Weekend Writing Warriors for Feb 19

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It’s that time of the week again for Weekend Writing Warriors, a time when writers share a snippet of their work for the comments and critique by other writers. When you have read my piece, I hope you will follow the link (www.wewriwa.com) to read other posts.

I am contining from my forthcoming book, The Russian Bride, which will be out on March 8. James sees the beautiful, but dishevelled Natasha, in the car park, and decides to stop and see if she needs help. He asks her name.

“It’s Natasha, sir.”

“You are a very polite young lady. Do you always address men as ‘sir’ who stop to talk to you?”

The question seemed to confuse her. He wondered if she was selling her body for food, or just relying on the goodwill of the men who stopped their cars. He was tempted to give her twenty pounds and be on his way, but there was something about her that got to him.

“How about we go and get you something to eat? There’s a café at the end of the block that will still be open.”

She looked at his face, clearly weighing up whether she could be getting into the car of a mad axe murderer, but her hunger obviously overruled everything and she nodded and moved around the car. He leaned over and opened the door and she climbed gratefully into the warm, plush interior.

So what made Natasha run away and sleep rough in a car park? More next week.

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Natasha, a Russian-born girl living in London, catches the eye of Viktor, a middle-aged Russian gangster. He wants her as his wife, the mother of his son, and his submissive partner in the kinky sex he enjoys at his isolated home near Saint Petersburg, Russia. But he doesn’t ask her to accompany him. He kidnaps her instead.

Surprisingly, Natasha begins to accept her new life. Is she really a natural submissive, or has Viktor brainwashed her? Viktor is adamant that he will not have sex with her until they are married when she turns nineteen, but he shows her the type of life he lives by taking her to orgies, held by his friend, and tells her that this is what she can expect as his wife.

All turns sour, however, and Natasha has to flee for her life on a visit to London and a London businessman, James Miller, comes to her aid. Neither of them realise quite how much danger they will be in for defying Viktor, but James is willing to risk his all to rescue her from this man.

This is the link to The Russian Bride’s Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/juliettebankstherussianbride/ 

 

 

On Display – a short, erotic story

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(Not suitable for under 18s)

She sat on the bench facing the beach, where she had been the day before, her long, brown hair whipped up by the wind. She was wearing a light coloured mac, tied around the middle, and with the collar pulled up against the wind, which brought with it a few flecks of salty water. I sat down at the other end of the bench, but didn’t look at her, although I sensed that she’d turned her head towards me. I was in control. It was my show.

“Show me.”

She stood up and I heard her heels on the concrete as she walked towards me. Pausing directly in front of me I looked at her face for the first time since my arrival.

“Now.”

She lifted the front of her mac and I could see that she was naked underneath, her little tuft of brown hair standing out against her pale skin. She looked around nervously, as if to see if anyone was nearby.

“Look at me. You’re not to concern yourself with anyone else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, so softly that I could barely hear her words for the wind.

“You may drop your coat back down.”

The relief on her face was palpable. She couldn’t yet free her mind from the shame should our little scene be witnessed by a stranger, but the thought of her being seen like that excited me beyond measure. I was more of an exhibitionist than I realised.

“Put your hands behind your back, and stand with your legs apart.”

Even though I knew it was difficult for her she responded obediently, linking her hands behind her back and placing her feet about a foot apart.

“Come closer.”

She was now within my reach and I stretched out my arm and ran my hand up her inner thigh. As I reached the point where her thigh ended, she sucked in air and visibly shivered, in anticipation of where it would reach next. But I liked to wrong foot her. I stopped and withdrew my hand, and she released her breath. I knew that she was disappointed, but she didn’t complain. She knew better than to complain.

It had begun to rain; large drops, and the sky had become ominously grey. The few people who had been walking along the seafront began to run for shelter. I remained seated, and as long as I didn’t move, then neither could she.

I pointed down at my shoes.

“My lace is undone. Please fasten it for me.” I was so polite. Even smiled. She hesitated. That would be another ten spanks this evening.

