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Saturday, August 30, 2008

The Unexpected Interview by Loring Parks

"Gretchen, your two o'clock interview is out front."

Gretchen Vergas hung up the phone, grabbed her notepad and headed to the reception desk of the newspaper where she worked as a reporter. She didn't remember having an interview scheduled, but it wouldn't surprise her if she'd made one and then forgotten. Since learning Phillip, the man who introduced her to cybersex, was coming to visit, Gretchen's mind had been otherwise occupied.

Two days, she thought wistfully, passing through the advertising offices. Two days and we'll finally be together. No more imagination, no more words, just sex. Real, live sex.

She paused at the water cooler to compose herself. Her nipples were taut and clearly visible through her pale pink button up, and her crotch was warm and wet - just the way she liked it but probably not the best condition to be in for an interview.
God, she hoped it wasn't another one of those old theatre ladies. They smelled. And why did they all have to be such list-makers?

Rounding the half-wall to the reception desk, Gretchen looked up. And nearly fell down.

It was Phillip. Or at least she thought it was Phillip.

The man at the reception desk was holding a multicolored bouquet of Gerber daisies - her favorites. Check. His hair was military short. Check. His eyes were blue. Check. And he was smiling. Double check.

Barb, the receptionist coughed discreetly. "Gretchen, this is your two o'clock appointment, Phillip."

Still dazed, Gretchen smiled and thanked Barb.

"Hi, Phillip," she said as calmly as possible. "If you'll follow me."

Gretchen could feel Phillip's eyes on her. Knew he was checking out her ass. Damn, she should have worn a skirt today, instead of boring black slacks. Was she wearing granny underwear?

Gretchen held the conference room door open as Phillip passed through, then shut it firmly, making sure it was locked. She took a deep breath, turned, a nervous smile on her face.

"You're early," she blurted out. Damn, she thought, that didn't sound good. "What I mean is, I wasn't expecting you."

"Is it a problem?" His voice was Texas smooth, his eyes concerned. "I know it's unexpected, but," he paused then gently lay the daisies on the table and slowly walked toward her, "I just couldn't wait."

His lips were soft, wet, and ready, and his kiss was all Gretchen had imagined it would be.

She groaned, sliding her hands up the side of his face.

"I'm glad," she managed between kisses. "I'm glad you couldn't wait."

He laughed then. "Present tense, Gretchen," said Phillip seductively. "I can't wait."
Gretchen felt the edge of the table on the back of her legs. She surrendered against it, drawing Phillip near.

"Me either," she whispered.

Her hands found his zipper. He was hard, smooth, long. Ready. Slowly she released him and his hands worked the buttons of her shirt.




Gretchen stood and Phillip stripped off her slacks and satin panties in one smooth motion, and then took off his own pants and boxers. He gently repositioned her on the table, and, as his mouth captured hers, pushed into her. Gretchen moaned. Phillip plunged deeper.

The kiss intensified, a mirror image of the passion exploding at the table's edge, as Phillip and Gretchen finally made real every touch and every stroke.

Later exhausted, satisfied and painstakingly fully clothed, Gretchen buried her face in Phillip's chest with a deep sigh.

"That was indescribable," she whispered.

"It was," he replied.

There was a pause as Gretchen struggled for the right words - not too hopeful or needy, not too cool.

"Mind if I ask, why you're here today?"

Phillip laughed, and Gretchen felt it reverberate through her very soul.

"Just like the lady out front said," he whispered. His hand gently moved her face to eye level. "I'm here for an interview."

Gretchen searched his eyes. "An interview?"

"Well," Phillip started, kissing her nose sweetly, "seems I'm in the market for a wife and I wanted to make sure I did it right this time."

He paused again, brushing the new tear from Gretchen's cheek.

"You interested in the job?"

If there'd been any doubts in the minds of her co-workers as to what was going on behind the locked doors of the conference room, they were removed when Gretchen let out a heartfelt shriek.

"Yes!" she cried, not caring if the whole world heard her happiness. "Yes!"

