Lust Bites

Wednesday's winner of Dominant is:

Wednesday's winner of Sweet as Sin
is:

And Friday's winner of The Persian Girl is

Drop me a line at telltale [at] primus [dot] ca with your snail mail details and I'll send you your books.

Thanks to everyone who welcomed Felix Baron to Lust Bites!

by Madeline Moore

Felix Baron is a well-known writer of erotic novels for Nexus and short stories for many erotica anthologies. Felix is also my own true love!

His latest Nexus novel is The Persian Girl. This is a tale taken from the secret diaries of Sir Richard Frances Burton: soldier, spy, explorer, linguist, diplomat, master of disguise, the greatest swordsman of all time, hero, scoundrel and rake.


Isn't it gorgeous?

It also happens to be my favourite of Felix's erotic novels. We'll be taking a long look at The Persian Girl on Friday, with excerpts and a chance for one lucky commenter to win a copy.

Today, let's get to know Felix, and two of his other Nexus novels, a little better...

MM: Welcome back to Lust Bites, Felix. I'm so glad you agreed to submit to being interviewed by me.

FB: Thanks for inviting me.

MM: When did you decide to be a writer, and what was the first thing you had published?

FB: I slithered into this craft. As a salesman, I wrote a lot of ‘puff’ for which I wasn’t paid but benefited from indirectly. Then, when I managed a phone-sex operation, I did a deal with an underground newspaper, copy for advertising. I caught the writing bug. My first stab at a novel was a thriller, written in blue felt-tip on a yellow pad. It was so bad, even I recognized the fact. That’s when I decided I’d better study my craft before practising it. The first half-decent novel I wrote was an epic fantasy. I showed it to a famous ‘writer in residence.’ She complimented me on various aspects of my work but told me she hoped it’d never be published because of the Male Chauvinist Pig content.

I used that. I wrote to an editor and quoted the comments. He asked to look at the book, and rejected it, but suggested I try something in the Horror genre, which was booming at the time. I did, and he bought it, but warned me that the popularity of Horror was waning and suggested I try Erotica, because of the erotic content of my Horror novel. He introduced me to Peter Darvell-Evans, then editor of Nexus. Peter rejected my first attempt as ‘funny and sexy. No humour, please.’ He bought my next.

MM: Is there a genre you’d choose to write in, if you were free to write anything you want?

FB: No. Genres are my harem. I love several: Erotica, Action Adventure, Mystery, Horror and more. Given free rein, I write cross-genre. In my Mysteries, people screw. In my Erotica, they plot, and so on.

MM: Did you read erotica before you started writing it?

FB: Starting with Fanny Hill, in Grammar School, at about age twelve.

MM: What are your writing rituals? Do you have a special place to write in, a special time to start and stop?

FB: I write where my PC is. When? I work best in the morning but have been known to go into a frenzy where time disappears and I am no longer aware if it’s 3pm or am.

MM: In general, what writers influenced you to become one yourself? Who are your favourite authors, (besides Shakespeare, please!)

FB: Poe was my first love. I learned purple from James Branch Cabell. Adam Hall taught me how to write tension. I’m also influenced by Mervyn Peake, Muriel Spark, Chelsea Quinn Yarborough, Stephen King, Marcus van Heller, Anthony Burgess, and on and on… I’ll learn from anyone who impresses me.

MM: When did you start writing erotica? Any influences?

FB: See above. I’ve always loved Fantasy, so my first erotic sale was Witch Queen of Vixania. I planned it as #1 in a trilogy but after #2, Slaves of the Witch Queen, I was told that Nexus was moving away from Fantasy, so my trilogy was never completed. For those two, I was Morgana Baron, at Kerri Sharpe’s insistence.

MM: How did you decide on your pen name, Felix Baron?

FB: Kerri Sharpe asked me for a list of first names and surnames for her to consider – hence Morgana Baron, her choice. After Kerri moved on, I was given leave to use a male name. ‘Felix’ means ‘fortunate,’ so I tried the Chinese mojo.




MM: Let’s talk about Dominant. It tells the story of a young man’s journey to becoming a Dominant. Here’s a little excerpt:

(The teenage protagonist, Cole, begins to understand what some girls want from a man)

...The kisses became harder and deeper. Cole was congratulating himself on having picked a hot one when she slid her arms under his jacket and pinched him, hard.