“But I…”

She knew that I intended for her to bend from the waist, thereby exposing her bottom to the world. But I showed her no mercy and looked sternly into that lovely face of hers. Words were not necessary.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, and hurriedly bent forward, quickly tying the shoelace. She knew that it had been left unfastened deliberately for this moment. I wondered if anyone in the rooms above the closed shops on the seafront was looking through their window right now. The thought made me shiver with pleasure and I wondered if she was thinking the same.

She straightened up, her face a little flushed. I caught hold of her waistband and pulled her towards me, until her knees were touching mine. My hand slipped through the front of the mac and between her thighs. She was wet and sticky.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.” There was no hesitation in her reply.

“Does it excite you that someone might have been watching?”

She really didn’t need to answer. The excitement was showing in her sparkling eyes and the slightly breathy voice. “It does, Sir.”

“You like being on view, don’t you? Being available to anyone who happens to pass by? Perhaps I should hire a market stall and have you on display, naked, for anyone to see as they do their shopping. Would you like that?”

She shivered, her eyes closed, as though she was imagining the scene. “Yes, Sir. I’d like that very much.”

“See how hard you’re making me.” We both looked down to the bulge, straining against my trousers. She looked a little worried.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to suck me off right here. But the sooner we get back to that hotel room, the better, don’t you think?”

She smiled. “Yes, Sir. It would probably be a good idea.” She visibly relaxed as our little game came to an end. She knew that she had played her part to perfection. Next came the reward.

“No point us getting wet out here. I’d rather we got wet in the shower together, with you sucking my hard cock. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

She turned and began walking along the seafront, her heels clicking on the concrete, and her arse swaying under the mac. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she would be smiling triumphantly. Goddam, that woman of mine sure knows how to stoke my fire.

Weekend Writing Warriors for March 12

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It’s that time of the week again for Weekend Writing Warriors, a time when writers share a snippet of their work for the comments and critique by other writers. When you have read my piece, I hope you will follow the link (www.wewriwa.com) to read other posts.

After much thought, and bearing in mind some of your comments last week, I have decided that I will feature my next book, The Russian Bride, after all. You’re all grown ups, so I hope you won’t mind the odd naughty word – although I will try to exclude them where possible. Ditto the sexy scenes. If you want the hot stuff, you’ll have to buy the book! Although a few sweet sexy scenes might slip through (no pun intended). Bear in mind that the book hasn’t yet been edited.

Here is how two of the main characters, James and Natasha, meet.

James Miller saw the girl in the corner of the car park as his car headlights picked up the pale features of her face. It was late, after eleven p.m., and he was on his way home after a business dinner with some potential investors. He was tired, after a gruelling day, but the girl caught his attention, and he slowed the car. She made no move away, but stood quite still, her long brown hair looking matted and dirty, and was wearing a short black dress that was muddy and dishevelled. Despite the coolness of the evening she was not wearing either a sweater or a coat.

His immediate impression was that she was a drug addict, probably looking for a fix. He doubted that she was a prostitute, for they didn’t usually look as unkempt, and were more likely to be seen on the street, looking for their clients, rather than skulking in the corner of a car park.

He drew alongside her and lowered the window. It was probably a stupid move, but the girl looked so forlorn, and she was obviously not carrying a weapon, for there would have been nowhere to conceal it on her body.   Beckoning her to the car she took a hesitant step towards him, stopping a couple of feet away.

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My cover isn’t ready yet, so here is a teaser I made myself.

Natasha, a Russian-born girl living in London, catches the eye of Viktor, a middle-aged Russian gangster. He wants her as his wife, the mother of his son, and his submissive partner in the kinky sex he enjoys at his isolated home near Saint Petersburg, Russia. But he doesn’t ask her to accompany him, he kidnaps her instead.

Surprisingly, Natasha begins to accept her new life. Is she really a natural submissive, or has Viktor brainwashed her? Viktor is adamant that he will not have sex with her until they are married when she turns nineteen, but he shows her the type of life he lives by taking her to orgies, held by his friend, and tells her that this is what she can expect as his wife.

