Weekend Writing Warriors for August 28


Here is my contribution for this week’s Weekend Writing Warriors (www.wewriwa.com) where writers share 8 – 10 lines of their work, for others to see and comment. Please follow and comment about others on the list.

After a long and exhausting walk, Laryssa arrives at the ruined castle where four bandits hold her daughter, whom they kidnapped, and who she is determined to rescue. She knows that her best chance of rescuing Sofiya is to beg for the bandits to allow her access to the castle, where she might develop a plan to free her daughter.

A few moments later, the heavy oak door creaked and groaned as it opened and a man appeared carrying a lantern.

The woman looked wearily at him and tried to suppress a feeling of revulsion when she saw his face in the lantern’s light. Here was a man who might once have been handsome, but whose appearance was savagely mutilated by two livid scars that crossed his face. He looked about forty, had jet-black hair with a few streaks of grey, and dark eyes. He was slim but with broad, powerful shoulders.

He recognized the look of horror that the woman was unable to hide completely. It was a look that he had come to know so many times over the years since he was so disfigured as a young man. His voice lashed out harshly.

“So, do you still want to come inside, woman? Do you want to come forward and take a closer look?”

This is Laryssa’s first meeting with Bhodan, the leader of the bandits, and he is clearly intimidating. But she is strong in her resolve to rescue Sofiya.

Snatched is my next release, due out on September 9, and is in fact a rewrite of a novella of 17,000 words I published over two years ago. At the suggestion of my publishers I have re-wrtten it and extended it to 43,000 words. It is based in an impoverished Eastern European country around 1850. It is a little darker than my previous book, and contains scenes that some people might not feel comfortable with. I won’t be offended if people drop out along the way.



Check back for previous Wewriwa posts.


Weekend Writing Warriors for August 21


Here is my contribution for this week’s Weekend Writing Warriors (www.wewriwa.com) where writers share 8 – 10 lines of their work, for others to see and comment. Please follow and comment about others on the list.

My next release, due out on September 9, is in fact a rewrite of a novella of 17,000 words I published over two years ago. At the suggestion of my publishers I have re-wrtten it and extended it to 43,000 words. It was called Snatched (although it might be re-named) and is based in an impoverished Eastern European country around 1800. It is a little darker than my previous book, and contains scenes that some people might not feel comfortable with. I won’t be offended if people drop out along the way.

Laryssa thought it the worst day of her life when bandits snatched her beloved daughter Sofiya and carried her away. Vowing to save her daughter, come what may, she set off on a long and difficult journey to find her. This snippet is from the so far unedited book.

The icy wind penetrated the woman’s flimsy cloak and deep into her aching bones. It was almost dark and the dense forest on either side of the track was gloomy and menacing. The trees made a creaking, moaning noise as the wind howled through them, and there came a sound of a distant wolf, but she tried not to be afraid. She had been walking for nearly three days and her body was so weary that she was scared that it would let her down and that she would collapse here in this lonely and desolate place. Sheer willpower and thoughts of her precious Sofiya were the only things forcing her to keep placing one foot after another.

Sofiya was her joy and her reason for living. She was her vibrant and beautiful eighteen-year-old daughter and since her husband’s death, with Sofiya no more than an infant, there had been just the two of them, together against the harsh and unforgiving world. She would walk to the ends of the earth for her child and right now she felt as though she was walking to the ends of the earth, but she had no choice since the night that the men came and took her child.

She had only been away from the house for a few hours taking care of a sick old man at the other side of the village, but it was long enough for them to gallop to her home and snatch her precious daughter. A neighbour came running to tell her that Sofiya had been taken, that four men on horseback and with daggers tucked into their waistbands had entered her house and dragged her daughter screaming to one of the horses.

This may be the new cover for the re-launch of Snatched.  The new version will be published under the name Juliette Banks.




A Hot Night in Havana, a short sexy story


Suitable for over 18s only.

He watched her dance. Her long, dark, wavy hair flew out from her head, wild and untamed, just like her. The sweat on her face made her skin glow under the flashing lights of the dance floor, and a stray drop of sweat dripped down from her chin and into the channel between her breasts.

She wore a gold, sparkling shift dress that accentuated her dark skin, and which barely reached the tops of her long, shapely legs. The flimsy material slithered around her toned body as it sensually undulated to the rhythm of the lone sax player, on the stage of the tiny dance club in one of the back streets of Havana, Cuba.

The woman danced alone, watched only by a handful of people at the tables surrounding the dance floor. If she was having the same effect on the other men in the club as she was on him, then he wasn’t the only man present with a bulge in his trousers. He looked to his right briefly, and caught sight of a man stroking himself under the table.