Cole pulled back and told her, 'Don't do that. It hurts,' before returning to the kiss.

She twisted his flesh viciously. He caught her wrists and doubled them behind her. Vanessa went crazy. Her lips spread so wide it seemed she was trying to swallow his face. Her body twisted as if she was struggling to escape but her wrists didn't pull against his grip. Cole forced one leg between hers. Still in constant motion, she sank onto it, rucking her miniskirt high. Her pubes pressed down on his thigh and humped it ferociously. Vanessa gave a guttural cry and went limp.

She blinked at him and said, 'Goodnight,Cole. Thanks for seeing me home.'

Her door closed. Cole was left, aching hard, alone.

(Cole sees Vanessa home from another dance.)

When they got to her doorway he took hold of the back of her neck again. Her arms snaked under his jacket. Before she could get a grip on his flesh, he yanked her wrists out and behind her back. Last time, he'd held them in the small of her back. This time he pushed them up between her shoulder blades, knowing he was hurting her. Her teeth went for the side of his neck. Before they could close, he had his fist in her hair and her head bent back. Her kisses were just as wet and fierce as before. Cole pinned her to the wall with his body. He had it all worked out. Being held, painfully helpless, turned Vanessa on. If he could stop her from getting off on his leg, she'd fuck...

His freed hand popped the buttons of her blouse. Once more, he found her nipple and pinched. Her legs came up high and wrapped around his hips. His hand left her breast and worked down between their bodies. It was under her skirt and fumbling at her pantyhose when she jerked and grunted.

The bitch had got off again.



MM: Is this based on your own experience?

FB: Yes. No one is born a Dominant – or if they are, they’re weaned off it by the time they’re three. A Dominant develops. My own journey is reflected in that novel. In my experience, a man becomes a Dominant out of his love for women. Perhaps it’s laziness. Submissive women are the most straightforward in their needs, so easier to please.

MM: What about the woman in the book who seeks serious physical abuse?

FB: I’ve encountered several much more extreme ones. Such women are dangerous. The D/s dynamic can only work if the Safe Sane Consensual rule is paramount.

MM: Do you think bdsm has become ‘mainstream’?

FB: Yes. In hindsight, that was inevitable. People read erotica in order to experience better and different sex, vicariously, than in their lives. In days of yore, in our society, simple promiscuity was a taboo, so if we wrote about a character who had many partners, or a woman who openly enjoyed sex, those were enough to titillate and oral/anal etc., were way out there. These days, most people practise oral at least, and many anal, so we have to go further to reach taboo territory.

Sweet as Sin was your next book with Nexus. It’s a twisted, nourish tale about a mother, and her daughter, a father and his son. Here’s a taste:


Trixie grabbed his right wrist in both hands, pushed it down the length of her body and yanked it up under her slip. His fingers met soft wet folds. It’d been so long since he’d touched a woman there that he’d almost forgotten the intensity of the emotions generated when delicate flesh parts to eagerly welcome hard strong fingers. She was hot inside, and so wet her flesh felt slick. His two fingers squirmed, discovering Trixie’s labyrinthine internal convolutions. There were smooth places, and folds, and soft subtle pockets. Intensely aware of how delicate and sensitive the inside of a woman’s sex is, he explored slowly and cautiously. The thought of damaging her, the mere possibility of his bruising her internally, terrified him.

MM: Tell us a little bit about the plot.

FB: How can I, without spoiling the ending? Suffice to say, the male characters are easy dupes and the female ones are wise and wicked. It’s the ‘black widow’ subgenre of ‘noire.’ I tried to make it obvious that the mother and daughter were up to something but endeavoured to keep the reader in suspense about the ‘what and how.’ Then, after the major ‘dominos,’ twist, I added another and managed somehow to get away with breaking a Nexus rule.

MM: Was it difficult writing female main characters?

FB: Putting me on the spot?

People are people. Of course our hormones make us different, but we all encompass both genders and many personalities. If I can write about psychopaths and monsters from the inside, surely I can do the same with women.

MM: I believe this book might be the one that caused our editor, Adam Nevill, when asked what he wants in our books, to cry out ‘More dead bodies!’ Do you think so?

