After the gardener spanks her bottom and a nun at her elite finishing school seduces her in the catacombs, Bella realises that sex was what she was born for. She adores wearing a dildo and deflowering virgins just as much as she adores indulging the roguish Christian Thomas with his addiction to fruit salads and bondage.
Then Bella's world comes tumbling down. She learns that her beloved Ickham Manor doesn't belong to her, it belongs to her wicked stepfather. Sex has been fun. Now it is the weapon she uses to put her world back together again.
Bella entraps her stepfather in a lewd act on video. She stars in a porn flick and, as her song on the soundtrack makes her a tabloid celebrity, Bella is at the beginning of an erotic ride into the showbiz world of pain and perversion, of domination and glorious submission.
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About the Author
Chloe lives in London where she adores going to clubs where she can wear a mask and be herself. All of her novels are based on experience, but only one is truly autobiographical and she’s not telling which one! She loves hearing from readers and you can write to her at firstname.lastname@example.org - if she’s not tied up, she promises to write back.
When asked by friends why she writes "naughty books" she says that erotic literature is just that: literature. It is a form where sex should arise from plot and, yes, while it is there to stimulate, it should be integral to the character's awareness and development. What is the difference between erotica and porn? The erotic should be saucy, sensitive, a glimpse at our own hidden desires and dark side. It takes girls on a journey into the realms of their own undiscovered sensuality. And there's one more thing about erotic literature: it should be fun.
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Read an Excerpt
IN MY RED BLAZER with a buttoned white blouse tucked into the waistband of a pleated navy blue skirt, with my clear eyes, my hair in a long plait down to the middle of my back and a straw hat with a ribbon resting on my knees, I was everything the neat clean schoolgirl ought to be.
My uniform combined the colours of the Union Jack and, despite my Mediterranean inclinations, a sense of triumph touched me when I glimpsed the flag waving from the chapel spire at the Convent of Saint Sebastian the Holy Martyr. I was sure we were going to be happy together.
We had driven for an hour through the Kent countryside to the coast. The convent stood on grass-trimmed chalk cliffs, a yellow brick building laced with ivy and protected behind high walls that made me wonder if they were designed to keep people out or the girls in. Why we were forced to dress in uniform I had no idea, it was so 20th century, but the nuns had their habits, and it was thought that students were more obedient and learned more in traditional dress.
We passed through the open gates and crunched over the gravel drive below tall trees that were shedding their golden leaves along the way. It was the end of September, the smell of change drifting in from the sea as I stepped from the car. Mother marched off to the Bursar’s office and the nun waiting at the entrance with her hands gripped behind her bustled down the steps with an intense expression and guided us to the dorms. ‘Sister Theresa, geography,’ she said in introduction and leaned forward to gain traction like a duck racing across the surface of a pond.
She led the way as we circled the building beneath an arched colonnade. Girls in the same red jackets gazed at me as I passed with a mixture of interest and hostility. I was late starting at the school because I had been in Italy for a memorial service and then stayed on with my grandparents at La Montepietra, their lovely old palazzo. Mother had returned home early to be comforted by Mr Daviditz.
Although Sister Theresa was small and cumbersome, she moved at a furious pace and Mr Daviditz became pink and breathless as he followed with my bags. We entered the building and climbed a narrow flight of stairs to a sunny room that smelled of deodorant and looked out over the sea. There were four beds, four large cupboards, a table with chairs and a general air of neatness of which I approved. On the walls were posters from Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, there was Brad Pitt with rippling muscles and Dallas McTee looking awfully common in an animal print bra and not much else. Next to the dorm there was a bathroom and shower, shelves of thick white towels and the lamentable lack of a full-length mirror.
‘Here we are,’ said Sister Theresa. ‘I’ll leave you to your goodbyes,’ and she was gone.
‘It’s lovely here,’ said Mr Daviditz, glancing at the beds as he dropped the bags.
‘Thank you, Mr Daviditz.’
‘Simon,’ he said.
I stood looking out the window for a moment and turned as he approached for his kiss which I planted, fairy like, one on each side of his mouth, the tip of my tongue darting out to brush his lips. Beads of perspiration broke on his brow and his cheeks grew redder.
He pulled at his moustache and sighed. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said, and I knew it was true. He’d been missing me for a week because I’d been so busy preparing for school there had been no time to sunbathe in the garden in spite of his frequently whispered suggestions that for the sake of my health I should do so. I thought for the sake of his health it was probably better that I didn’t.
We heard a pair of feet tapping up the stairs and he stood back as Mother entered with a girl I would have thought was a boy if she hadn’t been wearing the school uniform. Mother glanced at her watch.
‘Bye, Mother,’ I said. We touched cheeks and I turned away. ‘Bye, Mr Daviditz, thank you,’ I said again, shaking his hand this time.
‘Just, you know,’ said Mother. ‘Just work hard.’
‘Oh but I will.’
‘It’s the right atmosphere,’ said Mr Daviditz.
The strange girl who looked like a boy stood with her arms folded watching as if this were a play and, as the director, she wasn’t entirely satisfied with the performance.
‘Goodbye,’ she said in a loud deep voice, urging them on their way, and we listened as Mother and Mr Daviditz descended the stairs.
The girl shut the door and leaned against the woodwork, one foot behind her, arms still folded. As I looked more closely it was obvious that she didn’t look like a boy at all, except for her hair sticking up in the same silly way as the boys in the village at home. There was a fierce look about her mouth.