Did the woman know what effect she was having on her audience? She seemed oblivious to the attention she was getting, but perhaps that was just pretence. She looked no one in the eye because her eyes were closed. Was she thinking about an absent boyfriend? Perhaps she was dreaming of another life somewhere, away from the poverty of this part of town?

The sax player stopped playing and rested the instrument against an old piano. He walked to the bar and asked for a beer. The girl opened her eyes at last, pausing for a couple of moments while she scanned the sparse audience. Her gaze stopped at him, and for a second or two she looked him directly in the eye before walking across to his table, and, without asking, she sat down on the other chair.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He felt he ought to ask after her epic dancing display.

Her big brown eyes were like pools of dark chocolate, the lashes thick and long, and her skin colour was café au lait. There were drops of sweat across her brow, making a few strands of hair stick to her glowing skin. He wanted to push the hair back with his fingers, and lick the salty sweat from her face.

She smiled. “No, that won’t be necessary. Do you want to take a walk with me?”

She rose and held out her hand, and he had no resistance. His head urged caution, but his heart and his cock argued otherwise…and won. He followed her to a side door, watching her undulating bottom as the gold dress slithered over her hips. It was mesmerising.

The evening air, as they exited the club, was hot and humid. She took his hand and led him down the alley to where the streetlights hardly reached. In the dim, tropical night she drew him to her and did not flinch when his hands ran smoothly up the back of her thighs and under her dress.

She wasn’t wearing panties.

He breathed in hard as his palms glided over her smooth, toned bottom, and pressed her body towards him so his erection left no doubt as to his level of arousal. She pressed back with her groin and began to gently grind herself against him – using the same slow rhythm as when she was dancing.

He felt intoxicated, yet he was almost sober. Trapped in the moment. No past, no future. Just now.

She kissed him with soft luscious lips, moist and ripe. He responded, applying more pressure and sliding his tongue between them until it touched hers. Grinding groins, lips locked, hands on her bare ass, his erection struggled to be free.

He pulled his hands away from her firm bottom to open his pants and release his cock to the sticky night air, slipping on a rubber from his pocket. Seconds later he slammed her back against the building and lifted her legs over his arms. There were no words, no sweet love talk, no pretence that this was anything other than a fast, hard fuck. Two strangers doing what strangers have done since the beginning of time, a consensual act between two willing people.

He slammed into her and she groaned, hanging on to him around his neck as though she was drowning in a tempestuous sea and he was her only lifeline. He partially withdrew and slammed back again. This time they both groaned. He could feel her breath against his cheek. Her mouth moved towards his ear and she bit his lobe, which served to excite him even more, her tongue darting here and there in light flicks.

He couldn’t remember feeling as aroused as he was here, now, with her. This had been what he had hoped for as he left his hotel room that evening, something to take away the pain of the divorce and the humiliation of losing his job, a week in Havana to drink and fuck and forget, to feel like a man again instead of a complete waste of space, as his ex-wife had called him.

Well he felt like a man now, as he pounded into the woman in front of him, whose eyes were closed and whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breathing as the moans fell from her lips. He was certainly satisfying her. She couldn’t be that good an actress.

His climax was rushing to meet him. The urgent need to shoot his seed, even if it was only into a rubber sheath, was unstoppable. He came as though he was never going to stop. He had a momentary memory flash through his mind, of him as a lad, and he and Jimmy Priestley and their stupid contest to see who could shoot their jizz the furthest. Back then they had only had a torn copy of Playboy to urge them on. The memory came and went again, in a split second.

He continued to press the woman against the wall for a few seconds to gather himself, before lowering her to the floor. She moved away from the wall as he bent to pull up his pants and tuck himself away.

“Hell, that was…” He turned towards an empty alleyway.

The woman was gone, slipped away into the night. He couldn’t believe that she could move so fast and so quietly. He instinctively slipped his hand into his pocket to locate his wallet. It was gone. There was a brief moment of disbelief, before he opened his mouth and laughed.

Well, buddy, it looks as though you’ve been fucked over one more time.

He walked down the alleyway to the street. He should have felt devastated, but strangely he didn’t. He’d taken the advice of the hotel concierge and left his passport and most of his money back in the safe in his room. He’d probably got about a hundred bucks at most on him, and considering what he’d received in return he decided that it was worth that much. Hell he might even have offered it to her if she had asked, for what turned out to be the best fuck he had had in years.

He walked down the street and back towards his hotel, thinking as he did so whether he should go back to the club the following night. Hell this time he might even offer her the money up front.

Photo: Shutterstock


Weekend Writing Warriors for August 14



Here is my contribution for this week’s Weekend Writing Warriors (www.wewriwa.com) where writers share 8 – 10 lines of their work, for others to see and comment. Please follow and comment about others on the list.