All turns sour, however, and Natasha has to flee for her life on a visit to London and a London businessman, James Miller, comes to her aid. Neither of them realize quite how much danger they will be in for defying Viktor, but James is willing to risk his all to rescue her from this man.

The book is due out on March 8 and is being published by Blushing Books in the name of Juliette Banks. Here is a link to my The Russian Bride Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/juliettebankstherussianbride/?ref=bookmarks

Weekend Writing Warriors for Feb 5

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It’s that time of the week again for Weekend Writing Warriors, a time when writers share a snippet of their work for the comments and critique by other writers. When you have read my piece, I hope you will follow the link (www.wewriwa.com) to read other posts.

This will be my last snippet from A Love More Precious Than Diamonds. Dan went with Vicky when she challenged her mother over her damaged childhood, and she asks him to drive her back to her place in Brooklyn, rather than his apartment.

When we reached Brooklyn, I stopped outside Vicky’s apartment block and got out of the vehicle, intending to see her right to the door, but she held up her hand.

“No, it’s okay, Dan. I’ll be all right now. I need to be on my own for a while. I don’t know if things will ever be good for us again or not. I might take your advice and get some therapy. In the meantime, I think that the best therapy for me would be to get back to my dissertation. Please understand that I still care for you, but I just can’t be with you right now.”

I understood completely, but it broke my heart to see her pick up her bag and walk alone into the building, and all I wanted to do was to grab her and hug her and tell her that I loved her. For I had realized, just in the last couple of days, that I loved this woman, and now it looked as though I might lose her.

The book leaves their joint story at this point, and takes up Vicky’s story, from her childhood in Brooklyn with her grandparents, to her once again living with her mother and her new partner, when she is a teenager, before finally coming back to the present, when the reader will discover whether her relationship with Dan has survived her period of absence from him.

I’m pleased to tell you that my latest book, The Russian Bride, has just been accepted for publication by Blushing Books. However I have decided that it is too raunchy to publish here under the weekend writing warriors banner, as so many other writers write other genres and might be offended by it, so next week I plan to start another book I wrote about twelve years ago, and which I am thinking of updating and republishing. More on that next week.

 

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A Love More Precious Than Diamonds is available from Amazon and Blushing Books 

 

Wicked Wednesday Prompt #244

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This is my piece for Wicked Wednesday, a weekly post where writers use the prompt offered to write something linked to the prompt. This week’s prompt is ‘Highlights’, and I’ve chosen to write about some highlights of my younger life, when life was sweet and free from responsibility. Click on the symbol to see other posts.

 

In my twenties I lived in London, and had an Australian boyfriend.

“Come back to Oz with me,” he said, “Four of us will buy a van and drive overland.”

“Sure,” I said, and handed in my notice at work. But it wasn’t to be. The other woman found she was pregnant, so she and her partner flew back to Australia. A few weeks later my boyfriend and I broke up. Darn it, I’d given up a good job. I’d bloody well go on my own.

Two months later I watched the white cliffs of Dover disappear from view, and all I had was a train ticket to Istanbul. After that I would have to wing it. (For youngsters who cannot imagine a world without the Internet, there was one, and I lived in it. There were also no mobile phones, and monthly airmail letters were all my family received from me.)

I will spare you most of the trip details because of space restriction, and its a whole other story, but I survived my bus and train journeys through Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, and it was one of the most amazing times of my life.

I made it to Singapore a couple of months later, where to my surprise, on board the ship for Perth, Australia, was my ex-boyfriend, and another woman! He knew I was taking that ship. There was no need to rub my nose in it. But vengeance was sweet when we ran into a typhoon just one day out of port. I don’t normally suffer from seasickness, but the ex and his new woman did, as did the other seven people on our table. One by one they vanished, until there was just me and a very nice-looking Greek waiter, who asked if I wanted a conducted tour of the crew quarters to pass the time. Well I didn’t mind if I did.

