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Friday, February 21, 2014

Love and Soft Lighting-Jacqueline George #sex #ebooks #erotic #authors #writing

 Love and Soft Lighting  
Do you like ebooks? I love them. I love the ease of buying ebooks, and the generally cheaper price. I love being able to load up my Kindle before I fly off on holiday. They are a great invention.
On the other hand, holding a paper book is a pretty good feeling. I grew up that way and it feels, I don’t know, comfortable. And giving a proper book as a Christmas present means far more than a link to an ebook.
Why am I being nostalgic? Because I have just released my longer novels as paperbacks, all by myself, without some greedy publisher ripping off 90% of the price. It was so much fun, I started to worry about my shorter stories - how could I get those down on paper?
Easy - collect them together to make a solid book, and so that is what I did. Love and Soft Lighting is the result and I sent it off with a kiss just last Sunday. I hope it does well. It certainly should do; such a collection of romance and eroticism will touch everyone’s heart (and probably their other bits too).
Of course, once Love and Soft Lighting was out as a paperback, I just had to release it as an ebook as well - you understand how it is...

In revenge for Marc’s arrogance, François, Marie and Noelle have tied him up and are making him suffer.
Marie opens her handbag and produces an elegant vibrator, a model cock in pink silicone with a white plastic base. In her hands, it looks large, and certainly larger than Tremblaine’s.
“You’re not!” says Françoise.
“Why not? He did it to me. Give me a hand, now.”
“But you can’t do it without lubricant. Oil or something.”
“He didn’t use anything on me. It will serve him right.”
“No.” Françoise is definite. “It wouldn’t be civilised. He might do things like that, but we don’t. Get us some oil, Noëlle. This is something I want to watch.”
From the little ceramic bottle I use for salads, she pours olive oil between Tremblaine’s cheeks and spreads it around with a finger. She pushes against him and he groans.
“Very good. Now a little oil on the thing, and he’s all yours.”
Marie takes the oily vibrator from her and nuzzles it between his cheeks. She looks at me, but I know nothing more than she does. She shrugs and begins to push.
I realise Tremblaine is shaking again. “Aaah!” he moans.
“Is it going in?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. He’s not helping. Tell him to let it in.”
I crouch down at his head and whisper, “You’re going to relax and let it in, aren’t you? You want this cock up your arse, don’t you? Let it in, or you’ll have me to deal with.”
“It’s going,” calls Marie, “It’s going in. Yes!”
Tremblaine groans again and begins to pant, rapid shallow breaths as she finally takes him. This does not look good. He will not be able to stand it. I grab his earlobe and pinch hard. “Concentrate, Tremblaine. You’re not going to come. You are NOT going to come.” I pinch harder to distract him and he moans.
His head is back, eyes closed and every muscle tense. There are tears on his cheeks. “Good boy,” I say and step away. Three quarters of the vibrator is buried inside him and Marie has a wicked smile on her face.
We stand in silence until Françoise says, “I think this deserves a photo. Bring your camera, Noëlle.” Marie has already produced her mobile and is moving around the room, taking pictures from different directions.
When I return with my camera and tripod, I see Françoise returning a mobile to Tremblaine’s jacket pocket. He will have a souvenir of the evening. I set up my camera and look through the viewfinder. The image looks good, but I want to experiment. The girls move my reading lights from place to place to change the shadows across his body. I already know some of these shots will be stunning.
Françoise looks underneath him. “He still hasn’t come. How about that? He can last, if he wants to. What are we going to do now? How about opening a bottle of wine? We deserve it.”
As they move to the kitchen, I crouch at his head again. “You’ve done well, Marc Tremblaine, but I hope you’ll remember tonight. Will you?”
“Oh, yes, Mam’selle.” I am almost convinced.
“Er, Mam’selle, please can I come?”
Bastard! He is still thinking of his own pleasure. I decide to be cruel. “I don’t know. Can you?”
He moans in frustration as I stand up, ready to leave him. The others are standing in the kitchen door, watching. On a whim, I click the base of his vibrator around to its slowest position, and join then.
We hear Tremblaine sigh as he feels the vibrations deep inside. Slowly, he raises his head, back as far as he can. The muscles of his back and legs tense and harden. As we watch, his orgasm begins. Shocks quake through him, one after the other. In the darkness, his cock is jumping, spurting his juice into his bundled up shirt. It will be very wet and uncomfortable.
I put a finger over my lips to silence the others, and return to switch off his vibrator. When I go to his head to release his cuffs, he whispers to me, so quietly that I have to come very close to hear.
We stand together in the kitchen, smiling and toasting each other in cold Marlborough sauvignon blanc. We are listening to him getting dressed next door. Eventually, we hear him leave and close the front door behind him.
Now we can laugh out loud and rush into the living room. I switch the main light on and throw myself back onto the sofa. “Well, I enjoyed that. I had a much better date with him than you two got.”
“Maybe,” says Françoise, “But I enjoyed this evening as much as you did. Even if I didn’t get a swish dinner thrown in.”
We look at Marie. She has a contented smile, but says nothing.
Now I can give them my news. “You’ll never guess. He wants to come back.”
Now Marie is shocked. “What? You mean tonight, all this, was for nothing? He enjoyed it?”
Françoise is not shocked. “Well, you know. I suppose lots of men would enjoy it. I just hope we’ve spoiled him. I think some of those young secretaries he tries will seem very plain after tonight. But he’s not coming back, I’m afraid. Not once he’s switched his mobile back on.”
We look at her. What is she talking about? “You know, I took a picture of him.”
“Well, I sent it to all his contacts.”
Now we are really shocked. “My God - everyone? His friends, his mother... He must have all the top floor in his contacts.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” says Françoise. “Half of them will just delete it, and I bet the other half ask for an introduction. But I can’t see him ever looking us in the face again. He’ll never be back here.”
Happiness is bubbling up inside me. It has been a wonderful evening. I think of Marc Tremblaine, stretched out on my wicked sofa, trembling. I think of Françoise whacking his poor bum, and Marie probing uncertainly with her plastic cock. I think of Marc shuddering through his orgasm, and his whispered plea afterwards.
I smile at the others. “He’ll be back. Count on it. This time, he can take us all to dinner and then - then we can teach him how to be a proper man.”

Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com

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