This will be the last snippet from my book The Artist, as another book is already in the editing process for September release, so I will finish with a snippet from later in the book.  Theo and Lizzie have gone on the run from the law, and settled in Florence. However, Theo gets word that his father is dying. Despite the fact that they have never got along, Theo goes back to England alone and tries to make peace with him before it is too late. His father begins to reveal secrets from his childhood to him.

Theo’s father ceased talking for a while; seemingly lost in thought and memories. Theo sat back on the chair and waited while Walter regained his strength.

“If you don’t want to talk any more, Father, we can leave it until tomorrow. Perhaps you wish to sleep a little.”

“No, boy. Where I am going, I will have plenty of time to sleep. I want to tell you… I want you to know…”

Theo was shocked to see a single tear come from his father’s eye and roll down his cheek. He had never seen the man this way; didn’t even believe that he was capable of such emotion. For the first, and probably the last, time in his life, Theo put out his hand and placed it on top of his father’s wizened, pale hand that was lying above the bedclothes. Walter made no attempt to move it, so Theo kept it there as he resumed his story.

And there I must leave Lizzie and Theo, him in England hearing secrets from his dying father, and her in Florence, Italy, both unaware that the gods are conspiring to visit yet more problems on them. If you enjoyed the snippets enough to buy a copy, it can be purchased at Amazon here. It is published under my new pen name of Juliette Banks.


or click on picture to take you to the Amazon US page.


The Artist, by Juliette Banks



The Artist, an erotic romance, written by me under the name of Juliette Banks, has now been published by Blushing Books, and is available at the following places:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon Canada

Barnes and Noble

Here is a little snippet to whet your taste.

Theo rose earlier than usual the next morning, having turned in early the night before. He regretted telling Lizzie not to come until mid-day now, anxious to make use of the bright morning sunshine, but could do nothing about it, as he had no knowledge of where the girl was living. He decided to take a walk instead.

It was pure chance that he picked Oak Lane to walk down. It was a pretty walk, with magnificent, fully-grown oak trees that gave it its name, and had a stream meandering in the dip by the side of the road amongst the trees. Just before he reached the farm entrance he spotted movement below him. Creeping a little closer he realized it was Lizzie, having her morning wash in the stream, and he darted behind one of the trees to watch without being seen. It was foolish to hide, he told himself, when he could look at that wonderful body all day, while he painted her. But there was something wonderfully erotic in spying in secret his little flame-haired model, performing her morning ablutions. She clearly thought herself completely hidden from prying eyes, for there was not a trace of inhibition in her movements.

Lizzie was standing ankle deep at the edge of the water, and had tucked her skirt up on either side of her body to avoid it getting wet. The blouse she wore on the top half of her body was unbuttoned half way down her chest, and the soft roundness of the top of her breasts were peeking out through the gap. She had a rag in her hand and pushed it down the opened buttons and under her arms. The dampness from the rag caught against the front of the blouse and made the material stick to her breasts, causing her nipples to stand to attention. That was not the only thing that was standing to attention. In his trousers, Theo felt his cock expanding and straining against the rough material.

A bird chirped on one of the branches above Lizzie’s head, and she raised her face to look up at it. Her pose, with her mass of auburn hair flowing backwards down her back, lips open and breasts pushing outwards against her blouse, made the artist in Theo want to paint her in such a pose, and made the man in Theo want to fuck that woman so badly he was afraid he might come in his trousers.

Having washed her upper body, Lizzie now concentrated on the lower half. Theo was unsure whether he could safely watch without giving himself away, by a sigh or a groan. She bent forwards to rinse the rag in the water, away from where Theo was hidden, and he caught a glance of her perfect, shapely bottom peeking out from the bottom of her skirt. What a glorious arse, he thought to himself, and what he wouldn’t give to bring the palm of his hand down on that soft, creamy flesh, leaving the imprint of his hand on her behind.

In his usual insouciant way, and careless of whether anyone was watching, Theo slid his hand down the front of his trousers and massaged his cock while Lizzie pushed the rag up the front of her skirt and through her thighs, to clean the area that Theo longed for his cock to be right now. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined his own hand reaching up between her legs and around her sweet little quim. When he opened them again, Lizzie was already walking out of the stream and pulling her skirt back down and buttoning her blouse. Theo pulled back behind the tree in case she looked up towards the lane and saw him. When next he dared to look she had gone. He walked quickly to reach his home so that he could relieve the ache in his groin. If he didn’t get rid of that erection before Lizzie arrived at mid-day he doubted that he would be able to control himself in her presence, and he didn’t want to scare her away. No, he had best finish his picture first before he gave in to his baser desires.

I can be contacted at www.juliettebanksauthor@gmail.com

And my Facebook page is http://facebook.com/juliettebanksauthor

Or I can be found on Twitter at www.twitter.com/juliettebanksuk

I don’t yet have a separate website for Juliette Banks, but information about this book can be found at my other Rachel de Vine site, which can be found at www.racheldevineauthor.com

If you read any of my books I will be your friend forever if you leave a review at the site where you purchased the book. Many thanks.

