Happy Holidays! Here are some tits just for you.

by VelvetFletcher on December 17, 2013

in Humour

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and all other assorted seasons greetings.

I headed over to Flickr and found some tits just for you.

Well. A single tit, and a lot of nuts.

Tits and nuts - Blue Tit

After the marathon that was NaNoWriMo, I’ve taken December off. It’s been nice to just laze around the house, reading books and doing the bare minimum in my underwear.

January, everything will ramp back up. I’ve got stories inside my head clamouring to be released, a novel to edit, writing to submit, articles to write, and other things to pursue. So for now, I’m relaxing into the insanity of the season.

I hope your holiday season is magical.

Until then, I’ll be around on Facebook.

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Flash Fiction: What is that tingling sensation?

by VelvetFletcher on December 6, 2013

in Flash Fiction,Humour,Sex

Declan leaned up on his elbows, looking down at me. I grinned.

“Did you have plans for this evening?” I asked coyly, knowing exactly what I wanted to happen.

“Sure I do.” He bent in and kissed me on the neck, and I moaned.

We’d been in bed for most of the day, nibbling and kissing and napping, but Declan had been teasing me. No sex until I promised I’d scream his name. I was still resisting mostly because I wanted to see how far he’d go to try and make me give in.

So far I was three orgasms in and he was getting progressively harder under the blanket.

“You should let me sort that out for you.” I motioned to the evidence of his arousal. “I know exactly what you need.”

He flopped back down onto his back, tenting the blanket so high I laughed at him. Despite the orgasms, I still wanted him inside me and our stalemate meant no one was getting what they needed.

I wiggled down the bed, pulling the covers with me until I knelt between Declan’s knees.

“Meredith,” he growled.

“I’m helping you out. You know you want me to.”

He didn’t say anything else, so I bent my head, swiping his head with my tongue. Declan leaned back and groaned. His determination was waning with every touch. Wrapping my hands around his erection, I licked him again, slow and hard.

“You’re bad. You know that?” Declan lifted his head to look at me.

I smiled, keeping my eyes locked with his as I sucked him deep into my throat, my tongue swirling against his skin. He tasted of salt, musk and man. A heady combination.

I slid up and down, my tongue licking every inch of him until I felt his resolve breaking. I left him trembling as I came back up to kiss his mouth, pressing the length of my naked body against his.

“Are you ready to give in?” I asked, teasing again as I shifted myself down. The tip of his penis was poised at the entrance to my pussy and I was dying to push down. He twitched against me and I bit back my moan. “I want you Declan.”

“So help me Meredith, I want you too.”

His hands shifted to my hips and I sat up, straddling, wiggling into position. His erection pressed against my lower belly when I leaned forward to kiss him again, before palming a condom from the bedside table. Throwing the wrapper on the floor, I rolled the condom on. He moaned as I gently squeezed him again, teasing.

Then, lifting up, I positioned myself and slid back down, enjoying every inch as I pushed him inside me. Rocking against him, I reached down to touch my clit. I was wet, so wet.

Slowly the rhythm built, Declan pushing up into me as I played with myself, the pleasure growing between us. Declan grasped my hips, controlling the speed. Throwing back my head, I frantically tried to speed up, but he wouldn’t let me.

“Slower, Mer. Come on, I want to hear you scream my name.” Declan managed to say.

Damn him. I’d scream his name if it meant that I got my orgasm.

Pushing down hard, I ground against him.

“Please Declan, I need…” I moaned.

Without warning, Declan flipped me over, so he was on top. He pulled out, until the tip of his penis was just resting against my clit. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need you. Inside me. Now. Please.”

He wiggled his hips a little.

“Are you going to scream my name?”

If it would get me there sooner, I would. I nodded, moaning.

Slamming inside my, he hit my gspot and I saw stars. Over and over again, he fucked me hard. I slipped my hand between us, touching my clit. Declan immediately stopped, reaching down to capture my hand.

“No, I want this to be all me,” he demanded, pulling both of my hands above my head, holding them there. The feeling of being caught excited me more than I wanted to admit and hungrily I thrust my pelvis upwards, wordlessly begging for him.

