Nice Girls Don't Write Porn

This is a story about a woman who writes erotica. And a magician. I’ve always found magicians irresistibly sexy….

I am sitting on the bed, kneeling upright, my arms tied behind my back with a soft white rope.   Waiting.  I am wearing a silk slip, very feminine, the colour of bruised peaches.  One strap has fallen down my shoulder, exposing my right breast.  My head is bowed submissively, my long dark hair dropping forward, covering my face like a shiny black curtain.  My legs are parted, as instructed.  I am not wearing knickers.  Karl removed them before he whipped me, leaving a pattern of red lines that criss- cross my naked buttocks.  I can feel the red welts throbbing on the surface but I cannot cry out because Karl has gagged me tightly, with a black silk scarf which he knotted several times before placing it in my mouth and fastening it in position to ensure I could not make the slightest whimper.

Suddenly, I hear a movement behind me.  I feel my muscles tensing as I wait, wondering what will happen next.  I can tell that he is watching me from the doorway.  I can sense his presence but I dare not turn to look.

‘Is my girl hungry?’ he asks, walking towards me. 

I nod.

Nice girls don’t write porn, one of the tales in my collection Kissing Velvet, concerns the enigmatic magician Anton and quirky writer Miranda (the extract above is from one of her stories) .  When Anton asks her if she is an erotic writer or a writer of erotica – or both – Miranda isn’t sure how to answer.  And she soon learns that magic and trust are inextricably connected.  Like pleasure and pain…..