Sweetest Kiss was released last year, but suddenly, reviews everywhere! The first printing sold out in a couple weeks, so it's popular.
Violet Blue
Dirty Sexy Books
And SPANK! got a nice review too.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like
Halloween.
Sweetest Kiss was released last year, but suddenly, reviews everywhere! The first printing sold out in a couple weeks, so it's popular.
Violet Blue
Dirty Sexy Books
And SPANK! got a nice review too.
Sweetest Kiss was released last year, but suddenly, reviews everywhere! The first printing sold out in a couple weeks, so it's popular.
Violet Blue
Dirty Sexy Books
And SPANK! got a nice review too.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
SPANK! Blog tour
I know this isn't supposed to be posted until September 8th, but I'm sure you'll live.
Have you seen the list of contributors to this anthology? (scroll down to the previous entry if you haven’t) It’s a Spankopalooza of my favorite erotica writers. I look forward to reading what they have to say about their stories.
My first idea for this entry was to tell a little, true story about the time SPANK! editor D.L. King flogged me in a leather shop in NYC, but then decided that it might 1) scare erotica writers from submitting stories to an editor who flogs her writers (even though it was my idea), 2) make me seem like a wuss (When I said that the third flogger she used hurt, I meant it as an observation of how it felt, not that I wanted her to stop.), and 3) even for a writer, it’s almost impossible to convey the look of shock and horror on that guy’s face when he came out of the dressing room wearing a tutu and rubber corset to see D.L. flogging me in the middle of the store. Since that wouldn't work, I decided to post a snip from my story instead, and talk a little about my inspiration.
Have you ever wanted to yank a pop princess over your knee and give that pert bottom a good, hard smack or two?
~~
From Apple Bottom Hard Cider:
Mya sprawled against the dark blue leather seat of the limo as it crept down Sunset Boulevard. “You luv mommy, yes you do,” she told her Chihuahua.
The tiny animal was blinged and bedazzled in Mya’s signature color: Mya magenta. The dog silently begged Chuck for help. He knew exactly how it felt.
She shoved the dog into the magenta purse-sized carrier she took everywhere with her. “This better work, Chucky.”
When he didn’t immediately rush in with assurances, she kicked him with her studded black leather hooker boot. He turned away from the window but said nothing. Behind her outsized sunglasses, no doubt her eyes narrowed. Before, that would have made him coo in soothing tones while he fixed whatever it was that had her panties – if she ever wore them – in a bunch, but after tonight, he was done with that.
The contest had been eighteen strokes of pure genius. It was the only reason Chuck stayed with Mya through the release of her latest record. So many times as she’d belittled him, he’d been tempted to walk away. Every time, he closed his eyes and imagined the scene that would finally play out tonight. She thought she had his balls in an iron grip, but he was about to show her who was boss.
Mya squirmed. "Yeah, about that contest..."
Oh no. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Chuck swallowed his alarm and played the part that came naturally to him. “Sweetie. Darling. It’ll be all right. Trust me.” He patted her hand.
Her upper lip curled.
“We’ve talked about this. Your fans are in a feeding frenzy as they fantasize about being the first to tap your forbidden fruit when it finally becomes legal. Of course, that’s why we’ve been playing up the virgin angle so hard. That’s why we delayed the release of your record to coincide with your birthday. This is it. This is your time.”
“I get that. What I don’t get is the whole birthday spanking thing.”
He’d explained it to her about a thousand times. His story was pure bullshit, of course, just an excuse to get his revenge, but he tried to sound as if he knew what he was talking about. “It’s symbolic of taking your virginity. We had thousands of entries for the honor of giving you a little birthday spank in front of your guests. Like I said, your fans all want to be your first.”
She frowned more. “Yeah, but...”
Chuck leaned forward, his hands clasped before him. He widened his eyes. “It’s never been done before. No more ‘Me too, Mya.’”
She glared at him. He’d never dared called her that to her face before.