Of course, it wasn’t quite as plush as the Captain’s Cabin. In fact it was the size of a broom cupboard, with two bunks. Let me tell you, sex in a narrow bunk, five foot off the floor, in a ship that is pitching and rolling through a typhoon, is a masterpiece in self-preservation. I survived it, and I got extra bacon on my breakfasts after that. Fair exchange!

I spent nearly two years working around Australia, much of it in the company of a man called Harry, (not his real name) and his adorable dog called Pebbles, (that was his real name). He was a chef, and together we worked in kitchens in motels and restaurants across that wonderful country. Harry taught me to play pool and snooker and poker, and as a hard-core gambler who would lay odds on two lizards running up the wall, would pitch me against one of the motel guests passing through and tell me to play badly in the first game. The bet was a dollar or two. Another round of drinks was bought, and a plea by Harry to allow me to play another game to try to recoup my losses.

“Sure thing,” said the confident punter, doubling the bet.

I then went around the pool table and potted every ball. We had some good sex that night, I recall.

He took me to Tasmania, his home state, and we both found work in Hobart. We didn’t have much money, but we lived the sort of hedonistic life that is probably only possible when you are young, free from responsibilities and a long way from home. We went down to Seven Mile Beach, south of Hobart and camped overnight. I say ‘camped’ but we simply slept on the sand and lit a campfire. We had the whole beach to ourselves after everyone went home. It was magical. Not a building in sight, sparkling blue sea, miles of golden sand and thick bush that met the beach, which was a good source of firewood, which I volunteered to get, dressed only in a bikini and rubber flip-flops on my feet. I’d been there a few minutes, when Harry called out.

“Watch out for the snakes, by the way.”

“You never mentioned snakes! Why the f*** didn’t you tell me?”

I looked down at my feet and there, six inches from my right foot was a snake. Another was a foot to my left, and one or two more in the vicinity. I don’t think I have moved as quickly, either before or since. They might have been harmless, for all I knew. After all, as Harry was keen on telling me, I was just a Pom, so what would I know about snakes.

Sleeping on the sand is not as comfortable as you might think, and even less comfortable for having sex if you get the sand into your tender parts. Then it’s like having sandpaper roughing up the soft skin that rarely sees the light of day. In the morning, still naked, I ran to the sea to wash off all the sand that was stuck to me as a result of our exertions. Swimming naked in a warm sea, under an already hot sun, was sublime. It’s a feeling like no other, being completely and utterly free and at one with the natural world. I should have had some photos to remind me of that great weekend, because Harry took some with my camera. Unfortunately, Australia at that time was much more prudish than Europe, and the shop where I took them to be developed (no digital cameras in those days) refused to develop them and destroyed the offending pictures, giving me back only the one they deemed acceptable.

After two years away I decided to return home, and Harry came with me. But our relationship fizzled out in the harsh climate of reality. He went back to the sunshine and I became a farmer. (I have often pondered whether I made the right choice, but there you go…). I went to agricultural college, and met the next big love of my life. I’ll call him Sam.

Sam was only nineteen, and I was then twenty-eight, and he was a babe-magnet. All the eighteen and nineteen year old girls would flutter their eyelashes at him, but I never felt threatened. I was able to flutter a whole lot more, plus he could even have a decent conversation with me.

In those days the college was very strict about sex on the premises, even going so far as to throw out people they caught (well it was the dark ages!), so we had to be very inventive. A clean pigpen with a straw bed and a hay barn came in very useful, but straw up your… well, it wasn’t comfortable. But we were young and obsessed with sex, in any shape or form.

It was with Sam that my experimentation moved up a gear and I had my first taste of kink, nothing heavy, just some role-play and restraints. He asked me if he was abnormal, wanting sex every moment of every day. No, I replied, you’re a 19-year-old guy; you’re supposed to be at your sexual peak. I certainly wasn’t complaining. Life was good.

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Me, in London, not long before I went off around the world.

Weekend Writing Warriors for Jan 29

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It’s that time of the week again for Weekend Writing Warriors, a time when writers share a snippet of their work for the comments and critique by other writers. When you have read my piece, I hope you will follow the link (www.wewriwa.com) to read other posts.

