Beautiful Jade Kimberly is determined to break out of her life as a magazine feature writer and become a novelist. But following multiple rejections she realises the only way to get published is to write erotica.
However, her sheltered lifestyle hasn't offered the right inspiration and her untrained imagination can't fill the gaps. So she must set out to explore the limits of human sexual behaviour, and experience them for herself. But, as always, the question must be: once she starts can she stop?
Read an Excerpt
He slid his male hardness deep into the hugging sheath of her sex-wet vagina as she squirmed and writhed in the adulterous union. The delicious squelching sounds of her lubricious love mingling with her gasps of pleasure, she sank her fingernails into his bronzed back as he repeatedly withdrew his granite-hard penis and thrust back into her tightening pussy.
'God, you're so big,' she gasped. 'Fuck me like you've never before.' His heavy balls slapping the firm roundness of her tensed buttocks as the birth of her orgasm stirred within her young womb, he drove into her with a frenzied passion. Parting her thighs wider, the pinken nodule of her sensitive swelling and pulsating, she cried out as her climax erupted and gripped her very soul. 'Yes,' she breathed, his sperm gushing from his throbbing glans, bathing the soft hardness of her ripe cervix...
'I can't write stuff like this,' I sighed despondently, tossing the book onto the desk.
'Why not?' David asked, his dark eyes grinning as he stood beside me and gazed at my naked thighs. 'This particular book has done very well.'
'It's OK for a man to write that sort of thing, but...'
'A man?' he interrupted me. Shaking his head, he raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'It was written by a young woman, Jade. Didn't you notice the author's name?'
'Yes, but I thought it was a man using a female name.'
'No, no. Sex isn't a male-only thing.'
'I realize that,' I snapped. I felt that he was mocking me as he looked at my thighs again. 'I'm not a virgin,' I blurted out, immediately wishing I hadn't.
'Take Anais Nin, for example,' he continued, ignoring my remark. 'She wrote some wonderful erotic fiction.'
'I've never heard of her,' I murmured, wishing I'd not shown my ignorance.
'The Story of O was written by a woman. Why don't you give it a try?'
'Because...' I hesitated, my embarrassment rising as he focused on the rise of my nipples pressing through my blouse.
Travelling up to London to meet the literary agent had sent my hopes sky-high. I'd been like an excited child, bubbling over with enthusiasm.
When he'd phoned, I'd thought he'd liked my romantic novel and was inviting me to his office to discuss the book. For him to suggest that I turn my hand to erotic fiction was the last thing I'd expected. And the way he'd stared at my thighs and nipples had left me cold. My dream of becoming an author of romantic fiction had been completely shattered.
Feeling self-conscious - and discouraged - I pulled my skirt down and crossed my legs. Folding my arms to conceal my breasts, I wished I'd worn a thicker bra. There again, I'd not thought my body would be ogled by the literary agent. And I'd certainly not thought that we'd be discussing dirty books. Stories of the casting couch came to mind as I looked around the plush office. What would it take to get published? Did he want me to write about sex or...
'This sort of thing sells,' he persisted, perching on the edge of the huge leather-topped desk. 'After all, we are in this to make money.' He paused, rubbing his chin as he stared hard at me. 'Or is it that you just want to see your name in print?' he asked accusingly.
'No, no, of course not,' I returned indignantly. 'I'd wanted to write a book I'd be proud of. A book I could show my parents and friends.'
'Your book's good, Jade.' He brushed his dark hair back and smiled. 'It's just that it lacks...'
'Sex?' I interrupted him, raising my eyes to the ceiling.
'Why does sex have to come into everything?' I sighed. 'From selling cars to-'
'Like it or not, that's the way of the world. Have a go at writing an erotic novel. There's no harm in trying, is there?'
'I don't know anything about sex,' I confessed, shaking my head dejectedly as he laughed at me. 'What I mean is... of course I could write scenes like that. But not the bondage and spanking stuff.'
'What you mean is that you have no imagination.'
'Yes. No, I...'
'You're an attractive young girl, Jade. Don't try and tell that you know nothing about sex.'
'Of course I know about sex. And I'm not a young girl. I can't write about something I have no knowledge of.' I felt confused as he gazed at me.
I was coming across as stupid. 'I'm talking about anal sex and... What I mean is...'
'What do you mean, exactly?' he frowned.
'OK, I can use my imagination to an extent. But whipping, spanking, anal sex, three men in bed with one girl... as for lesbian sex.'