FB: Perhaps he was using corpses as symbols of cross-genre writing. Now that the Internet has taken over the anatomical school of Erotica, it behoves us to create real characters in real plots.

MM: Finally, your new release, The Persian Girl, is available now in the UK and for pre-order in the US. How did you come to write this novel? Why did you get two complete sets of royalties for it? (I think we’d all like to try that!)

FB: I’ve long been a fan of Sir Richard’s. He was an absolutely incredible character; much larger than life. If he hadn’t lived, I’d have been reluctant to create him. Who’d believe that the greatest swordsman of all time would also be a scholar, spy, diplomat and linguist of such amazing stature? I’ve wanted to use him as a character ever since I read his biography. I must add, his real adventures make the one I wrote for him pale by comparison.

I didn’t get two sets of royalties, but I did get two advances. I happened to mention Burton in casual correspondence with Maxim Jacubowski. He encouraged me to write about him for Neon, so I did. Neon paid the advances but shrivelled on the vine and released the rights back to me. I pitched the novel to Adam, who bought it despite his reluctance to buy any more historical tales. Adam makes a lot of rules. He has to. He isn’t blinded by them, though. Even if he’s actively discouraging a subgenre, show him something that he feels works well and he’ll allow it.

MM: Now that we all belong to Random House, what’s next for Nexus, Felix?

FB: Ask Adam, but I doubt even he’d be definitive. Obviously, our future work will need to be well plotted and be inhabited by interesting characters. The days of sub meets Dom and discovers her/his true nature are gone, thank goodness.

MM: Cats or dogs? Werewolves or vampires? White wine or red? Tea or coffee?

FB: Cats for apartments. Dogs for the country. Vampires, but modified ones. I’m against magic outside of Fantasy, so the vamps I write don’t change into bats. I’ve also written about werewolves, but had to adjust the way mine changed shapes. I simply couldn’t see them sucking all that fur back into their pores when they transformed back into humans.

Red wine, the drier the better. I still remember the ordinaire that I drank in France, that puckered my mouth and stuck my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

The tea/coffee thing is tricky. I arrived in Canada a true Brit, loyal to tea. Gradually, I was seduced into drinking coffee. Then, a few years back, tea lured me and is now my regular beverage. Next year? Who knows?

MM: Thank you, Felix.

Bloggers! Ask Felix your questions, share your opinions about Nexus, erotica and bdsm, tell us your stories or just post a line or two on your thoughts about this post.

We'll be giving away one copy of Dominant to one lucky commenter and one copy of Sweet as Sin to another lucky commenter. Let the fun begin!

THE RETREAT - Portia Da Costa


Ben Chambers, the hero of my story THE RETREAT, is what I like to call a Quiet Storm.

He's softly spoken, reserved, and watchful. But he's not a wimp or a Beta. Far from it. He doesn't have to posture or snarl or throw his weight about to exert his dominance. He can take his lover's breath away with a few choice, quietly phrased words, and bring her to her knees with nothing more than a half smile.

He's beautifully dressed [with a fondness for natty Edwardian clobber, Jeremy, even though he's a twenty-first century man] and for most of the story he keeps his clothes on. He only gets naked when it really means something and he doesn't need to parade around dripping wet with acres of pecs and abs on show to be a hunk. He can express total masculinity without waving his dick about.

He's understated but powerful, a sexual master who wields authority in low tones and with spare, elegant gestures.

If you want to see a Quiet Storm in action, watch Edward Norton in The Illusionist. He's pretty much the template for my Ben.

THE RETREAT is part of the BOUND BRITS British themed BDSM anthology and published 25th February 08. Click here to buy it from TOTAL-E-BOUND.


BLURB

Ben Chambers is the perfect boyfriend, the perfect lover, the perfect man.

Sarah adores him, but she knows that despite the deliciousness of their lovemaking, their shared interests, and the fun they have together, there's a certain special something missing in their relationship.

And then, arriving for a hedonistic weekend of luxury at The Retreat, an English country house hotel, something happens that changes everything between them. A momentary, inconsequential pat on the bottom opens the door to a breathtaking world of daring and transgressive sexual pleasure… and forges a bond that's both profoundly physical and a melding of their souls.


EXCERPT

Her clothes were outside. Where Ben was.