About the Author: After nearly three decades as a professional writer and published author, Loring Parks gave into her passion for romance and started penning love stories. "People always tell writers to write what they know," laughs Parks, "and thanks to my amazing husband, I know romance!" Parks and her husband are currently loving it up Down Under. (And you can take that any way you please!) --

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Dorian's Hope by Dalton Diaz

“Dorian, we’ve been over this already. If that hand hits my ass, you are dead meat.”

I paused, hand high in the air, unable to believe I’d just been threatened by the woman turned over my knee. My wet knee. “You dumped a pitcher of water on me!”

“You ordered me to bring you a beer. Had you asked nicely, you’d be drinking it by now.”

“Shit.” Another ice cube melted to the point of falling through the deck lounger slats. Of course it had to have been a fresh pitcher of ice water. Guilt warred with the honed instinct to redden Hope’s ass. She’d brought the water from our villa onto our private beach because I’d said I was thirsty. Instead of thanking her, I’d told her to grab me a beer.

Not nice, but she knew I could be an ass when she married me last week. And speaking of nice asses…

I reached for another rapidly melting ice cube before it could fall. Placing it at the top of the gentle swell of her cheeks, I watched as it immediately began to melt its way down her crack. About halfway her shock wore off and she began to struggle, adding a really nice cock rub to the arousing visual.

It was day five of our ten day honeymoon in paradise. We’d screwed our way through the first three days, and after giving her a two day rest from penetration, I was ready to go. Judging by the way Hope was moving against me, she was ready too. The fact that she hadn’t killed me was also a good sign.

Just to be sure, I wet my fingers in a pool of icy water and eased one of them into her sweet pussy. Then two. Hope didn’t flinch; she pressed back against my hand, the contrast of the cold water in her hot passage an added bonus.

“I can’t wait any longer, Hope.” I pulled her up so she was straddling me on the lounger. Yeah, it would have been nice to sit back in it, but that would have meant sitting in a pool of icy water. Though I doubted anything would lessen this raging hard-on, shrinkage wasn’t a myth. Switching to her lounger would have meant waiting, and I was serious. I couldn’t wait.

After our one scare, Hope had gone on the pill. Thank God, because a condom would have been as wishful as that beer and again, I wasn’t waiting. Hope wasn’t waiting, either. With my name on her lips, she shifted and slowly sank me deep, inch by inch. By the time I was buried in her to the hilt, I was ready to explode.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” Hope warned.

“Like hell,” I growled back, grabbing onto her hips in case she got the insane idea of slowing down. Or climbing off.

“Whoever comes first has to go get that beer. And fetch anything else his wife wants for the rest of the day and night.”

“Ha ha. Aaahh!” She twisted in my lap, and I had to grit my teeth against the urge to come. My wife knew me well; the gauntlet had been thrown. But I knew her well, too.

Her lush breasts were bouncing in my face, and I only had to lean forward slightly to flick my tongue over one of her distended nipples. Her gasp of pleasure was followed by a moan when I brought my fingers – still wet from her pussy – down to press on her clit. Then I closed my lips over her nipple and sucked hard.

Hope went wild, but so did I. All I could feel was her soft skin against mine, the blinding heat of her pussy surrounding my cock, spreading its way up the base of my spine.

Then Hope, that wonderfully evil wife of mine, ground down on my lap, leaned over, whispered, “Come for me, lover,” and stuck her hot wet tongue in my ear.

That was it for me. Shit, she had me at, “I do.” Before that, really, though she had been wearing a wedding dress the night I met her. I grasped her hips and met her next downward movement with a push of my hands and a thrust of my hips. I came deep inside her in a rush that made my toes curl, releasing her nipple to cry out my pleasure. She was two seconds behind me, and I kept her in my lap, my cock still buried to the hilt, so I could feel each precious convulsion.


I managed to open my eyes and found Hope looking at me with all the love in the world.

“Yeah?” I groaned when she sat up all the way.

“I’m thirsty. Make mine an orange juice.”

I had to laugh. “For you, my love, I’ll fly to Florida and pick the oranges myself.”

About the Author: My favorite hobby is reading, and I am a complete romance snob. If a story doesn’t have romance, it isn’t worth it. If there’s hot sex, it’s extra worth it. Let’s face it; fantasy is usually a lot more fun than reality. Not always, but usually.

