Welcome the lovely Justine Elyot who has a very sexy way with words to victoriablisse.co.uk!
It’s always a pleasure to visit Victoria, whose wonderful blog is deservedly nominated for an Xcite Award, so it goes without saying that I’m honoured to be here again.
On this occasion, I’m here to introduce you to a person I’ve become quite close to over the course of the last year. I’ve spent a lot of time with her, shared her fears and her triumphs, her pleasures and her pains. Her name is Cherry Delaney, and she is the protagonist of my erotic BDSM novel Meeting Her Match.
Cherry is a person who knows what she wants – to explore her interest in submission – but who has no idea how to go about it. It doesn’t help that she leads an exceptionally busy life. She’s a music teacher at a tough comprehensive school, up to her eyes in paperwork and after-school activities. And this is another difficulty she has to face; as a role-model to young people, should she try to moderate her fantasies and her personal life? Cherry tries hard to navigate the minefields, sometimes with success, sometimes not, but always learning more about D/s and about herself and her desires. I kind of like her, and I hope you will too.
Here’s an excerpt:
Taking a strange man home for kinky sex – how on earth would that stack up on the risk assessment form? Not well at all, I realised with a sickening lurch of the stomach. But then he pulled me towards him and into a long, hard kiss, and the lurching became something else, something much sweeter and less easily dismissed, something that squeezed all of my good sense into a tiny ball and batted it down between my legs, which were trembling.It was mad and it was stupid, but I wanted sex, real, good sex so much that I was prepared to follow my cunt wherever it led me that night.
Stuart’s mouth was firm and hungry, and his hand landed with a wondrous heaviness on my thigh, edging up the hem of my skirt, kneading its way to heaven, regardless of the taxi driver. Luckily, the ride was not long enough for him to reach my stocking tops. The skirt was mid-thigh when he paid the fare, helped me out of the cab and escorted me, hand on elbow, up the path to my apartment block.
Once inside the door, he held me out at arm’s length and said, “You’re wearing stockings and suspenders, aren’t you?” I nodded. “Sounds to me like you were out looking for somebody to take you home and fuck you. You don’t wear stockings if you don’t think they’ll be seen.” “They make me feel sexy,” I defended myself. “You want to feel sexy because you want a good seeing-to, Cherry. Am I right?” I chewed my lip, avoiding his eye. “Maybe.” “I’m right. And what kind of girl wants a good seeing-to, hmm?” He pulled me closer, sliding one hand down my hip and around to pat a bum cheek. Oh, I could see where this was heading. And I liked it very, very much.
“A bad girl,” I said softly. His lips quirked, and his hand fell a little harder on my quivering bottom. “That’s right, Cherry. A bad girl. And what do bad girls get?”
“They get punished?” “Try adding a ‘Sir’ to that.” “They get punished, Sir.” “Nice. And true. They do get punished. But first, since you’re dying to show off your naughty underwear, I want you to stand over by that chair and lift your skirt for me.”
He dropped my arm and nudged me back a couple of feet, so that I was in a good position for him to rake his eyes from my bob-cut hair to my strappy sandals.Standing with his arms folded and his brows gathered, he waited for me to follow the instruction.
I felt like laughing and shivering at the same time, but I did as I was told, turned up the hem of my skirt and lifted it coyly to my waist.
“Oh yes, I see,” he said. “Very nice. And do you call those knickers?”
I stared down at my shaking hands on the fabric. They weren’t exactly substantial, it was true. I was glad I hadn’t opted for the Spanx tonight after all – though, on second thoughts, they would at least have been appropriate.
The knickers I was wearing were tiny breaths of lacy air, patterned with glittery starbursts. I only knew they were there at all because they were soaking wet at the crotch. I wondered if the damp patch was visible. If not, it was certainly sniffable. I could smell myself all right.
“Turn around,” he said, and I was grateful to remove myself from the intense scrutiny and present my back view instead. The knickers weren’t thongs, but they stretched tightly across my rear, almost transparent so that he would be able to follow each curve to its conclusion.
“That’s a lovely bottom you have there,” he commented, moving up behind me. “No, don’t let go of the skirt.”
He put a hand on my lacy cheeks and rubbed them slowly up and down. I let out a tiny moan, bending my spine infinitesimally forward to give him optimum access, hoping for a quick dip between my legs. “And one that needs a lot of attention, I think.” He removed his hands and sat down in my armchair. “Now put your lovely bottom over my knee, Cherry, where it belongs.”
If that’s captured your attention, here are some more details:
Buy links for Meeting Her Match:
Thank you for having me, Victoria!