal to Black Lace, almost on a lark. I was astonished when they accepted it. The book was published in April 1999, and all at once, I was an official erotic author.
A lot has changed since my Black Lace days. But I still get a thrill from writing erotica. It's a never-ending challenge, trying to capture the emotional complexities of a sexual encounter. I'm far less interested in what happens to my characters' bodies than in what goes on in their heads.
Mark worked in his yard almost every morning, practically naked. Didn't he have a job to go to? She pulled the curtain aside and peered out at him. He wasn't wearing a belt, and his cargo shorts drooped down to show a strip of pale skin where his tan ended. He squatted to trim a low bush, and she averted her eyes. She shouldn't have to be exposed to this.
He must think he's really something special, she thought, parading around like that. She had complained to her neighborhood association about Mark, but they said they couldn't do anything.
She remembered the night before, making love with her husband, Jimmy. She had been trying to focus on Jimmy, but other thoughts kept intruding. He’d grunted and thrust on top of her, while her mind wandered to shopping lists and PTA meetings. Finally she had started to feel aroused, but then a disturbing image popped into her head. She pictured Mark, lying on the bed beside her and Jimmy. Mark was smiling, like he did whenever they met. He was stroking his penis, and watching her and Jimmy. Bobbi had climaxed, seeing that image in her mind. She shuddered.
From "Mesmerized," in Shameless Behavior.
http://godeeperpress.com/projects/shameless-behavior/
I’m reveling in this, and intuitive Dom that he is, he knows it, continuing to spank me long after the preparatory effects are exhausted. He ramps up the pressure again, very slightly, but it’s enough. It hurts, but it’s a good sort of hurting. It feels wonderful, exciting, beautifully erotic. I’m welcoming every blow, jerking under his hand as it falls and connects with my sensitised bottom, each resounding slap echoing around the room. I’m aware of the pain, attuned to it but at the same time becoming strangely disconnected from it as the sting radiates and disperses through my body. I experience a curious impression of floating, and can no longer feel the floor under my bare feet. I could fall, could roll off this bench so easily, but I really don’t care. All I care about, the only thing I’m aware of is the steady, rhythmic sound of the slaps, and the sublime mix of pleasure and pain now curling seductively through my body. I want more of it, I want all of it. I never want it to end. I want to soak it all in, soak it up.
192 words from Hard Lessons, book 2 in The Hardest Word trilogy, by Ashe Barker
https://www.totallybound.com/hard-lessons
Great description. I love this.
I circled back and examined his butt. Muscled, tanned, with the barest covering of down. A very sexy butt. I planted a wet kiss on one of his cheeks, then ran my tongue down the crevice between them. He writhed.
"Remember what we told you about coming," I said, and then slapped him, hard. The marks of my five fingers burned red on his flesh.
"Ow! That hurts!"
"That's the idea. Do you think it didn't hurt, for Lucia and for me to discover your underhandedness and dishonesty?" I slapped him again, on the other cheek, then back to the first one, building up my pace. I was glad that I work out. I needed the stamina.
"Ouch! Argh! Oh please! Alex, please, stop!"
I aimed a stinging blow at the back of one of his thighs and was delighted by the resulting rosy bloom. "I don't think so." I landed an open-handed slap on the matching thigh. "I'm having too much fun."
I was, too. My simmering anger subsided more and more with each contact of my palm with his punished flesh. As his buttocks warmed with my blows, my fury cooled. But not my arousal.
197 words from "Quiet Evening at Home" in Admit You Want It: BDSM Stories.
“You like it when I hurt you,” she said. “You liked it in the bar.”
“You have no idea,” he whispered in her ear.
She moved her fingers up his stomach, tickling the muscles so that they jerked in her hand. She circled his areola, feeling his hair there crinkle slightly. His small, flat nipple hardened almost the way hers had, and she bent forward to take it in her mouth, much like he had hers. Then, she opened her eyes to look up at him as she began to clench her teeth around the small bit of flesh in her mouth.
His cock jerked between them, and he threw his head back in a loud groan before fisting her hair and yanking. It must have hurt like hell when she pulled his nipple with her teeth on the way, but as she went stumbling back into the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he only seemed more aroused, if that was possible.
163 words
Winter Howl: http://www.amazon.com/Winter-Howl-Sanctuary-Aurelia-Evans-ebook/dp/B00ASOWPAG/ref=la_B008W2KI0A_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1400516129&sr=1-5
My boy did me proud, sliding in, taking his time, twisting his hips just right, as Marcus groaned. He pumped him real slow, groaning around the chain between his teeth. I could see his sore thighs rubbing against Marcus, watched him wince as he hit the welts, but it did not stop him from focusing on the fuck. He is so hot when his cock is being used. It brings him into himself, straightens his shoulders, stirs his pride. He knows he is skilled at this.
My boy is attentive, and focused. It’s not about his pleasure, it’s about you, and he is so focused on you that you feel larger, immense, like you fill the entire room. Abe only wants to give you what you need, to create the kinds of sensations you most enjoy, and he pays such close attention. His gaze and focus is a mighty thing, and as I watched him turn it to Marcus, watched him serve in this particular way, I filled with pride that he was mine.
174 words from “Compersion”, by Xan West, printed in I Like To Watch
http://www.amazon.com/Like-Watch-Gay-Erotic-Stories/dp/1573444227/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top