If you are interested in finding out why Hope was wearing a wedding dress when she and Dorian met, buy "Love Cuffs", by Dalton and Ashley Ladd, being released by Ellora’s Cave in September. Website:

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Author Interview: Veronica Arch

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Veronica Arch who grew up in Montreal, Canada. She had dreams of becoming a writer and a dancer, however she took half a ballet class when she was six and, as she says, “realized I’d rather have dental work done.” She decided to put all her dreams into the one basket of writing.

Today she writes erotica and horror. I asked her how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography. “I distinguish erotica from erotic romance mostly by the tone of the story,” she told me. “In erotic romance, the key emotion is love whereas anything goes in erotica. Pornography differs from erotica and erotic romance only that is farther along the continuum. While erotica and erotic romance have many story elements with sex being one of the key elements, pornography is all about the physical act of sex.”

She told me she has a “very scientific” method she goes by when trying to judge whether or not she’s written a good erotic scene. “I feel like I’ve written a good hot sex scene when, after many readings of it myself, I still get that little rush of ‘oooooh, this is hot!’”

Veronica wouldn’t commit to having just one favorite erotic author, but did say she loves Emma Holly. “She was the first erotic romance writer I ever read,” she said. “While her sex scenes are hot, it’s her stories and imagination that draw me back time after time.”

She told me she set out to write horror, but the more she wrote, the more her stories took on an erotic slant. “I was a bit shy and hesitant about it. I felt like, ‘Where is this coming from?’ I was very nervous about what people would think. I signed up for an erotica writing class at a local literary center and almost didn’t go because I was so embarrassed. But I did go and I’m so glad, because the jam-packed room full of writers convinced me there was nothing to fear. And if anyone doesn’t want their mother-in-law to know what they write, they can always use a pen name. It’s extremely freeing!”

Veronica and her husband have two “very spoiled pugs” and when she’s not writing, she enjoys playing, walking, and photographing them doing the cutest things. “Which is pretty much anything they do ,” she informed me. Then she blogs about it. “I also like to do crafts,” she said. “Recently I’ve been scrapbooking up a storm.”

If she could be anyone she wanted, Veronica would still choose to be herself “only less neurotic and thinner,” but she wants Meryl Streep to play her when they make the story of her life. “Not because we look anything alike,” Veronica said, “but because she is the best actor ever in the history of acting and the universe.”

I asked Veronica if she would be willing to share her most embarrassing moment with us. “Oh, there really are too many to choose from,” she said with a sigh. “But the most embarrassment bang for my buck (or anyone else in attendance that day) was my wedding day when I fainted in the middle of the ceremony. What was really bad about it was a bunch of people caught it on video. My friend’s boyfriend thought it was particularly hilarious and pulled out the videotape at a party a year later and kept playing and replaying my fall.”

You can read more about Veronica and her works at her website

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Author Interview: Belinda McBride

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Belinda McBride whose book Missing You was just released last week by Changeling Press.

Belinda has an interesting way of researching her shifter stories, which she swore initially she’d never do. “Late one rainy night,” she told me, “I was sitting on my butt in the mud managing an accidental breeding. The mail was neutered and still managed to tie the female, and I had nothing better to do that watch the reactions and behavior of the other dogs. It played out like a comical-drama and that’s where Belle Starr was born. Any time I need inspiration for my shifters, I just sit quietly and watch the pack. Their social structure is amazing, and their interactions are so sophisticated.”

The same situation inspired one of the most embarrassing sex scenes she’s written. “It’s also from Belle Starr,” she told me. “It’s a mĂ©nage that takes a very unexpected twist. It’s one of those cases where the writer knows a bit too much about her subject matter-- remember that night in the rain? Anyhow, one man ends up tied to the heroine, the second man ends up tied to the hero…somebody falls off the bed, it's really a big mess by the end. But it’s hot…”

Another one is from a WIP. “One is really a string of scenes all linked together; the hero manages to go through six partners within the first two chapters of the book. Very tacky, very pathetic, and it illustrates the out-of-control nature of his life. It’s a WIP and the sequence embarrasses me, but I’ll defend it.”