‘Your stepfather?’ she asked.
‘How did you guess?’
‘Because I know things. I am in charge of this room. You will do everything I say.’
‘Hang your jacket in that cupboard,’ she instructed, pointing. I did so and she looked enormously satisfied. ‘Do you always do as you’re told?’
I hooked my finger in my mouth to think about that. ‘Almost never,’ I said. ‘Unless it’s amusing.’
‘I suppose it depends on what you call amusing.’
‘How old are you?’ she demanded.
‘Same as me. You don’t look it,’ she said and paused. ‘I suppose you failed all your A-levels?’
‘No, actually. I was living in Italy. I didn’t take any. How about you?’
‘Never you mind.’ She took a step closer. ‘Pull your skirt up, so I can see.’
This was somewhat abrupt, but I was new to Saint Sebastian and assumed this was some sort of initiation. I hesitated for a moment, lowered my eyes, but did as she asked, holding the hem between two fingers. I was wearing really cool white silk knickers that Mr Daviditz had bought when we’d gone shopping one afternoon at Neuhaus & West in Canterbury and Mother was in a different part of the store. He’d been waiting outside the changing room and got all sweaty peering through the narrow gap in the curtains.
‘This top is really much too small,’ I said, and he scurried off to find different colours and designs.
The autumn sun was warming my shoulders through the high window and when I examined my breasts in the mirror I discovered they really had grown bigger since that day in the woodshed.
‘Knock. Knock,’ he said, and I opened the curtains.
Mr Daviditz gasped and reached for his moustache. I slipped in and out of those teeny tiny triangles of silk and his head kept swivelling back and forth as he gazed at me then turned to glance nervously over his shoulder. After I had tried on each bra and pair of knickers, I took them off and stood there demurely as I handed them to him. We bought lots of sets and he pushed a £20 note into my hand just as Mother appeared looking furious clutching a new oven glove. She gritted her teeth as she dashed across the changing room and closed the curtains.
I liked being looked at and admired. It was fun, even standing there with this new girl with a boy’s haircut studying me as if I were quite mad.
‘I suppose you’re a little princess, are you,’ she said, and I didn’t reply. ‘Are you a lesbian?’
I shook my head. ‘No, most certainly not.’
She came closer and placed her hand over my crutch in the careless way of someone who imagines they know the right way to do things when they don’t really know at all.
‘Are you a virgin?’
‘Yes,’ I replied and she sneered like a real woman of the world.
She started rubbing her hand slowly over the fabric between my legs, backwards and forwards, the movement opening the lips of my vagina.
‘What’s your name?’ she demanded.
‘Bella di Millo.’
‘Jacqueline Bennett. Call me Jack.’
My knickers were wet already and my breath caught instantly in my throat. She slipped her hand in the elastic, a finger slid inside me and I shuddered as if an earthquake had suddenly hit the Kent coast.
She took her hand out and put the wet finger between my lips. ‘What’s it taste of, fish?’ she asked.
I sucked her finger.
‘Honey,’ I answered.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Let me start by saying I LOVED this book! Bella, who is completely believable as the headstrong teenage main character with the looks and lifestyle everyone wants (or wants to get their hands on), experiences a sexual awakening at the hands of the gardener. This is only the beginning of her erotic adventures though because once she realises how much pleasure is to be had as long as you're willing, there's no stopping her. She isn't limited by repressed morals, she's just a girl and wants to have fun. With this attitude she wields a whole lot of power over the men and even some women she comes across and she knows it! As I've come to expect after reading more of her work, Chloe Thurlow's writing is again fresh, completely true to Bella's character and simply beautiful. I also adored the setting of the story, most of it at boarding school because it brings back memories of the sort of books I used to read growing up. Of course this one is a grown up version in which the sex (of which there is a lot!) blends effortlessly with the story in a most appealing way. It's an uncensored and so very entertaining coming of age tale which I must admit I was sad to finish and let go. In my mind, there are two types of good books; those you read and enjoy and those you read, enjoy and read again. This one is the latter; I'll be keeping it on my Kindle for future re-reading.
I really enjoyed Chloe Thurlow’s The Secret Life of Girls. It’s a full-length erotic novel that follows a sexually awakened young woman named Bella. Bella likes sex. A lot. Throughout the novel she learns that sex can also be a weapon, and she’s not afraid to use it as one, especially when it comes to seeking revenge against her step-father. I’ll be honest – from the synopsis of this book I expected to find Bella to be a shallow, unlikeable character. I’m so glad I was wrong about that! I genuinely liked her, and I became lost in her erotic adventures and struggles as the story unfolded that I didn’t want to put the book down. This book is so kinky it made me blush a few times! Okay, more than a few times. Bella is a girl who knows what she wants, and I love that she doesn’t feel guilty for seeking sexual pleasure, time and time again - with both men and women. It was refreshing to read about a character who was so comfortable in her own skin. To her, sex isn’t about feeling ashamed or showing restraint in any way. It’s about giving and taking exactly the way she craves it. The Secret Life of Girls is very well-written, sexy, full of detail, and stands out as a top-shelf literary erotica work. I was blown away and look forward to reading more books by Ms. Thurlow. Readers who enjoy outstanding erotica don’t want to miss this one. 5 stars!