Posts Tagged ‘erotic stories’


I taught three workshops at the recent RNC in Las Vegas. Two of them were How To Write Erotica and Finding The Erotic In You.

Preparing for each of these workshops made me take pause to consider what I did to channel the erotic in me in order to write erotica. An interesting introspective.

First of all, I don’t really think about it too much while I write. I have an idea in my head about the story and then, as I said time and again during the workshops, the characters take me through the journey. It comes easily when I follow their lead, especially when I determine their (the characters) dynamic and my/their plot direction, but that can change during the course of the story too.

There have been several times when I’ve gotten so engrossed in the story that I stop and suddenly recognize I have not added any spicy or erotic bits. I can get so wrapped up in the drama or adventure that I really do forget that it’s a romance or erotic romance novel. I actually love it when that happens because I know that I am truly in the zone. It’s easy to go back, reread sections and add bits to heighten the arousal factor. If a story lends itself to the romantic or steamy then it’s pretty easy to do. I do dozens of rereads and rewrites throughout the process of completing a book so there are plenty of opportunities to tone things down or spice things up.

Writing the erotic or romantic sections is not difficult when the characters are connected, and that part is up to the writer to create. You have to dig deep into your own experiences as well as have a vivid imagination. Use them wisely, use them well. They are your tools. Finding the right language to truly portray the mood and emotion of the moment is also important. Your audience wants to really feel the characters in moments of passion or lust and you have to be honest and open and not let them (your audience and your characters) down.

Look at a blank page as an occasion to release all of your innermost desires and fantasies, then create a story around those visions to build and drive your story forward. Or, create your story and insert (no pun intended) those passionate passages in.

It can work either way. The important thing is, follow your instinct and your character’s lead. They know the way.    IMG_0239


Dear All,

I am so excited to share with you that my collection of erotic short stories “Boudoir stories” is almost ready for print!  But – one key element is still missing – a book cover; and I’d like to ask for your help in choosing the best book cover for this new collection of erotic stories!

This is a very, very important contest for me, as book covers are incredibly powerful.  It’s the first glimpse into what’s inside.  Whether erotica or not, a book cover should be titillating and alluring and should invite the reader in.  It can make or break someone buying the book, and a good book cover should make you want that book.

So, I have two amazing covers for you to choose from, created and designed by Monashee Photography, who happened to do the cover of Where Daffodils Grow Wild, and has now also created the cover for my upcoming book Willow Wisp.

So here’s the deal…  Help me choose a book cover, and WIN one of three prizes: a $100 USD gift certificate for Amazon & the book; a set of all Madison Lake books, or all three books in the series A Cloud of Hawthorne.

To take part, simply:
1) LIKE Madison Lake’s Facebook page, and LIKE this post on Facebook.
2) Leave a COMMENT, telling us which book cover you prefer, and why.
3) TAG a person you would love to read this book with, give it to, or think she/he would have fun reading it!

*Contest ends on Monday 11 May, noon CET time. We will announce the winners on my Facebook page on Tuesday, 12 May at noon CET.

Happy Spring!



The fourth of four short erotic fiction stories for Madison Lake’s Titillating Tuesdays.

