until then...

funny how we set a plan in motion sometimes, just by speaking it out loud. So I was thinking, and the think got bigger, and the plans got bigger….

and the book is starting to take shape.

so, rather than waiting until the summer, I will grab these characters while they're hot and take a step away from here, for now.

I'll be back to introduce you to Flynn, the Irishman with the shaggy blond hair, the surfer's body and the  iron determination of a truly dominant man, and Jenny, the sparky young English woman who can more than match him, in and out of the bedroom.
Flynn may have thought he knew what he wanted, but that was before he met Jenny.
Jenny always knew what she wanted.

so, until then,

miss me,

Ivy xx

Martini at midnight

His voice was deep, the thick scottish curl in every vowel as he ordered his drink. His dark suit was cut to make the most of his long legs and wide shoulders and could not hide the muscles it covered, any more than he could hide the scar that ran along one cheek.
She stepped up, out of the shadows. She wore silk: the darkest midnight blue gown, down to the ground, split to the top of her thigh. Her sky high heels were like pincers but as he looked into the mirror and caught her eye in the reflection, she might have walked on air.
He said her name. Not the name she would have given, but her true name. She froze, her confidence knocked, and he lifted one eyebrow, noting. Without asking, he took her wrist in his hand and led her away from the bar.
Outside, the heat of the day was still playing in the couples that wandered the softly lit Mediterranean town. Music played, something low and sweet she hadn't heard before, that spoke to her heart. She turned to tell him, to ask him what it was, when, without warning, he swept her into her arms and crushed her mouth with his. Like a match to a flame, she felt her own fire set alight under his and as he started to break away, as he moved back, a slow smile already on his lips, she hurled herself at him, her hands in his hair, her body in his arms, her heart in his play.
She couldn't say which one of them led the way to the soft grassy hillock beside the bar any more than she could say which one of them unclasped her dress, or which one ripped his jacket away, or his shirt, but as her skin met his, as her hands clasped him and brought him to her, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of their love.
All around them, unseen, the little town played its usual song, but there, under the heavy, swollen moon,  it was just them. Guiding him to his back, she sat astride him. Her breasts shone like ebony in the pale light, her dress lay discarded on the grass, and she wore nothing but her high, high heels. He set his hands on her waist and lifted her up, teasing her, holding her over his cock, until neither of them could wait any longer.

thinking...

so I got to thinking, about how much I enjoy writing this little blog and how sweet you all have been in  reading my snippets of erotica and letting me know you like my writing. I only originally started this because I found a few bits of naughty writing here and there and I thought they'd be fun to share, but as time has gone on, I have found myself more and more caught up with my day-life and less and less able to commit to writing other things, and then… as I say, I got to thinking… and thinking…. and my thoughts got a little naughty… and I was thinking how much more fun it would be to write like this -

and not to finish the story at the end of the page.

so…

you have me, here, writing weekly teases until June. In June, I will take what I have and start playing with it, see where it grows, where it leads me, and if it works out I'd aim to have finished my first erotic novel by spring 2016. 

between now and then, please do let me know what you like in my writing, so I can please you.

I do so love to please…

Ivy

x

surrender

My skin looks incredible. I shine. The basque clings to my body. The fit is everything I could ask for and I feel a flutter of excitement as I pick up the card, again.

Surrender.

Suddenly, I know who has sent me the stunning lingerie.

I look into the mirror and the woman who looks back isn’t the woman who worries if her skirt is long enough, or if her hair is straight enough. The woman in the mirror doesn’t care if it is eight in the morning or eight in the evening. I smile, the slow, knowing smile of a woman who knows she already has what she wants.

The woman in the mirror, is me.

I take time with my make up, sweep my hair away from my face. I want him to see me. I already know what else I’m going to wear but at the last minute, I hesitate.

Then I remind my self: surrender.

I run my hands through my hair and let my fingers travel down, over the sheer fabric, tracing the pretty feather embroidery, touching the little rose-gold ‘s’ charm. I close my eyes as my hands cover my body, as I luxuriate in the smooth silky fabric, following the lines of the basque that celebrates every curve. My fingers savour the softness of my skin, and as I trace the suspenders, as I feel the tug of the naughty peep-hole briefs, I know I can do this.