Before she got angry and took it out on him, he rushed in with soothing assurances. “No one will ever forget this night. You’ll be the top internet search for weeks, maybe even months. More hits than Britney even. Your new singles get more radio air time. Everyone will be talking about you. Lady Gaga will choke with jealousy. Justin Timberlake might do a duet. Madonna… Well, you get the picture.”
“He’s not a creep, is he? The contest winner. You didn’t pick just anyone.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I took extra special care in choosing just the right man for the job. But of course we told everyone it was a random drawing.”
~~
I didn’t have a specific Diva in mind when I created Mya, but feel free to fantasize that she’s Madonna, J.Lo, Mariah, that Minogue chick (That was just for you, McKinnon), Britney, Shakirah, or whoever gets your pulse racing. I have to draw the line at Lady Gaga though. I’m sorry, but she just isn’t the right girl for this fantasy.
You see, I have a tiny confession to make. I like Lady Gaga. Do not! (I am so serious about this) Do not even try to argue with a fan about her Diva. You’ll only get hurt. So when I tell you that I like her music, keep any snide comments to your misinformed self. However, if you’re also a fan, go ahead and agree with me.
Anyway, a couple weeks ago, I went to Lady Gaga’s concert here in Los Angeles. She has the most incredible fans. Imagine a six foot six crossdresser with soda can curlers in hir hair, feathery pink eyelashes, and fishnet stockings covering those long drink of water legs from the tops of hir sexy black hooker boots to the spot where hir tight, hot pink boyshorts cupped hir tiny, cute butt – and being more amazed by hir companion’s outfit! It was like Paris is Burning meets Pricilla, Queen of the Desert. For once, Los Angeles was just as wildly weird as I wish it always were. Why don’t we dress more daring around here? Fuck bikinis –unless it’s Lady Gaga’s sparkler lazertit bra and undie combo. And Oh.My.God. the frosted (was that latex?) dress. Don’t even get me started on the drag queen wet dream white angel/goddess number with the moving fiberoptic headdress. (You know it was spectacular if I, the least visual human on earth, actually noticed all that.)
So don’t sully Lady Gaga by substituting her into this fantasy of public humiliation. She’s too talented to be my character Mya. But feel free to worship her, because Divas are meant to be idolized, not punished.
**
You can find the next blog on the tour here, but it probably won't be up until the actual date, September 9.
**
Have you seen the list of contributors to this anthology? (scroll down to the previous entry if you haven’t) It’s a Spankopalooza of my favorite erotica writers. I look forward to reading what they have to say about their stories.
My first idea for this entry was to tell a little, true story about the time SPANK! editor D.L. King flogged me in a leather shop in NYC, but then decided that it might 1) scare erotica writers from submitting stories to an editor who flogs her writers (even though it was my idea), 2) make me seem like a wuss (When I said that the third flogger she used hurt, I meant it as an observation of how it felt, not that I wanted her to stop.), and 3) even for a writer, it’s almost impossible to convey the look of shock and horror on that guy’s face when he came out of the dressing room wearing a tutu and rubber corset to see D.L. flogging me in the middle of the store. Since that wouldn't work, I decided to post a snip from my story instead, and talk a little about my inspiration.
Have you ever wanted to yank a pop princess over your knee and give that pert bottom a good, hard smack or two?
~~
From Apple Bottom Hard Cider:
Mya sprawled against the dark blue leather seat of the limo as it crept down Sunset Boulevard. “You luv mommy, yes you do,” she told her Chihuahua.
The tiny animal was blinged and bedazzled in Mya’s signature color: Mya magenta. The dog silently begged Chuck for help. He knew exactly how it felt.
She shoved the dog into the magenta purse-sized carrier she took everywhere with her. “This better work, Chucky.”
When he didn’t immediately rush in with assurances, she kicked him with her studded black leather hooker boot. He turned away from the window but said nothing. Behind her outsized sunglasses, no doubt her eyes narrowed. Before, that would have made him coo in soothing tones while he fixed whatever it was that had her panties – if she ever wore them – in a bunch, but after tonight, he was done with that.