He gave me what I wanted. Fucking me steadily, I wiggled against his hands, not really wanting to be free, but liking the sensation of being bound.

The pleasure built, faster than I would have believed possible, heightened by the helplessness. I was being fucked and I had no control over how hard or how fast it went. It was intoxicating.

“I’m going to come!” I gasped as Declan hit my gspot again.

He bent in and nipped my neck with his teeth. “Good. Come for me. Come hard.”

That was it. His words sent me over the edge and I came, making my toes curl as the pleasure rocketed through me.

“Declan!” I screamed, throwing my head back as he shuddered and collapsed on top of me, his own orgasm claiming him.

Our breathing slowly returned to normal as he slipped out of me, gathering me into his arms.

“I told you you’d scream my name.”

He was pleased with himself, obviously. I didn’t care, not after a show like that. Modesty be damned, orgasms were worth a little lack of decorum.

Sitting up, I looked around.

“Where did the tissues go?” I asked. “I’m soaking wet and I don’t want to have to change the sheets again.”

“Screw the sheets.” Declan mumbled, flopping into the pillows.

“I’d rather screw you again. And not in the wet patch.”

He reached out his hand, and fumbling beside the bed for a moment, came up triumphant with a box of tissues. Grabbing a handful, I cleaned myself up.

But, wait. What was that tingling? It felt kind of interesting.

“Did those condoms you bought have some kind of minty lube on them?” I asked, looking at Declan. He opened his eyes to look at me.

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Well, my pussy is tingling. Like, a lot.”

And it was true. The tingling increased even as I pressed the tissue harder against myself, trying to stem the feeling.

“Good tingling, or bad tingling?” Declan looked a little worried.

“I’m not sure. Interesting tingling.”

Oh god, the tissues! I hadn’t even thought about it. The tissues were menthol scented. And I’d just pushed them against my vulva.

Declan laughed when he realised. “If it’s interesting tingling, we should take advantage of that.”

The man had a point. Who knew that menthol could be so much fun?


A Fiery Affair smallYou can read about how Declan and Meredith first hooked up in my book “A Fiery Affair.” This flash fiction is set after the end of that story.

Buy from Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.com.au | Smashwords

This menthol tissues ending is based on a real occurrence. Tips for beginners – don’t buy menthol tissues to sit next to your bed. It will end with someone wondering why their bits are tingling every single time.

I do these things so that you don’t have to.


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On the prostitution of writing

by VelvetFletcher on December 1, 2013

in Writing

I sold some writing the other day, in my real life job as a freelance writer. Shaking the email in my hand, I waved it at my husband. “LOOK! I made $200 in 10 minutes and I didn’t even have to show anyone my tits!”

This is a common refrain in my household where sometimes it seems like, and feels like, writing is akin to prostitution. The high class kind, where everyone gets a happy ending, and I don’t have to work at it as hard as someone else.

Writing, baring my soul for the world, feels like getting naked in front of strangers. There are parts of me in every character I create, and parts of my life in every story. It’s all fiction, but I’m showing myself to the world, thrusting myself into the public eye, screaming for people to consume what I’ve got on offer.

And then I accept money for my bared soul.

One client pays me 50c a word. It takes me 10 minutes to write words he loves, words which get shared and posted around. You can’t tell me that sucking a dick would be easier and more lucrative.

My writing has bits of my soul in it. Hair threads and flickers of personality. Maybe one character likes cats, another likes books and gardening. Maybe one has a filthy mouth. Bits and pieces, flecks and moments.

If prostitution is the act of selling yourself, then I’m doing it, right here, right now. Hiding behind words on a computer screen, I am still here, showing you my insides.

Ernest Hemingway is famously quoted as saying:

There is nothing to writing. Just sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

And oh, what a quote, what a statement. When there’s blood on my keyboard and I’ve worn my soul fingers away to ragged nubs, something inside me pushes me on, forces me to write more, write harder. Even if I weren’t being paid, I’d still choose this life of seduction and exhaustion.