Juliette x


Weekend Writing Warriors for August 7


Welcome again to my weekly snippet for Weekend Writing Warriors (www.wewriwa.com) where writers share 8 – 10 lines of their work, for others to see and comment. Please follow and comment about others on the list.

Warning: This excerpt contains explicit sexual descriptions. Over 18s only please.

This is the final week before my book, The Artist, is launched. As those who have followed my snippets each week on Weekend Writing Warriors, I have concentrated my excerpts on the burgeoning relationship between Theo, the artist and Lizzie, the young woman who has become both his model and his housekeeper. In keeping with the time (1850s England) the passion has been slow to build as Lizzie worries about her reputation and Theo about whether his approaches will be rebuffed, and that he might lose his model and housekeeper in the process. However, from last week’s snippet it seems as though he can wait no longer. Last week I ended with the following line: “Seeing your beautiful body each day, and not being able to touch it, is driving me insane, Lizzie. I am beginning to lose control and I need to know whether you are having the same feelings as me.”

His fingers inched closer to her slit and as they came into contact with the evidence of her excitement, he closed his eyes briefly and gave a light groan. One finger pushed its way gently inside her and Lizzie could control herself no longer as she opened her legs wider to allow him better access. She moaned quietly and her breathing became deeper; she was lost. Whatever was to come was now out of her hands as she was carried along on a wave of passion.

Theo pushed two fingers inside her and massaged the place within her that was the centre of her sexual being. Then, desperate to take her, he pulled out and stood to remove his trousers. He dropped them, and his belt, onto the floor and pulled Lizzie down so she lay flat on the couch. His erection was no longer hidden from sight, and she could not help gazing, as if mesmerised by the sight of him so close to her face.

“I’m sorry. I have no time for fancy words or lovemaking today, Lizzie. I need you so desperately that I can no longer wait.”  With that he lay down on top of her and plunged his cock into her with such vigour that it took her breath away.


This particular scene has not ended, but I think that this is as far as I will take it.  I may post one more snippet from the book next week, but from later in the story, plus the buy links in case anyone is so moved as to rush to Amazon post haste to buy my book.

STOP PRESS: My book is now published on Amazon, and is available for this weekend only at the special rate of $2.99. It will go to the regular price of $4.99 from Monday. So get your copy now at this special rate!  GO TO AMAZON PAGE HERE


If anyone hasn’t seen it, a previous post on this blog gives the blurb to the story, so you can get a fuller picture.  Simply click the links at the bottom of the page to go back to previous posts.

Weekend Writing Warriors for July 31


Welcome again to my weekly snippet for Weekend Writing Warriors (www.wewriwa.com) where writers share 8 – 10 lines of their work, for others to see and comment. Please follow and comment about others on the list.

My next book, The Artist,which is due out on August 8, is an historical erotic romance, based in England in the 1850s. Theodore (Theo for short) is the son of a Viscount, but has rejected the life of an aristocrat to live as a rather Bohemian artist. He has an eye for pretty girls, whom he likes to paint in the nude. Lizzie is a poor village girl who made a disastrous marriage, from which she has fled, and is destitute. When Theo asks her to be his artist’s model, she swallows her natural modesty and accepts. She also accepts his invitation to come and live at the house as his housekeeper. Theo is trying to resist seducing Lizzie until he has finished the painting, but he is finding it very difficult to restrain himself. This snippet continues from where we finished last week. The last sentence last week was: He knelt down by the side of the couch before reaching out and slowly and gently running the palm of his paint-spattered hand along the outside of her thigh, and Lizzie could not stop her loud intake of breath as he did so.

Theo looked up at her face.

“You feel it, too, I know you do.”

Her reply, when it came, was a whispered, “Yes.” She could say no more. It was as though her mind and body were paralysed and she was simply an onlooker, rather than a participant in the scene.

Theo’s hand moved around her thigh and slowly, agonisingly slowly, it crept up the inside of her leg and towards the source of her discomfort. She held her breath as he reached the point where her leg joined her body, and didn’t release it until his fingers came to the soft brown curls between her legs. He looked up and stared intensely into her eyes.

“Seeing your beautiful body each day, and not being able to touch it, is driving me insane, Lizzie. I am beginning to lose control and I need to know whether you are having the same feelings as me.”

I know that some of you are going to shout “For goodness sake, say yes, Lizzie” for you might be going insane with impatience for them to do the deed. Remember, all good things come to those who wait, and in 1850 the word ‘quickie’ probably hadn’t been invented.


I now have the cover for the book from Blushing Books Art Department. I hope you like it.



Not quite as handsome as the two Poldark actors of earlier pictures, but we all have to compromise in life!