A much better S&M story than Shades of GreyBOUDOIR STORY #4 – FLOYD

Floyd sold insurance. House insurance, car insurance, life insurance, disability insurance, you name it, Floyd sold it.
Floyd lived alone in a beige stucco duplex on a quiet cul-de-sac in Reno, Nevada. He had two cats, two goldfish, and a praying mantis that hung out atop a frond on his indoor Areca palm tree. Most of Floyd’s time was spent working, not a nine to five schedule, but a lot of random hours throughout a twenty-four hour period. The rest of his time was spent watching Showtime and HBO movies, or, when someone from the league needed another player, and he was available, he went bowling. Floyd’s wardrobe consisted of two pair of khaki pants, two pair of brown polyester slacks, two white golf shirts, two plaid flannel shirts, two pair of Rockport men’s walking shoes, one chocolate nubuck, one black, and two suits that he alternated during the work week, then had dry cleaned on the weekend. Floyd liked pairs.
A routine kind of guy, every Tuesday night, even if there was work to finish or a client to contact, Floyd went out. He waited until darkness fell, got dressed up, and drove to a part of town that most folks didn’t frequent. He parked in his usual spot, under an overpass where the drunks and hookers huddled in small groups, paid the same guy two bucks to keep an eye on his car, and walked the two blocks to his destination. Every week the sign on the front door read: No Costume, No Entry, like glow-sticks, in flashing purple neon letters. Floyd paid his admission with a laminated card for members only.
“Hey, Baby Butt,” the cashier said to Floyd as he handed her his membership card. She was dressed like Little Bo Peep, the Peep being a hole in her pink stockings just where someone would want to ‘peep’. Floyd also peeped at her two full breasts spilling out of the corseted cotton blouse she wore. He didn’t know the cashier’s name, even though he had been going there for five years, but he liked that she wore a different costume every week. Last week she had dressed as a baby bear, and wore only ears and paws because she was bare. He thought that was a very clever idea.
He unbuttoned his trench coat and handed it to Bo Peep to hang in the coat room, then stepped into the dark, cavernous room. The buff bouncer, who called himself Thor, and wore an armor of beautifully crafted chain mail, lowered his head as he passed.
“Your highness, Baby Butt, Zaria awaits your arrival. He bowed, and with a low sweep of his armored arm, banging and clashing with every move, he ushered Baby inside. Then he stood and held his post at the curtained entryway to ensure no riffraff got in.
No sooner than Baby had entered than he heard a sharp, irritated voice call his name.
“Baby! You’re late you fucking piece of…”
“I’m sorry, master,” Baby said meekly, falling to his knees. A sharp leather whip came down hard on his backside, that could be felt even through the thick cotton diaper he wore. Baby got hard at once.
“I’m not happy with you, Baby, and you don’t want to displease Mama Zaria now, do you?” The whip cracked against the concrete floor, creating sparks. No one in the crowded room paid any attention. Only Baby, who jumped up and ran into Zaria’s embrace.
“There, there,” she said, rubbing the top of his balding head. “That’s better now, isn’t it?” Baby nodded and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
“Oh, take that stupid thing out of your mouth, you idiot.” She unfastened the clasp of her tight leather vest, and one large breast popped out, as if it were a spring. “Here,” she said, shoving her nipple in his mouth. “You want to suckle? Then suckle.”
Baby immediately began to suck on her breast while she patted his head and rubbed his groin. He moaned like a contented infant.
The volume of heavy techno beats picked up, crashing through the room in a frenzy. There were couples, threesomes, and larger groups of guests, all exploring each other’s fetishes like tasting a new piece of candy, but Baby dared not look around, for fear of what Zaria might do to him if he did. Instead, she perused the crowd from above, until she found who she wanted to play with.
“Enough!” she suddenly snapped, and yanked Baby’s mouth off of her bosom. She did not fasten herself back into her leather corset as she moved away from Baby toward her prey, completely unfettered.
“Don’t be such a lag, you ninny”, she called after Baby. “Come along.” Zaria pulled on his ear, dragging him behind her. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance just in time. When Zaria stopped, they were in front of the DJ on a dance floor, in a well lit part of the room. Baby knew from previous visits that on either side of them, where in the early hours some of the braver folks performed their fetishes, there were two private rooms. He had been in those rooms on a few occasions, and found he enjoyed the peaceful solitude they provided away from the fray. He longed for that now. He wanted Zaria to whip him and yell at him. He wanted her to strip him of his clothing and his manhood, and take him down to his most vulnerable self, but he knew this was not his night for that pleasure. Zaria was in charge, and it was she who was to be pleasured this night.
“Hello, you big, handsome hunk,” Zaria said, rubbing her exposed breast up and down the bare, hairless chest of, Nino. Nino was six five, muscular, and a drop dead gorgeous transvestite, who Zaria had a thing for. Everybody had a thing for Nino. He was sweet and kind, and seemed to take care of everybody’s needs. He was very versatile.
“Get away from me, Baby,” Zaria yelled, letting go of his ear. Baby fell to the floor squirming, trying to hang on to Zaria’s ankles. His thumb shot back in his mouth, and he was soothed back to a temporary state of calm. This jealously he had for Zaria made him want to screw her hard, but he enjoyed the toying she did with him more. Whether she finished him off at the end of the night, or whether he did it himself when he got home, it didn’t much matter. He came to the club to be pushed to all levels of arousal, and that included not always getting what he wanted. For Baby, that was his climax.
Zaria shook free of Baby’s grasp, and shimmied up to a gyrating Nino who was dancing to the disco music now being pumped out from the Bose speakers. Nino was doing some classic John Travolta moves from the movie Saturday Night Fever. A crowd was gathering and Zaria was in her glory, shaking her bootie with Nino in front of everybody, because everybody wanted to be Zaria at that moment, even Baby. The music got louder and faster, and other people started dancing with them. They were all touching Nino’s body, rubbing up against Zaria’s tight leather skin-suit, fondling and kissing each other. Baby sat in a dark corner watching all this go on around him, his thumb in his mouth, and his other hand down the front of his diaper. Suddenly, Zaria dashed out from the crowd, and stood before him.
“What are you doing, Baby?” she said, in a gentle voice. Baby cowered further into the corner, her sugary sweet tone disturbing. “Take that thumb out of your mouth and come to Mama Zaria.” Baby immediately obeyed, removing his other hand from his pants before she saw him, but it was too late.
“I saw what you were doing, Baby,” she bellowed through the din of music. “What? You think you can hide from me?” she asked. “Do you?” Baby shook his head. “I think you do. I think you were trying to get off without me, that’s what I think. Is that what you were trying to do? Was it?” Zaria cracked her whip again, striking Baby in the leg. A sharp stinging sensation ran through his entire body, and his penis got hard. He reached for his groin.
“Mmmm, does Baby like getting punished? Does he?” Zaria pulled Baby in against her soft flesh and shoved his face into the fullness of her breasts, where they both rocked to Staying Alive until they were done, and the early morning dawned.
* * * * *
The next morning, Floyd decided to wear his brown checkered polyester slacks with one of his clean, white golf shirts, not because he had a special meeting that afternoon, or because he was going bowling after his last client of the day, but because he was feeling rather frisky.