I slide my feet into my heels and pluck one single item from my wardrobe: my long black coat.

At the door, I check my lipstick, but I don’t need to check my body again. I know I look good. The soft silk of my coat is cold against my skin and outside on the street, the light breeze plays around the hem of my coat. I pull the belt a little tighter. My heels click on the pavement and I walk with my head high, knowing my own power. At the entrance to Macari’s, I stop.

After all these years, would it be the same? Did he still know my mind, my heart, like he knew my body?

I already knew the answer. The huge dance floor was empty except for one man.

Tom. His uniform spotless, he turns to face me. Our eyes meet.

I let my coat fall to the floor.

listen...

Listen to my voice.
Can you hear me?
I know I'm not that loud, not that brash - I know my accent is soft and lilting. I know that my laugh is a high, girlish laugh and that my sighs are nearly nothing - but right now, in the soft candlelight, in the heat by the fire - right now, I need you.
Can you hear it?
Listen, really closely. Listen to the sound of my fingers on my skin, the sound of my touch. This - this is my hands on my breasts. Soft at first, then hard - squeezing my nipples, pulling them out to you.
Did you hear that? That was the sound of my heat rising.
A moan escapes me. I can't help it. It's always been about my nipples for us, hasn't it? You love how I love them; I love how you love them.
I saw another man looking at them, today. My nipples were hard, pointing behind that cream shirt you bought me. I was wearing the lace bra. I knew he could see the dark circles behind the white lace. I knew he could see the way my nipples caught at the lace, my full breasts straining behind the thin cream silk.
I caught him staring, and he looked away.
I smiled. You would have liked that, wouldn't you? You would have liked knowing that he wanted me, but that you had me.
Do you hear the sound of my fingers, now searching deep inside of me? The sound of my juices?
Your name is on my tongue, your taste on my skin -
Listen, hear me come.

take it

With one hard push he slammed her down on the bed. Like an animal, like a beast from the forrest, she stretched up to him, arching her hips, drawing him down on top of her. He stopped for just long enough to  meet her eyes. Throwing himself onto her, he grabbed her hands, pinned them down with one of his. Tugging at her shirt he ripped it open, tearing away the thin lacy bra beneath without a second thought.
Her breasts stood proud and beautiful, her dark, perfect, bullet shaped nipples aching for him as he needed them. She twisted under him, trying to free her hands. Her legs came up, binding his hips, pulling him toward her. As he lowered his mouth to her breasts and down, down, his tongue destroyed her. Her hands free, she gripped hold of his hair, pulling him closer, pushing herself into his mouth, but he knew what he wanted.
They both knew what they wanted.
Rearing up, he turned her onto her knees. With every last scrap of will, he held himself back but she looked over her shoulder and met his eyes.
"Fuck me," she hissed.

happy valentines day

The cold air in the unheated theatre touched her nipples, left them standing proud. She wasn't tall, her head only just reaching the top of the hoop as she sat in its turning circle, but her legs - it was her legs that fascinated him. Dressed in nothing but fishnet stockings and that scrap of lace - what was it? he thought. Was it a body stocking? Was it a two piece? It seemed to lie so perfectly on her olive skin, laced together with her long black ribbons, the bow falling behind her as she leaned back.

He could watch her for hours.

She twisted, and stretched out her legs, then dropped. Without warning, she let herself fall back, one leg catching on the hoop, one stretched up. She reached with her arm, turning and turning around and around.

Lost in the world of her acrobatics, a small smile spread over her face. Later, the little theatre would be full of people staring up at her, shouting things, calling her - but now, there was no sound to fade away behind her music. Just her, and the hoop.

She took both hands from the side and dropped again, but this time she turned at her waist and came back up. The hoop spun, almost without her moving it; they'd been together so long, she and the hoop - like a solid steel lover. It was there for her every time, catching her every fall, there to support her, to display her. It held her.