Belinda told me that she observes a lot... not just in her pack, but as she moves through her daily life. It’s these observations that form the basis for most of her research. She may use the internet or library for details, but she said, “In writing erotic romance, so much of what we’re writing is human behavior. When I first decided to write a M/M romantic relationship, what I saw on Internet boards and, sadly, in erotic fiction didn’t reflect reality as I know it. So, I went to my gay and bisexual friends and acquaintances and asked, watched, and listened to what they have to say about their lives and feelings and the things they want from life.”

Belinda told me she’s always lived too much in her imagination so it was natural for her to move into creative writing. She started in play writing and poetry, but a car accident resulting in a head injury derailed her for a time. It took a year of rehab before she could read and write well enough to return to college, and she said that she didn’t feel the slightest spark of creativity at that time. So, she switched her major from Theatre Arts and Literature to History and Cultural Anthology.

“Fast forward many years,” she said. “After a weekend visiting a friend who is a well-respected poet, the spark flared, and I set out on a yearlong orgy of unrestrained, almost stream-of-consciousness writing. I moved into erotic romance because there are fewer limits to the imagination. I can write the fantasy I dreamed up as a kid, or the history I learned as an adult. I can write multiple partners or interracial or interspecies, and my editors encourage me, the readers embrace it.”

I asked Belinda what character from a book she would entertain for a evening. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” she replied. “Nathaniel from Laurell Hamilton’s Anita Blake series. We’d spend the afternoon doing one another’s hair, then we’d have dinner (probably off his back and tush), and then we’d sneak into Guilty Pleasures during daylight hours and have a private party. Nathaniel would be the entertainment. At the very end of the day, I’d have him shift into leopard and cuddle, ’cause how often do you get to snuggle with a giant cat?”

Belinda shared with me her most embarrassing moment. “My fiancĂ© kinda liked public sex,” she said. “Hell, he just liked it whenever, wherever. We got caught in the act at work. It was a carpet store, and we were in the storeroom on a roll of nice plush hi-low. Our boss found us. I walked around the rest of the day with my panties down one leg of my jeans. And no, we didn’t get fired.”

I asked Belinda to share with us what writers she thinks write excellent erotic fiction. She told me, “You know, there are a lot and more emerging all the time. I love Emma Holly, Laurell Hamilton, Marjorie Liu, Beth Kery’s books always hit an emotional button for me. Charlotte Boyett-Compo does an excellent wounded male, (my favorite kinda male!) Denise Rossetti, Kate Pierce, Cat Marsters always cracks me up and really pushes the boundaries. Lacy Savage and Hunter Raine write sizzling sex, and Fiona Jayde writes great action. Hmmmm…did I miss anyone? A lot, probably! Morgan Hawke. Love her stuff.”

There are a few things about Belinda you might not know. She’s a Coke drinker. She told me, “Pepsi is lighter and sweeter, Coke has a strong spice undertone.” Her oldest daughter is quite proficient at tying cherry stems. “No,” she said, “I have no idea how she learned, and I’m not asking.” She’s also mildly bi-polar-- “and proud of it!” When she’s ready to enter an “up” cycle, she becomes very compulsive about everything. “I check my email every few minutes,” she said, “check the mail, keep the phone by the chair. I don’t want to miss anything. It’s a terribly stressful and non-productive period, but it doesn’t last long.”

Finally, I asked Belinda what one piece of advice she would give to a new writer. “If at first you don’t succeed,” she said, “or you get rejected or harshly criticized, learn and move on. Don’t let it bring you down.”

You can read more about Michelle and her works at her website.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

A Birthday Surprise by Jennifer Mueller

I went shopping, the text message read.

Chad laughed trying not to groan. When she said that it always cost him money. And then the photo came through. That couldn't be his wife could it? The photo on his cell phone certainly looked like her. Granted there was no face, but he knew the wolf tattoo set on the slope of huge breasts displayed so stunningly in a leather corset with no cups to hide that tattoo at all. He knew the birthmark on her luscious thighs, the one shown to perfection below a leather thong.

Never a small woman, three children had only given her more of the curves that could stop a Mack truck. Lucky he wasn't driving. He might just have to change his mind about spending money on lingerie being a waste. He'd always said it would end up on the floor so quick that she might as well save the money. There wasn't a chance of it coming off too soon now, not with him a thirty minute drive from the house. Not to mention it was only nine in the morning.