I grabbed my bag and stood up. That was that, I knew as he stared at my long legs. The end of my writing career had arrived before it had even begun. Raising his eyes to my cleavage, the agent gazed longingly at the half-moons of my breasts. All men were the same, I concluded. David seemed more interested in my body than my work. That's why sex sells, I ruminated.
Men wanted sex and they were more than willing to pay for it. Perhaps I should write about it? I pondered.
'You've been more than helpful, David,' I said, walking to the door. 'I appreciate you giving me your time, and reading my manuscript. But if you don't like my novel, then...'
'Then you'll never be published.'
'Your book's all right, Jade. It's well written, the storyline is good and the characters are strong. But the boy-meets-girl scenario has been flogged to death. Times have changed. Closing the bedroom door on the horny couple just as they're about to-'
'Horny couple?' I broke in. 'They're a young couple who are desperately in love. They've fought tooth and nail to be together and-'
'People in love have sex, don't they?' he asked sardonically.
'Then why not write about it? Give it some thought, Jade. Write a couple of chapters and let me have a look. Here, take the book with you. It might give you some ideas.'
'I suppose so,' I sighed, slipping the book into my bag.
'You can write, you've proved that. It's just that you're writing about-'
'About a young couple in love.'
'And leaving out the juicy bits.'
'Juicy bits? Perhaps I'm an old-fashioned prude,' I smiled. 'I'd thought that Romeo and Juliet...'
'To put it bluntly, Romeo and Juliet would have fucked,' he chuckled, rising from the desk. 'As I said, give it some thought.'
'Perhaps I should buy myself a whip and a pair of handcuffs,' I quipped as he opened the door for me.
'Now there's an idea,' he grinned, eyeing my legs again.
'I think not. I'll see what I can come up with.'
'You do that. And good luck.'
Good luck? What chance did I have of writing about anal and spanking? I'd neither experienced anal sex nor had desire to do so. And the only time I'd been spanked was my mother, which couldn't have been further removed from a sexual act. Trying to look on the bright side, I supposed that I'd been lucky to have got as far as seeing an agent. It wasn't that I was ungrateful, it was just I'd thought the meeting would be interesting, enlightening and fruitful. On reflection, it had indeed been most enlightening.
David had been helpful, but I'd put my heart and soul into my romantic novel. Having spent three years writing the book only to have it turned down had shattered my self-confidence, and I doubted that I'd ever write another word.
David knew the business, I ruminated. If he said that it was no good, then who was I to argue?
Walking to my car, I wished I'd stuck to freelance journalism. At least I'd earned a pretty good living. But I'd thrown it all away by wasting three years writing a book that was fit only for the dustbin. My savings all but up, I was going to have to do something to bring some money in. Did Romeo and Juliet fuck rotten? I'd always imagined them making passionate love, not fucking rotten.
Reaching my flat, I let myself in and mooched into my den. The computer screen reflected my blank stare as I flopped into my swivel chair and took the book from my bag. Flicking through the pages, I read about a young naked body tied to a metal frame. Her buttocks crudely parted by two men, she gasped as one drove three fingers into her pussy and the other forced his finger deep into her bottom. 'Do my arse,' she begged the men crudely.
'Spunk my arsehole and then come in my cunt and fuck my mouth.' Did girls like that really exist?
My thoughts turning to Alan, my one and only friend, I wondered whether we would have still been together if I'd behaved like the tart in the book.
He'd left for a so-called friend of mine; cruelly telling me that she was brilliant in bed. Apparently, she was heavily into oral sex. Alan had delighted in informing me that she enjoyed cocksucking and pussy-tonguing.
'Into anything and everything,' he'd said smugly. 'Unlike you.' I'd not only despised him, I'd hated his vulgar words, too. And now I was to use such words in a book?
I'd often said that I'd try taking Alan's penis into my mouth when I felt that I was ready, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Towards the end of our relationship I'd feigned headaches and goodness knows what else to get out of having sex with him. Every time he came near me, I knew that he'd expect me to suck his penis and I began to put up barriers. I'd enjoyed our lovemaking, the closeness, the burning passion. It was just the thought of him coming in my mouth that had revolted me. Perhaps I was too young? Were the barriers still there?
Dropping the book onto my desk, I realized the extent of my naivety, how inexperienced I was. Twenty-one years old, and I'd only had one boyfriend.
If I was going to write erotic fiction, then I'd need to get out and about.
I'd need to experience life, have a few relationships. Relationships wouldn't help, I sighed inwardly. I'd need to experience crude and illicit sex to write books like that...