She pulled up, this time stretching both legs out, splayed. Maybe, on some level, she knew he'd be there. Maybe she had chosen her costume, knowing how her nipples caught at the thin lace, how the scrap of fabric barely concealed how wet she was for him. Maybe she knew he was watching her, as she slowed the spin and dropped back, hanging from the hoop, again. 

He stepped closer. Each time she spun around, slower and slower, she saw his frame in the doorway. The closer he came, the slower she spun, and she let her tongue run lazily over her lips, wetting them, readying them.

Under the lights, the lace covered nothing of her ballet dancer's body. He found himself watching for the shadow of her tiny belly button, but it was the fishnet stockings, and the long, delicate black suspenders that fascinated him. He stopped at the stage.

"Can I help you?" she said.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Yes, he thought - god yes, she could do anything she wanted for him. To him. She could bend him, twist him - she could use him, hang from him like she hung from her hoop - but it was more than that.

He held up the single champagne coloured rose.

She sat up, stopped the hoop. Dropping down onto the stage, she walked toward him, her feet barely sounding on the wooden floor. she pushed her hair back, out of her eyes.

"Do I know you," she said. 

She looked him up and down, and they both knew she did. 

"I…" he started.

Her lips moved in that same, knowing smile. He felt his cheeks flush with red. His cock hardened under her gaze. He ached for her - hell, he hurt for her.

He'd do anything for her.

"I just wanted to say, I think you're beautiful," he told her, quietly. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She reached and took the flower from him, but as she would have stepped up, would have taken hold of his hand, he backed away. She was too good, too perfect, for him. She was everything he'd ever wanted - she was everything a woman could be. Everything.

"It's ok," she said, her hand stretched out to him. "You can touch me."

Slowly, moving inch by inch, he let her lead him. His fingers found the lace and he closed his eyes as her nipples hardened even more, under his touch.

"Come with me," she whispered. "Just for today. Be my valentine."

close your eyes...

“I want you to close your eyes,” he said.

She turned, her eyes tightly closed.

“I want you to listen to my voice, and just my voice," he said. "There is no room for anything else here – no room for anything. Just you, and me, and right now.”

Her lips parted, a slow, knowing smile. There was nothing else in the world that she wanted, than to hear him.

“Take off your nightdress,” he said. “let it fall on the floor.”

The silk kissed her skin as it flowed from her hands.

“I love your body,” he whispered. “God, I love your body – I love your hips, your stomach, your waist – I love the little curve where your waist meets your hips – I love your ass…”

Her smiled faltered.

“Run your hands over your waist, and round, to your ass,” he said. “No, don’t open your eyes. Just let your fingers feel their way around, let your body feel me watching you.”

She began to do what he said.

“Slowly,” he told her. “Feel those curves – touch yourself, trace your fingers over your hips, and down, to the nub – trace them up, over your breasts. Feel how hard your nipples are. Feel how they ache for me – feel with your fingers, how it would be with my lips, with my teeth. Pinch them –”

With a sharp intake of breath she felt the burn of excitement rush from her nipples to her clit, setting fire to her cunt.

“Pull them for me – gently,” he said. “Pull them toward me. Let me see them, standing proud.”

Her heat throbbed as she teased her nipples forward, increasing the pressure –

“Now let your fingers go to where you want them,” he said. His voice was low, the need clear, and she knew he’d be rock hard.

“Show me,” he said. “Let me see.”

She moved her hands down, slipping one finger between her folds. She was so wet, so hot – was that how she felt for him? Was this what it was like for him when he touched her? She started to circle her clit with her finger.

“use both hands,” he told her. “Open for me. Show me.”

With a shiver of excitement, she held open her lips and pushed her pelvis forward. Her legs were shaking, her whole body awake with the fire of his voice – she reached deeper, the honey spreading over her fingers as she slid her finger around and around her clit, then inside, deep, deep inside –

The orgasm ripped through her with no warning. Her legs shook, she cried out, and as the waves took her deeper and deeper, she fell to her knees. 