Her heart thud-a-thudding, she opened the bathroom door.

Ben was lying on the bed, fully clothed, and reading a magazine. He had a glass in his hand, containing an inch of amber fluid that she guessed was whisky, and as she entered, he put it to his lips and took a leisurely sip. His eyes were on her though, staring over the rim at her intently as he swallowed.

He looked like a young god idly perusing his lowly subject.

"I thought we'd take a late dinner," he said casually, then took another sip of his drink, "Unless you're hungry now?"

Only for you. Only for you.

"I…er…I'm fine. Thanks."

The answer sounded woefully incomplete, as if there should have been more.

It was astonishing how easy it would have been to add the word "master".

"Good!" he said with a strangely satisfied smile, then he finished his whisky, set the glass aside, and sprang lightly to his feet. "I think I'll freshen up. I won't be a moment."


As he walked towards the bathroom, he paused and looked back pointedly at the magazine on the bed.

He wants me to read it.

Then, with another small, knowing smile, he disappeared, closing the door behind him with a decisive snick.

For a moment, Sarah was frozen in place. Why was she afraid of a magazine? What was wrong with her?

But the shiny pages seemed to reach out and taunt her from across the room. Still not looking at it, she grabbed Ben's glass, sloshed a little more whisky into it, and gulped it down, making herself cough. Panicking, she refilled it with water and sipped a bit of that, slowly. She didn't want to get tipsy mixing spirits with the champagne already in her.

When she sat down, and started to flick the pages, she discovered that the magazine was exactly what she'd feared-hoped?-it might be.

It was about bondage.

And erotic corporal punishment.

A high quality, beautifully produced publication, but a spanking magazine nevertheless.

As she perused an image of an exotic dark-haired woman in a black corset being spanked across a stern looking man's knee, the last piece of the jigsaw of her and Ben dropped neatly into place, and the tap on her rump made crystal clear sense.

This is it. Exactly it. This is what he really likes.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made her jump physically up into the air and sent the magazine slithering to the floor. Ben walked swiftly across, picked it up, and studied the same image that Sarah had been looking at for a moment. He'd removed his tie, she noticed, and unbuttoned his waistcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Her heart did a flip as he closed the magazine, set it on the bedside table, and sat down beside her.

"I guess you know what I want now, don't you?" His brown eyes were luminous, like the whisky with a brilliant light shining through it.


Sarah's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, but after a moment, she managed to gasp, "Yes!"

Ben's eyes were unwavering upon her, searching, searching.

"It's your choice, Sarah…I don't want us to do anything you don't like. We can simply have a delightful weekend here…relax, walk, enjoy good food and wine-" he paused for a second, "-make love…Nothing more than that."

She found her voice again. "But this…" she gestured to the magazine. "This is what you want, isn't it?"

His shoulders lifted in the slightest of shrugs. "It is…it is…"

The air in the room seemed heavy and difficult to draw in. But Sarah pulled in a lungful of it, straightened her spine, looked at him as bravely as she could.

"Then I want it too."

"Are you sure? It isn't a frivolous game to me…I take this quite seriously. You need to know that before we start."

Sarah's heart leapt, galloped. But part of her was more sure of herself than ever before in her life.

"It's serious to me too. I want it. Now."

Again. A long look.

"Very well, Sarah." Relaxed, he steepled his long elegant fingers in his lap, and cocked his head on one side, his smooth brown hair gleaming in the lamp light. "Stand up, please, and take off your robe. Then place your hands on your head, and turn slowly, showing yourself to me."

Obeying him, Sarah felt as if she were floating, insubstantial, like a feather. As she shucked off the soft robe, she felt more naked than she ever previously had with him. More exposed than the times when he'd crouched between her thighs, licking her sex.

She was astonished that the warm air on her skin felt like a caress and the uncovered state of her body a slow, lascivious exploration. Her nipples had puckered to a state of hardness so intense it was painful, and to her embarrassment, as she moved, slowly turning, a sticky trickle of arousal welled from her pussy and flowed down the inside of her thigh.

Unbelievably, Ben's dark brows lifted as she completed her circle, and he was watching the oozing progress of the sexual fluid down her leg.

"You're eager, aren't you?" he observed softly, "You're wanton and wilful…easy to rouse."