He texted back, You're killing me.

Chad looked around his cubicle making sure no one was walking by as he received word another photo was incoming. An in office collision would have been just as bad. Now she wore a full body stocking grinning like a cat ready to lick a bowl of cream. The grin kept him enthralled so long he almost missed the outfit had no crotch. Chad closed his eyes trying not to drool as his stickler of a boss went walking by. She certainly wouldn't appreciate the photos.

It was a big box, was all the message said. Dear lord how much more could he take? It was ten and if he got a picture every hour until five he was going to go crazy.... If he received pictures of soft skin bare for him... Received pictures of those hips of hers. . . he knew that grin, she used that grin when she was ready to tease. She wouldn't be mean enough to send pictures of her playing without him would she? Even the thought of his wife pleasuring herself. . . if only he was there with her.

I'm dead already, he texted back.

An hour, a very long hour passed as he waited for eleven. The phone sat open and waiting as he tried to concentrate on the Williamson proposal. Tried and failed. The phone beeped, indicating another photo was coming through just as his boss knocked at his desk.

"The Williamson meeting got pushed back until next month. They're in Singapore I think and won't make it back in time."

"What? Oh great, I'm having a heard time getting a handle on it anyway."

"It's your birthday isn't it? I'm sure you've got plans why not take the afternoon off, have a great evening and come back tomorrow with new eyes."

Chad looked at the phone for a moment, refusing to open the picture in view of his boss. But the more he looked at it the more he couldn't help but wonder if his wife had been talking to her boss. He'd never gotten an afternoon off before just for the heck of it. Eight years with the company and now he got a birthday surprise from work. No way had it just happened.

"You wife asked me to give you a package by the way."

Chad only stared as the boss, a woman he hadn't said two words to in a social setting handed him a small package. It wasn't much bigger than a check box, and she stood there as if waiting to see what was inside. After those photos he wasn't sure it was for general viewing, but he opened it just a bit at least to find a hotel key card. Underneath it though oh dear, was a very tiny red silk men's thong. He pulled the key out and snapped the box closed.

"Oh very nice hotel. I've always wanted to stay there, but with staring at the building all day from my office it seems like it would be too much like coming to work. Have fun." His boss walked off, seeming almost human for once.

Across the street!

Chad grabbed his coat and headed for the elevator. The phone beeped at him again reminding him there was one last message. Kids at your mother's, room 257. Then a photo popped up, Chad forgot the elevator and sprinted down the stairs. It would take too long. He closed the phone trying not to fall down the stairs at the sight of his wife, mother of three, in all her glory dressed up like a bunny.

A very naughty bunny.

About the Author: As a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya a few years back I traveled quite a bit and now I just wish I was. A lot of the places I've written about I've been to, a lot of them I haven't. Rafting on the Nile in Uganda, living in a Montana ghost town, African safaris, European youth hostels, the Black Hills of South Dakota all fill my scrapbooks. Now a daughter takes up most of those pages, but I still travel in my head every time I write.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Author Interview: Bronwyn Green

Whipped Cream is pleased to have Bronwyn Green with us this week. Bronwyn lives in Michigan with her husband, who she tells me is wonderful, two sons she thinks are amazing and five “somewhat psychotic” cats. She helps with reading, writing, and art projects in her sons’ classrooms as well as providing child care and tutoring for several daycare children. She enjoys reading, knitting, sewing, cross stitching, pottery, drawing, jewelry making.... and she still finds time to write. She told me all of these things she enjoys doing helps her avoid cooking and cleaning.

I asked Bronwyn how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography. “For me, the distinctions are pretty simple,” she said. “Erotica has a plot and deals with character emotions and possibly (depending on the author) some character development and growth in addition to the hot sex. Erotic romance has the same elements of plot, character emotions and hot sex, but character development and growth are a must, as is the happily ever after. Porn doesn’t really deal with emotions, character development, or plot. It’s just sex. Without the basic elements of storytelling, I find that it falls flat. I’m stuck with the feeling of “And...?” because there’s really nothing there to make me care about the characters, no matter how hot the action is.”