Her head rested back, her hair falling from her face. Somewhere, far away, she heard herself sigh.

On the other end of the phone, he chuckled.

“Stay there,” he said.

connecting the dots...

ooo, so exciting - today I am a guest on the wonderful F.Leonora's blog, and I share my thoughts on writing erotica, and my love of public hair.

http://fdotleonora.com/2016/02/05/guest-blogger-ivy-ohara/

this sunday...

this sunday, close your eyes...

hot chocolate - guest post from F. Leonora Solomon

wildly excited to hand over the reins to F.Leonora Solomon this week, for a sexy French tease… Ivy x

Hot Chocolate

Sipping the hot chocolate was like a kiss, Adrienne closed her eyes as the chocolate flowed over her tongue. It was sweet, but she savored it like a savory food. Her eyes moved around the elaborate French cafe, as she saw all types of people fill it.

Her friend had told her that she had to have the chocolate there while she was in Paris, but she had not been prepared for what she was served. This was more than hot chocolate—it was a rendezvous. A moment in time suspended from the rest of her life. She felt suspended from the rest of her life anyway because she was not fluent in French, and she did not understand a lot of what was being said around her.

“Excuse me…”

The English words jarred her, before she looked up and saw a tall slender man in a suit walk by her. His suit pants had grazed her arm—and not his fault—she spilled her chocolate.

The man was on his knees in front of her when she looked down at her dress. There was a splash of chocolate something like a Rorschach, but most of the chocolate was on the floor. A rush of employees walked over to her, and reassured her in French. She was taken to a new table, and napkins and spoons were placed before her.

Seated across from her was the man who had caused all of the trouble. Adrienne could still feel his suit on her bare arm, when he now touched with his hand.

“I am sorry,’ he said. “I did not mean to make you spill your chocolate…”
Adrienne shrugged, and shook her head.

“No, it was me. I am normally clumsy…”

He looked at her with a smile.

“Your chocolate’s on me,” he said, as another hot chocolate was placed before her. “I did not even ask if you spoke English before I came over here apologizing.”

“Non,” she started in French, and then smiled happy to speak English with someone. “I do, and you do not have to pay for my chocolate…”

“I insist, besides…I would like to speak to someone in English for a bit…do you mind humoring an American?”

“No.”

Adrienne smiled, and sipped her hot chocolate. Feeling like she was kissing the chocolate again, now she wondered what this man’s lips would feel like against hers instead. She did not know his name yet.

He stared at her lips, which she licked. He looked at her breaking the rules, for how long he should look into her eyes.

Her temples dampened as she continued to drink the hot chocolate, and to drink in her new companion’s appearance. He continued to study her lips, as she licked them. Studied them as she licked the homemade whipped cream with the tip of her tongue, before added it liberally to top her chocolate.

This time, when she spilled the hot chocolate, it was not an accident. Again he was at her knees, when she looked at the new chocolate Rorschach on her dress it looked like desire as his fingers grazed her dress and the edge of her knee.

“Excuse me, I am so clumsy…” she said, and got up, asking in French where was the bathroom.

The tiny jewel box bathroom was decadent, it looked at elegant as the china her chocolate was served in. Adrienne did not have to go to the bathroom, but she braced the sink as she tried to regain her composure. She saw dried chocolate on the edge of her lip. All the flirty licking she had done, and she still missed a spot of actual chocolate.

Looking at her face once more, she opened the bathroom door, and he was there. Her temples moistened again, as he leaned in. Adrienne pulled at his tie to rein him in.

He kissed her.

He licked the spot where she had licked the chocolate off of her mouth, and the tip of her tongue. His lips rested on her top lip.

“You taste like chocolate…” he whispered.

