Archive for September, 2011

Resources for erotic writers

Posted 28 September 2011 By Polly J Adams

Here are a few of the links that keep me inspired and motivated. Web resources that help me with the craft of being a writer of erotic fiction, or which make me feel part of that community.

First and foremost, for me, is Twitter. I love it for the little snippets of other people’s lives, from what they’re working on and what they’re selling to what else they may be up to, often in intimate detail! I’d love you to follow me, too.

http://www.internet-resources.com/writers/wrlinks-fiction.htm – this one is absolutely crammed with links to writing sites. You could get lost for days here!

For practical writing, there are lots of resources I use. One I like to dip into is dailywritingtips.com; it’s full of useful guidance and thought-provoking material, from the basics to the quite specific. Among my favourite articles here are:

On erotic writing, how about these?

And finally, for all kinds of insights into the life of an erotic writer, and indeed, the erotic life of the writer, where would we be without blogs? There are far too many fine ones to mention, but here are some of the ones I follow:

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I want to make you come

Posted 22 September 2011 By Polly J Adams

The world of erotic literature is a rich and varied place. There are stories for every taste, every predilection, every kink. There are stories that are subtle, where it’s all about the romance, the anticipation; there are stories where all of that is peripheral and it’s all about the action. What it all boils down to, though, is the common thread: erotic literature is written to make you come.

My stories are no different. I write erotica because I want to turn readers on. I want to make you come. I want you to share my stories with your partners and friends and use them to turn each other on. I want you to read them when you’re alone, read them while you have a little buzzer pressed against your clit or a lubed hand around your cock.

I want you to read and play and hold off because you want to play right to the end of the story, and then I want you to go back to the best bits and come.

Is that too much to ask?

I have a lot of writing experience in a variety of fields. I’ve written novels published by major commercial publishers. I’ve written for magazines. I like my stories to do more than just one thing: if you read my collection, You, you’ll find they add up to more than just the sex: a relationship, two people having an affair where they have to tread carefully, but where the intensity is the ruling factor.

But one thing I loved about writing these stories is that they are about the sex. They’re crammed full of it.

They are about turning you on.

They are about making you come.

I hope you don’t mind…

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You – a teaser

Posted 17 September 2011 By Polly J Adams

Here’s a sample from my latest book, You:

We spoke for a few minutes — although we were in constant contact, we hadn’t seen each other for several days. I was intensely aware of you as we talked. Since arriving, we hadn’t touched — I’d even kept my feet tucked back under my seat, out of reach.

“So what’s all this about?” you asked. You reached across the table, then, but I slipped my hand away at the last moment. For a second, a panicked expression took over your face. You thought something was wrong, but you couldn’t work out what it might be. I smiled. It was the smile I keep for when I know something you don’t and I’m going to have fun sharing the secret.

“What’s all what about, gorgeous?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

“The secret rendezvous. You not telling me what we’re doing here, or what we’re going to do afterwards…”

“You want me to tell you?” Still smiling, looking at you over the rim of my glass.

“I—”

But the food came then. I’d already ordered. There was a big clay dish of prawns, sizzling and crackling in garlic and chilli, a platter of roasted vegetables, thinly sliced aubergines glistening in oil — as the waiter retreated, I picked up one of these and sucked at the inside of it, leaving only the narrow strips of purple skin. I felt oil on my chin, and left it there. I knew you just wanted to lick it off.

Your eyes had never left mine. Now I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to tell you?” I took a prawn, cracked it open and pulled at its pink flesh with my teeth.

You waited. You knew I would tell you. Eventually.

“Okay, babe,” I said, finally. “What’s going to happen is this. You’re not going to touch me all evening. Not going to lay a finger on me. Not going to put your arm around me when we leave, or take my hand while we walk the very short distance to the hotel I’ve booked. If you do, if you give in to the temptation to squeeze my hip, or brush against my arse… if you do any of that, you lose, babe, and you wouldn’t want to do that.”

And then I pushed my tongue against the remaining half of the prawn, probing its flesh, my chin still glistening with oil.

“And if I manage to do that…?”

“Then you win, babe.”

“What do I win?”

I put my hand back on the table, then, and you almost took it. Almost. You stopped, millimetres away from it.

“If you win,” I told you, “I’m going to have to undress you and handcuff you to our bed.”

“And…?”

“And then I’m going to have to strip. Slowly.”

I took a button mushroom from one of the plates, and curled my tongue around its head before taking it whole into my mouth.

“And…?” I took my hand from the table, then, and ran the back of my fingers down from my neck to where the thin fabric of my dress drew a black band across my breasts.

“And then you’re going to have to watch me play. I’m going to finger-fuck myself right over your face, so that you’re stretching up as far as you can and can’t quite reach me with your tongue. I’m going to play with toys until my juices are dripping down over your face and you’re begging me to fuck you, begging me to suck you and I’m going to move down until I’m directly over your twitching, aching cock and drip my juices on it. I’m going to lean over it so that you can feel my breath on your balls, and all the time I’m going to be playing and coming and you’re going to be bursting to fuck me with that beautiful gorgeous cock, and you’re just going to have to watch me playing. And then, finally, if I haven’t had enough by then, I’m going to let you loose, and after that I’ve no idea what’s going to happen. Sound good?”

You stared at me. So close across the table, calmly sipping at my drink again. You could easily reach out and touch me… but you couldn’t. You could sense that my feet were no longer tucked back under my chair, but … you didn’t move, didn’t make contact.

You stared at me. You understood now. You had realised that right there in the restaurant, surrounded by dozens of people, I had you handcuffed, restrained: as sure as if I had you locked to the bedposts, you couldn’t move, couldn’t touch me.

[…continues]

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