Bronwyn told me her favorite erotic book is Brynn Paulin’s Tribute for the Goddess. “It has a killer plot, amazing characters and character development and the sex is absolutely scorching. Plus it’s got phenomenal world building, humor and suspense. I adore this book!”

I asked her what her family thought about her writing and she told me that they are mostly proud of her. “Except for a couple of members who think I’m going straight to hell,” she said. “My sister-in-law reads everything I write, but the rest of my family members don’t either because they don’t ‘get’ ebooks and/or erotic romance simply isn’t their genre of choice.”

She sees one of the biggest misconceptions about erotica is “that because of its subject matter, it has no value. That attitude,” she said, “really gets my undies in a bunch.”

Bronwyn started writing what she calls (with a smile) “whiny poetry” in high school which evolved into short fiction in college. “After I graduated,” she told me, “I basically lost my nerve and stopped writing for a while, but started up again when my youngest son was two. I’d intended for that story to be a short piece, but it quickly grew into a novel (an awful novel, I might add) and I remembered just how much I loved writing. I tried writing straight romance at first, but the rejection letters I received kept telling me to tone down the sex, so I decided to go in the opposite direction and tried my hand at erotic romance. So far, it’s worked out quite well!”

I asked Bronwyn who she would be if she could be anyone she wanted. “I’m pretty happy being myself,” she said, “but I wouldn’t mind being Josh Whedon—the creator of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Firefly’—for about a week. I’d love to pick his brain about character arcs and development. That would be fabulous!”

Bronwyn can definitely tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Her opinion of Pepsi—“Pepsi is vile and far too sweet and syrupy.” I think that qualifies her as a Coke girl, don’t you think?

And, she’s not the only talented member of her family. Her younger sister Caitlin has the amazing ability to tie a cherry stem with her tongue. In fact, Bronwyn told me, “She managed to pick up a waitress one night after the woman witnessed Cait’s stem tying abilities!”

One of my favorite questions to ask our interviewees is “what is your most embarrassing moment?” Bronwyn was more than willing to share.
“This is kinda long, but fellow EC (Ellora’s Cave) author Brynn Paulin and I were in NYC at the RWA National Conference in 2004. We'd gone out to dinner with some chapter members and some of the women said they wanted to ride the subway, but were afraid to do it on their own. So Brynn, her dh and I, who'd been riding the trains all week, went with them and decided to ride the F train since it was on the way back to our hotel. That's when things started to go awry.

“There were these handy automated ticket machines. Put in two bucks and it would spit out a ticket, then you went to the turnstile, slipped the ticket into the reader, the machine clicked and you pushed open the least that's how it's supposed to work.

“Unfortunately, it was a full body turnstile instead of the waist ones I was used to. Having used my last two dollars, I stood in line behind my friends and waited my turn. I fed the machine my ticket and tried to walk through. It didn't work. Brynn patiently stood on the other side of the turnstile and passed me two dollars and told me to get another I did. Same thing. Brynn, slightly less patiently, handed me another two dollars. Same thing. By now, I've got about 20 New Yorkers standing behind me trying to give me advice on how to get through.

“’Just go real, slow, girl and then push - real slow...then push.’ ‘Okay, what ya hafta to do is push and walk, push and walk.’ ‘You can do it, girl. You can do it.’

“I think we went through this scenario two more times. I'm laughing so hard at this point I've got tears rolling down my face and I can hardly stand up. There was a little old woman who kept asking Brynn if her friend was okay - as though I was some sort of escapee from a mental hospital. Brynn sent me back for one more ticket wearing the expression she usually saves for her errant children. The very nice people in line let me through again and I fed the ticket into the machine. Before I could touch the gate, Brynn finally said, ‘Don't. Touch. Anything. Just. Walk.’ She then proceeded to pull the gate toward her and of course I can walk right through. “We got through in time to make the train where many of the poor souls who had been standing behind me were already seated. When I entered the car, several of the people clapped and cheered. One guy yelled, ‘You GO girl. I knew you could do it. I just knew it.’ “Most. Embarrassing. Moment. Ever.”