I pull my soul out and put it on a screen, or put it on paper and ask people to pay me for it.

You can’t tell me I’m not selling myself.

There are people out there who write merely for the love of it, they are aghast at the thought of payment. But there are also people out there who fuck merely for the love of it. You can’t tell me it’s a purer pursuit, to refuse money for doing something you love.

Or maybe I’m just a capitalist whore, selling out.

(I don’t think so)

At the end of the day, writing is what I do. If someone wants to pay me to do it, I’ll smile sweetly, take their money and bleed on a page.

Isn’t that the great writer dream?


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Review: A Bar in Paris by Imogene Nix

by VelvetFletcher on November 18, 2013

in Reviews


Imogene Nix is an author whom I have only recently discovered. So when she put a call out for reviewers for her latest book, A Bar in Paris, I put my hand up. Despite being only new to this game, she accepted my offer and sent me through a copy of her book.

I popped it on the Kindle and promptly got swamped by the beginning of NaNoWriMo. That was until we had a few errands to run and I was stuck sitting in the car with three bored children while my husband was in the shops.

I read 58% in one fell swoop, turning pages as fast as I could. I could claim that it was my way to ignore the whinging coming from the backseat, but it was really because I cared about the main character Davina.

The story moved a little faster than I would have liked. A more languid approach before getting to the meat of things generally suits me better, but with the premise of the book being Davina is looking for a hot and heavy one night stand, it fits with the plot, and my thoughts are not complaints, merely things I want to mention.

Johnathon, our main male character is hot enough and mysterious enough to pique anyone’s interest and Davina has no chance once he walks into the bar.

The sex is vanilla and hot. There is a sweetness underlying the characters and their actions, which suits the book’s genre as an erotic romance. There’s nothing overly kinky here, but that’s okay. Vanilla is a good flavour too.

At only four chapters long, it is a quick read, so be prepared for that.

If you’re looking for a sweet romantic read, with a liberal dash of sex, this is perfect.


Turning 30? All alone? A commitment-free weekend in Paris should help…shouldn’t it?

What does a single woman do when she’s turning thirty? She takes a weekend trip to Paris looking for commitment-free sex. Or that’s what Davina Chandler does, anyway.

Enter Johnathon, a tall, charming Englishman. How can she possibly resist his magnetism and that sexy dimple?

What starts out as a lark quickly becomes so much more, but can one weekend turn into a lifetime? And will a lie of omission bring everything into jeopardy?


Check out A Bar in Paris on the Publisher’s website, or buy from Amazon

(Also, disclosure, that link isn’t an affiliate link, because I can never work out how to do them.)

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Velvet Fletcher g-spot graphic

“A few days ago I saw a discussion about sex toys in my Facebook news feed. Far from the giggling discussions of vibrating monsters that normally occur in my vicinity, this was a sex toy shaming status of the highest order.

Oh my GOD. Sex toys! I saw someone trying to WIN ONE on Facebook! How do I approach this if I see her in public? Do I say “Obviously your husband isn’t enough for you because I saw you trying to win a silicone replacement to use alone”. Tee hee, tee hee. How will I ever look her in the eye again.

It was bad, and in response I wanted to talk about sex toys a little bit.”

You can read more at The Shake.

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Testing Limits and A Fiery Affair, now 99c

by VelvetFletcher on November 2, 2013

in Books

Yes, you read that correctly.

My two books are now 99c, because I am a sucker for punishment apparently. Buy them. You won’t be sorry.

Testing Limits FINAL COVER small

Eliza Anderson is sexy, smart, and moving up the corporate ladder as fast as she can. She prides herself on always being in charge – except in the bedroom.

When Eliza’s husband Luke demands her presence at the fetish dungeon they frequent, she can’t turn him down. Little does she know, Luke has a bigger night planned than Eliza can even imagine.

How far will Eliza be pushed before she breaks? After this night, will things ever be the same between them again?

Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk | Smashwords

A Fiery Affair small

Meredith needs a boyfriend. Her libido tells her so, her best friend tells her so, and her long lonely nights with only a book to keep her company tell her so. But finding a boyfriend in her bush town isn’t as easy as you’d imagine.

That was before the gorgeous Declan Knight showed up and tried to kill her, sort of. He’s dark and mysterious, and he’s definitely interested in finding out what Meredith is hiding under all her clothes.

When Declan appears on Meredith’s doorstep late at night, she has to decide: Let him in and see what happens? Or forever wonder.

Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk | Smashwords.

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I’m an accident prone kind of girl. Walking across an empty room, I can manage to fall flat on my face, and walk into a door, all without breaking a sweat. Unless it’s pain sweat, in which case, I’m all over it.

It’s worse when I’m tired, as the bruises all over my legs can attest, or when I’m half asleep and stumbling out of bed to let a stupid cat inside.

No sir, I haven’t been having kinky interesting sex, I’ve just been merely existing on a steady physical diet of jarred shins and things dropped in my lap.

Not sexy, at all.

This morning was utter chaos.

I reached up to get a container off the top shelf, knocking a smaller container onto a box of batteries. In slow motion, the batteries fell onto the top of the freshly filled and boiled kettle, knocking it over sideways. The plastic holding the batteries together exploded, sending 24 AA’s all over my kitchen bench like tiny red missiles seeking destruction.

Trying to avoid burning myself in the splattered water, I managed to knock the stick blender on the floor, overturn the toaster and tread on the cat.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, all the plastic containers slid off the shelf and landed on my head. To be fair, they weren’t stacked well to begin with.

My husband found me standing there, a pool of cooling water soaking my socks. Plastic containers surrounded me, thrown around like some kind of Tupperware volcano had erupted

“What on earth happened here?” he asked, looking incredulous at the amount of mess I’d created in a very small amount of time.

“Never mind that.” I replied, throwing my hands up in the air in a celebratory fashion. “I DIDN’T SPILL BOILING WATER ALL DOWN MY FRONT.” I cheered again, for good measure. “I’m totally winning.”

It took three tea towels, a sponge, and fifteen minutes to clean up the mess.

But I still won.

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Attack of the toothbrush

by VelvetFletcher on October 23, 2013

in Writer Life

So, if you’re standing in the shower, brushing your teeth, terribly tired, you need to make an effort to NOT POKE YOURSELF IN THE EYE with your toothbrush.

This is my PSA for today.

I do these things so you don’t have to.

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G-Spot at The Shake. Why is everyone scared of sex.

by VelvetFletcher on October 21, 2013

in Humour,Sex

Velvet Fletcher g-spot graphic

“If I wasn’t afraid of being stuck with a twelve inch monster dildo, some arse numbing cream and a paddle, I might be closer to saying yes. I’m a fan of vibrators in general, and free vibrators can only be a good thing. But I also like a choice. Do I want the one with the little fishy clitoris tickler? Or the one that has nubbly bits on the end. ”

Read More:


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It will all come out in the wash

by VelvetFletcher on October 19, 2013

in Writing

I finished a short story and mapped out another, but it’s not that easy (it’s never that easy). My other job requires creative energy, and paid writing comes before potentially paid writing.

I’m new to the erotica game, but not new to writing. I hear there’s a pornocalypse on and I wonder if I chose wrongly, getting into this in the hopes of earning pin money. I don’t want to be a millionaire, but making enough to offset my obsessive book buying habits would be nice.

Oh, who am I kidding, I totally want to be a millionaire. But it’s unlikely.

This has been good for me. I’ve got beta readers now, and it scares me, but I wait for their feedback, trusting their honesty and opinions.

And, while Amazon dismantles the erotica it was built on, and the world is crumbling around our ears, I wonder if it’s worth it – if maybe romance would be easier, or my other love, sci-fi/fantasy/dystopian style books.

But then easier is not something to strive for, is it, and I like the cachet of writing porn, of titillating readers, of pushing my boundaries.

I’ve got projects to complete and masses of writing to do.

Pornocalypse or no, I am writing and creating and moving forwards.

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