The second of four short erotic fiction stories for Madison Lake’s Titillating Tuesdays.

Boudoir Story #2 – FREDERICO


Frederico was a vagabond. He was not homeless, nor poor, but he couldn’t stay in one place long enough to keep more than a six pack of Pacifico and left over Chinese take-out containers in the fridge, or hook up a telephone in the house he rented. Not long enough to leave a trail, just long enough to have some fun, make a little money, live till it was time to move on, and he never knew when that would be.
One of the things Frederico loved to do was dance. When he was six years old his mother had signed him up with the local boys soccer team, and later t-ball. After witnessing her son doing pirouettes in the middle of the field as balls whizzed past him, she pulled him out and enrolled him in ballet classes. He never looked back. Needless to say, Club 36, where he currently worked, was delighted to have such a classically trained dancer perform in their display window. Frederico was who the young, hip crowd watched as they waited patiently in the long line-up to get into the dark, seedy looking after-hours club. Around midnight he moved from the window to the stage, where he entertained the crowd with semi-erotic strip tease moves while the metal house band, who played at the club every weekend, blasted tunes up to the rafters. Pay was crap, but tips were good, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. The job paid the rent, kept him in great physical shape, while he did what he loved to do – dance. What more could anyone want in life?
Frederico had a best friend in Tucson, his current pit stop. Her name was Angela, but he called her Ange. Ange also danced at the club, and stripped from midnight to 2 am. Ange was tall, full figured, and very fit. Her best feature, she thought, was her butt – firm, round, and perky. Frederico had to agree, so most of the dances the two of them choreographed for her shows used her finest feature, and often included tassels, dangling balls and thongs. You get the picture.
Other than his handsome square-jawed face, thick dark hair, and steel blue eyes, Frederico’s best quality was his entire body, which included a gigantic penis. At first sight, Ange had been mortified, then curious, then in awe. She wanted to check it out, so they jumped in the sack and she tried it, the sack being a top-of-the-line Tempur-Pedic mattress in a frame on the floor. The floor was tongue and groove oak laminate that had pee stains from a dog the previous renters had probably kept indoors all day while they worked. To cover the stains, Frederico had thrown down a small, beige shag carpet he bought at Crate & Barrel. It served its purpose not only to cover the soiled wood, but to provide a soft cushion for Ange to kneel on.
Since the bedroom window was south facing, the room filled with afternoon light and Arizona warmth, even though the day was overcast. Ange didn’t bother to remove all of her clothes, but she did toss her t-shirt onto the nearby dresser, a white antique deco piece Frederico had picked up at an estate auction. He hadn’t meant to make a purchase when he walked through the door of ‘The Girls’ Estate Sales, especially one of home furnishings, but the gorgeous design was so unique he couldn’t resist. When he was ready to move on he would put whatever he had accumulated on Craigslist or eBay. Without fail, he’d make enough money for gas, food, and lodging to get him to his next destination.
Kneeling on the shag carpet from Crate & Barrel, Ange filled her mouth with Frederico’s enlarged member until it made her gag, but she didn’t stop, the enjoyment filled her more. Her large breasts bounced awkwardly as her mouth moved up and down the long shaft. Frederico lay on top of the bed on a feather duvet with his eyes closed. He had seen those same breasts bounce around when she danced on Friday and Saturday nights at Club 36, but this was different, if he had opened his eyes to notice. After she was finished, Ange had him enter her from on top. She climbed on the bed beside him, spread her legs and lifted them over her head, because she was a flexible girl. He entered slowly, filling her in that position too, his erect organ growing even more when inside her, or at least that’s what it felt like to her. It stretched her opening, then reached deep inside her so when her orgasm came, it was as if he had found a button and pushed it. Wham. Finally, she had him mount her from behind, and she arched up to meet his enormity.
Frederico enjoyed their sex, although he knew it wasn’t lovemaking. He did love Ange, he just did not love her. He had actually never really developed a strong enough attachment to anyone at any one place before he met Ange at the club in Tucson. For now it seemed to work for both of them, tumbleweeds that they were.