You can read more about Bronwyn and her works at her website.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Love in an Elevator by Selena Kitt

"Thirty seconds." Trevor pushed the elevator button. "Less if I'm not doing myself."

Kelly snorted. "I don't know if you should be bragging about this, Trev…"

"Why not?"

"I'm just sayin'…" She shrugged, checking her purse for their press passes. She wasn't surprised by the turn in conversation. The sexual tension had stretched taut all night between the twin beds in the room they shared. Business, Kelly reminded herself, all night long. We're co-workers, nothing more. Business, we're here on business.

Trevor grinned. "Hey, I wonder if there's a world record…"

"You want to make Guinness as the world's fastest ejaculator?" Kelly arched one blonde, finely plucked eyebrow.

"Why not?" He winked. "Everyone has to have their fifteen minutes of fame."

"Thirty seconds?" she mused, pressing the elevator button again. "Really?"

"Less if I'm not doing myself."

She gave him a steady look. "It seems…fast."

"It is." He nodded. "But what's wrong with a quickie?"

"Nothing…if both of you get something out of it."

Trevor straightened his tie, checking his reflection in the elevator doors. "Hey, I don't neglect my duties in that department."

"Oh, come on!" Kelly exclaimed as the doors opened and several people got out. "There's no way these women are coming in thirty seconds!"

"Shh!" Trevor hustled her into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. Kelly let him hang onto her elbow, smiling at the way his hand brushed against the side of her breast, as if she might not notice. She didn't know how much more she could take. If they were going to be together like this all day long…

"They are, too!" Trevor insisted.

"They are not," she scoffed. "They're faking it."

He rolled his eyes. "I know the difference."

"You do not."

"Yes, I do!"

"Okay." Kelly turned to face him, her eyes bright with daring. "Let's see if you can tell the difference."

Trevor swallowed. "What?"

"Come on." She pressed the emergency stop button and the elevator came to a jerking halt, the alarm buzzing. "We've got two minutes."

"Are you serious?" His eyes widened.

"You know you want to..." She turned, hiking her navy skirt up, revealing black panties and thigh highs.

His eyes dipped between her legs. "Well…yeah…but…"

"Two minutes is more than enough time, right?" Her fingers nudged her panties aside to reveal smooth, shaved lips. "That's what you said…"

Trevor groaned softly. "Damn, Kelly…"

"See if you can make me come in thirty seconds." She winked over her shoulder at him as her slippery fingers opened herself to him. Trevor unzipped his trousers.

"Can I—?" His cock nudged her fingers. "Really?"

She reached back, guiding him in. "Is this what you want?"

"Oh fuck…" He pressed forward, grabbing her hips. "God, you feel good."

She arched, grasping the rail. "So do you." Her hips danced, round and round. His fingers searched out her clit, rubbing fast.

"Fifteen seconds…" Kelly murmured, glancing at her watch.

Trevor thrust slower, groaning. "I knew I should have jerked off this morning…"

"Close?" She squeezed his cock, teasing.

"You?" He gasped, fingers circling her clit.

"Getting there…rub faster."

"Are you really?" he panted. "Or are you just saying that?"

"Oh fuck…Trev…don't stop," she begged, biting her lip.

"Damnit, Kelly, don't fuck with me!"

"No, don't stop fucking me!" She rocked back.

He shoved in deep, shuddering. "Gonna come!"

"Thirty seconds!" she moaned, her pussy fluttering. "Damn…you weren't kidding…"

"Did you come?" he asked, tucking and zipping.

She grinned. "Couldn't you tell?"


"See, I told you." Kelly turned the emergency stop off.

"Okay, so tell me." He watched her pull panties up, skirt down. "The truth."

She winked at him, straightening one stocking. "I guess you'll have to do it again to be sure."

Trevor's eyes brightened as the elevator doors slid open. "Maybe I just will."

About the Author: Like any feline, Selena Kitt loves the things that make her purr—and wants nothing more than to make others purr right along with her! This sassy, outrageous author lives in the rural Midwest with her husband and children, all of whom she thinks are the cat’s meow. Her writing embodies everything from the spicy to the scandalous, but watch out—this kitty also has sharp claws and her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new, thought-provoking depths. When she isn’t pawing away at her keyboard, she loves belly dancing and photography.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Author Interview: Gwen Masters

Whipped Cream is excited to welcome Gwen Masters this week. Gwen told me she’s been accused of writing even in her sleep, and she doesn’t deny it. She is very prolific, having written hundreds of short stories that have appeared in both print and online.