After finding out that Dan and her mother had been lovers twenty years earlier, the distress brought back a lot of childhood trauma for Vicky, remembering the way her parents had virtually deserted her when she was a young child. She challenges her mother about all the hurt and distress that was caused by her.

Therese’s face was white and she looked shocked, as though she had never really concerned herself with the damage she was causing as she passed through her life. She spoke in a tremulous voice. “I have been a terrible mother. I know that now, but when I was younger, and you were just a small child, I allowed your father to control me, even to the extent that I would abandon my own daughter to please him. There is nothing I can do, except to say I am sorry, to both of you, and to try to make amends. Please, please forgive me, Victoria. If there was any way I could undo any of the harm I have caused, I would do it in an instant.”

“I don’t think I can ever forgive you, Therese. As far as I am concerned, you are no longer my mother. I don’t hate you, because that would make me bitter inside, and I don’t want to be like that, but I no longer want to see you.”

 Can the rift between Vicky and her mother ever heal? And how will this impact on her fledgling relationship with Dan?

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A Love More Precious Than Diamonds is now available from Blushing Books and Amazon US

Danny was a 21-year-old student when he met Gem in London in 1992. She was the most beautiful, sensuous and sexy woman he had ever met, and she was some years older and married to a wealthy businessman. So why did she pick him from all the men she might have chosen?

Their affair was brief and dramatic, and introduced Danny to sexual passion, the like of which he had never experienced before. It also introduced him to the kind of woman who desired control and discipline in her life. Even though the affair lasted just a few weeks, it changed his life and changed his perception of the type of woman he wanted.

Twenty years later he met a young woman and, for the first time in his life, he fell in love; but fate was not kind, and the events of twenty years earlier came back to haunt him as he realised that he might lose the woman of his dreams. He was powerless to act. He could not rewrite his life history.

Weekend Writing Warriors for Jan 22

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Welcome back to my post for Weekend Writing Warriors. When you have read this, why not click on the link (www.wewriwa.com) to read snippets from many talented writers.

After fleeing from her mother at the charity ball, Dan persuades Vicky to confront Therese (Gem) at her hotel. The pain that Vicky feels is not just what happened the day before, but the buried pain of her childhood, when her parents abandoned her to the care of her grandmother (Mamie). It has all come flooding back. She describes her feelings to her mother.

You weren’t a mother to me, Therese, you were never a mother to me, Mamie was the only mother I had. And now, you have poisoned the relationship between the only decent man I have ever been with, a man I was beginning to love. How can I be with him now without thinking of you two together? And what about what you did to Dan? You had your fun with him when he was a student, and then you just ran out on him, with no apology or explanation. Did you ever consider that, Therese?”

I put my hand on her arm.

“It’s okay, Vicky.” I didn’t want her worrying about me when it was her we should be concerned about.

Tears were now streaming down her face and she made no move to wipe them away. 

A lot of painful memories were revealed in this conversation, but obviously I cannot use them because of the ten line restriction. I will continue for a couple more weeks, and will then switch to another book. My latest novel is nearing its conclusion, but won’t be ready for a little while to share with you, so I may go to another of my past novels. I must write faster!

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A Love More Precious Than Diamonds is now available from Blushing Books and Amazon US

Danny was a 21-year-old student when he met Gem in London in 1992. She was the most beautiful, sensuous and sexy woman he had ever met, and she was some years older and married to a wealthy businessman. So why did she pick him from all the men she might have chosen?

Their affair was brief and dramatic, and introduced Danny to sexual passion, the like of which he had never experienced before. It also introduced him to the kind of woman who desired control and discipline in her life. Even though the affair lasted just a few weeks, it changed his life and changed his perception of the type of woman he wanted.

Twenty years later he met a young woman and, for the first time in his life, he fell in love; but fate was not kind, and the events of twenty years earlier came back to haunt him as he realised that he might lose the woman of his dreams. He was powerless to act. He could not rewrite his life history.