It was the first time an American accent made her wet.

drum roll please...

ooo, a brand new tease from an exciting guest blogger, tomorrow...

don't turn around

Kitty leaned back against the wall, away from the crowd. The guy was on his knees now, his eyes wide with anticipation, his chest pumping up and down, the excitement plain all over him. John walked over the small stage and with each step, he slid his hand up and down his cock, readying himself.
Kitty took a sharp breath in as the burst of heat rushed through her. She could almost feel the glistening tip of John's cock as he slid it between the man's lips - she could almost taste the juices -
"Don't turn around," said a voice behind her.
She raised one eyebrow, not recognising the new man's voice, but she knew the rules of the club. She held out her wrist, showing him the tag John had tied there.
The man chuckled. Reaching around her, he held out a long pink ribbon. Her ribbon.
The guy on the stage leaned into John, taking him deep into the back of his throat. Kitty heard herself moan as John leant into the man's mouth, thrusting, gripping his head. Someone in the room called out but Kitty didn't hear what they said. To her left, a couple were already hard at it, the moment too much to resist, but even with the ribbon there in front of her, Kitty couldn't take her eyes off John.
Suddenly, he looked up, peering over the crowd. Scanning the faces below him, he stopped on hers. She smiled, and as she met his eyes, she let her tongue trace her lips. He pulled back from the man on his cock, just enough to let him know he wasn't going to come yet. The man turned his head, taking John's balls into his mouth, closing his eyes, but John never looked away from Kitty. He raised his chin and gestured very slightly with his head, and Kitty felt the familiar tug of the pink ribbon about her wrist. Her cheeks flushed and she looked up through her lashes, but she didn't turn away. She let herself be guided forward two paces and the man stepped in behind her. He ran his hands over her body, over her hips, then under her short skirt. As John watched, Kitty felt the man's fingers rise up the inside of her legs, probing, touching. She let out a cry, but she couldn't hide how wet she was, how much she needed to come.
John guided the man's mouth back to his cock and without taking his eye's from Kitty's, he started to fuck the man's mouth, hard. Kitty felt her own lips bruise as she watched. She felt the rise in her belly, felt the burn, the wonderful heat in the very depths of her womb, but the fingers on her cunt were not enough.
Finally looking up to the low wooden ceiling, John filled the man's mouth. With each thrust, Kitty could taste his cum on her tongue, but even as she squirmed, even as the fingers found her clit, it wasn't enough. She pushed back, needing more, and the man behind her chuckled.
"This way," he said, taking her hand. "Close your eyes."
With one final look up at the stage to where the man was cleaning John with his tongue, lapping him up, Kitty closed her eyes and let herself be led away.

let the music play…

She leant back, resting her head in his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair. It was late, but the bar was still busy and the band was on form. Couples danced to the deep throaty jazz, New Orleans alive and well in the dingy London club.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, expecting him to be watching the musicians, but his eyes burned into her hers with a force that woke up the fire in her soul.

She raised one eyebrow, their signal, and his hand moved softly around her jaw, to her shoulder. No one was looking, but even if they were -

The corner of her lip twitched, and she nodded, just once. She wriggled until she was practically sitting up, but still nestled into his body, and as she moved, she hitched up her skirts, just enough. 

He was ready.

Sliding his fingers under her full skirt, he moved his hand up her leg. She shivered, feeling the flush rise in her face. A shout came from the dance floor – one of their friends. She raised her hand to wave and as she did, he slid his hand up higher, right to the top of her thighs.

She breathed in sharply, but if the friend noticed what they were doing, she said nothing, smiled, and turned away in her dance.

The lights flickered over the moving couples but as as he worked his fingers under her lace panties, she felt her eyes drifting, unfocussed. The heat, the music, the sheer, wonderful buzz of the little place, all spun around her as he found her clit.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder.

He looked out, over the crowd. She was wet – soaking, burning, wonderfully wet. He pushed two fingers inside her and she moved to take him in. A waiter came by the next table, picking up the discarded glasses, but she didn’t even open her eyes.

The waiter looked over and caught the man's eye, but he didn’t stop. Her face flushed again, her mouth opening, her closed eyelids fluttering as she tightened around his fingers. The waiter went to speak to them, to say something, but then she let out a low moan and arched her back, lost in the ripples of pleasure.

When she opened her eyes, the waiter was standing over them, their fire burning in his eyes.