Gwen told me she believes that a good erotic story is one isn’t easily forgotten, but that lingers with the reader. “Like the touch of a good lover’s hand,” she said, “it stays with you for a while and you can bring the memory back anytime you want. The best erotic stories I have ever read are the ones that I remember for months, even years.” She added, “The best erotic stories I have ever written are like that, too—I still get reader emails about stories that were published five or six years ago. They haven’t read them in that long, but they remember and they want to know where to find it—just to see if it still touches them as deeply as it did back then. That’s when I know I’ve found the key to good erotica. I’ll go back and read it myself, asking, ‘What set this apart?’ More often than not, it’s the emotion.”

She does a lot of research for her books, even going so far as to travel to various locations. “The book I just finished,” she told me, “is set in Iowa in the dead of winter, and I spent time in Iowa while doing the research for it. It’s important to me to put myself in the middle of the scene, so that when my reader gets the book, they know the setting is authentic.

“When I write an erotic scene, whether it’s straight vanilla or kinky as hell, I try to research that to the best of my ability before I write it.” She grinned and continued, “My husband makes a fantastic research subject.”

Since emotion plays such a big part in her determination of a good erotic book, she also really gets into the characters. She shared with me, “If it’s a romance novel, then I draw on the experiences I have with love and loss. When I wrote a novel about a college woman falling in love with her professor, well...let’s just say I’ve been there.”

I asked Gwen what reference book she would recommend for authors who are interested in writing erotic romance. “Susie Bright’s How to Write a Dirty Story is both the support and the reality check authors need to have,” she said. “It tells you exactly what the writing business is like and, specifically, what the erotica business is like. It's honest and packed full of important information. Any author even considering erotic writing should pick up that book.”

Gwen told me when she wrote straight romance, she actually found it rather freeing. “I had been writing erotica for so long,” she said, “it was nice to take out all the erotic elements and just write a story. I've been doing a lot more of that lately, and when I do come back to the erotic novels in progress, I find that the time in writing other things has enhanced my outlook on the erotic projects.”

Her family reads her work and, for the most part, they love it. Gwen did confess to me, “Sometimes my mother will ask me if a certain erotic piece is fictional or not, and if it's the real deal, she won't read it -- that's just too much information about her daughter!”

Our talk turned to food and what foods are best to eat in those intimate moments Gwen likes to write about. “Mmmm...pineapple,” she said. “You can cut it into the most interesting shapes, and it fits into all those naughty curves. Berries of all kinds are perfect. A drink with lots of bubbles, poured over the skin...or raiding the refrigerator and playing with smooth cheeses, homemade sweet sauces, or unique jellies in little jars. Sex in the kitchen is entirely underrated.”

However, she cannot bring herself to eat “anything that has spindly legs, beady eyes, and looks for all the world like a big old bug.” Such as, lobster, shrimp, crab legs, and crawfish. “Oh, God, no,” she said. “Just looking at those things freak me out—I can’t imagine eating them. I know I might be missing out on something absolutely superb, but... well, that’s just more for everybody else!”

She can taste the difference between Coke and Pepsi and is a self-confessed Coca-Cola junkie. “Coke has a deeper, more acidic taste,” she told me. “Pepsi always tastes a little flat to me. Coke is better to cook with too—Pepsi doesn’t work as well in recipes.”

When Gwen’s not writing, she stays busy working on their house or shopping for antiques to fill it. “That gives us an excuse for another road trip,” she confided, “and believe me, the flimsiest excuse to get out on the road is enough. We love to travel! If we have an entire day and nothing planned, it’s entirely possible (and maybe even probable) that we will wind up in another state. Hell, maybe even another country. Why not?”

She would not, however, tell me her most embarrassing moment. “If you weren’t there,” she said, “well, I’m not going to tell you about it. What, you think I want to embarrass myself again?”

You can read more about Gwen and her works at her website,