The contest had been eighteen strokes of pure genius. It was the only reason Chuck stayed with Mya through the release of her latest record. So many times as she’d belittled him, he’d been tempted to walk away. Every time, he closed his eyes and imagined the scene that would finally play out tonight. She thought she had his balls in an iron grip, but he was about to show her who was boss.
Mya squirmed. "Yeah, about that contest..."
Oh no. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Chuck swallowed his alarm and played the part that came naturally to him. “Sweetie. Darling. It’ll be all right. Trust me.” He patted her hand.
Her upper lip curled.
“We’ve talked about this. Your fans are in a feeding frenzy as they fantasize about being the first to tap your forbidden fruit when it finally becomes legal. Of course, that’s why we’ve been playing up the virgin angle so hard. That’s why we delayed the release of your record to coincide with your birthday. This is it. This is your time.”
“I get that. What I don’t get is the whole birthday spanking thing.”
He’d explained it to her about a thousand times. His story was pure bullshit, of course, just an excuse to get his revenge, but he tried to sound as if he knew what he was talking about. “It’s symbolic of taking your virginity. We had thousands of entries for the honor of giving you a little birthday spank in front of your guests. Like I said, your fans all want to be your first.”
She frowned more. “Yeah, but...”
Chuck leaned forward, his hands clasped before him. He widened his eyes. “It’s never been done before. No more ‘Me too, Mya.’”
She glared at him. He’d never dared called her that to her face before.
Before she got angry and took it out on him, he rushed in with soothing assurances. “No one will ever forget this night. You’ll be the top internet search for weeks, maybe even months. More hits than Britney even. Your new singles get more radio air time. Everyone will be talking about you. Lady Gaga will choke with jealousy. Justin Timberlake might do a duet. Madonna… Well, you get the picture.”
“He’s not a creep, is he? The contest winner. You didn’t pick just anyone.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I took extra special care in choosing just the right man for the job. But of course we told everyone it was a random drawing.”
~~
I didn’t have a specific Diva in mind when I created Mya, but feel free to fantasize that she’s Madonna, J.Lo, Mariah, that Minogue chick (That was just for you, McKinnon), Britney, Shakirah, or whoever gets your pulse racing. I have to draw the line at Lady Gaga though. I’m sorry, but she just isn’t the right girl for this fantasy.
You see, I have a tiny confession to make. I like Lady Gaga. Do not! (I am so serious about this) Do not even try to argue with a fan about her Diva. You’ll only get hurt. So when I tell you that I like her music, keep any snide comments to your misinformed self. However, if you’re also a fan, go ahead and agree with me.
Anyway, a couple weeks ago, I went to Lady Gaga’s concert here in Los Angeles. She has the most incredible fans. Imagine a six foot six crossdresser with soda can curlers in hir hair, feathery pink eyelashes, and fishnet stockings covering those long drink of water legs from the tops of hir sexy black hooker boots to the spot where hir tight, hot pink boyshorts cupped hir tiny, cute butt – and being more amazed by hir companion’s outfit! It was like Paris is Burning meets Pricilla, Queen of the Desert. For once, Los Angeles was just as wildly weird as I wish it always were. Why don’t we dress more daring around here? Fuck bikinis –unless it’s Lady Gaga’s sparkler lazertit bra and undie combo. And Oh.My.God. the frosted (was that latex?) dress. Don’t even get me started on the drag queen wet dream white angel/goddess number with the moving fiberoptic headdress. (You know it was spectacular if I, the least visual human on earth, actually noticed all that.)
So don’t sully Lady Gaga by substituting her into this fantasy of public humiliation. She’s too talented to be my character Mya. But feel free to worship her, because Divas are meant to be idolized, not punished.
**
You can find the next blog on the tour here, but it probably won't be up until the actual date, September 9.
**
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