She opened her mouth to admit it and he made swift, little chopping motion. "No, you mustn't speak. You must be still and quiet now. Obedient. Without ego."

Before she could react in any way, he cupped her breast, his fingers firm, authoritative. He gave her a swift, assessing squeeze, first one, then the other, as if he were judging the flesh of a fine horse or other prized animal.

A second later, his hand went between her legs and gripped her just as possessively.

A gasp escaped her lips, and Ben gave her a tiny warning nod, his lids lowering slightly as he tightened his hold on her sex. Lifting his hand upwards, he made her rise on her toes. Not to avoid the delicious pressure, but to try and ameliorate her uncontrollable reaction to it.

In the space of a few moments, she was almost ready to come. And he hadn't even begun what he intended to do to her.



THE RETREAT is part of the BOUND BRITS anthology which also contains novellas by Sierra Cartwright, Lisabet Sarai, Barbara Huffert, Cassidy Ryan and Dakota Rebel.

Click here to buy BOUND BRITS from TOTAL-E-BOUND.

Oh, and leave a comment here on this blog post and I'll pick a winner at random for a copy of a book from my backlist.

Love

Portia Da Costa
Writing for Black Lace for fourteen years, and hopefully, better than ever! ;)

by Felix Baron (Nexus)

Lusty Ladies, on behalf of your myriad fans, I salute you! You deserve our fullest respect for the many benefits that you bestow upon this world. You start with nothing but your sweet sensuousness and well-honed skills and create publishable novels. That’s magic!

Consider, if one of your books sells 5,000 copies and it takes three hours to read, and it’s read only twice per copy, that’s a total of 30,000 hours of pleasure that you are responsible for. That’s 1,250 days, or almost three and a half years. Incredible?

It was Nexus editor, Peter Darvil-Evans, who told me, ‘We publish books for one-handed readers.’ I think it’s safe to assume that each reading of your novel brings about at least two orgasms. I’m including those resulting from the readers’ busy fingers, while reading; those that come later, from the fantasies that the book inspires, and those that are results of your work moving its readers to seek out their lovers for their mutual pleasure. (Two-for-one.) That’s about 10,000 orgasms induced by every novel you write! Most people don’t stimulate anywhere near that many in other people in an entire lifetime. That’s an achievement to be proud of!

Further, you ladies are educators. How many people, I wonder, first learned to locate and appreciate the clitoris or the G-spot from reading sexy fiction? Those revelations can be life-changing. I’ve heard of young women who suffered unslaked lust to their early twenties, or sometimes beyond, because neither they nor their partners knew which cute little pink buttons to push, to induce la petite morte. You’ve saved relationships. You’ve brought continuing joy to countless thousands. Be proud.

Your tutelage isn’t confined to anatomy. You teach tolerance and acceptance. You’ve brought masturbation out of the closet. Thanks to erotic writers, the shame that has crippled so many lives is in rapid retreat.

It isn’t just self-loving that erotica writers have rescued from ignominy. By reading erotica, people can see a pair of thighs gleaming above lacy stocking-tops through the admiring eyes of a leg-fetishist; gaze into cleavages with the glee of boob-fanatics; appreciate the allure of skinny bad-boys or beefy bears; feel the sweet bite of canes through the tingling senses of masochists and enjoy the swelling pride of dominants who are being served well. Those vicarious experiences don’t change the sexual preferences of readers but they do help them to understand tastes that some might consider deviant and unnatural.

More importantly, through erotica, fetishists of all stripes learn that they are not alone. Others appreciate the allure of toe-cleavage. Others fantasize about their public nudity being applauded by the sound of mass masturbation. Whatever your kink, if it’s safe, sane and consensual, there should be no shame in it. (Unless shame turns you on, of course.)

It was here that I read Murray Suid’s witty account of his writing a book review for his college paper, and mentioning cunnilingus. His Dean reprimanded him, not for the prurience of his content, but for perpetuating the myth that such acts were performed in real life. If the simple act of oral love can be considered mythical, isn’t even more absurd to think that people might enjoy being spanked, or buggered, or bound?

Your works, ladies, simultaneously give us permission to be honest about who we are and defy those who would blame us for not being repressed and prudish.

Madeline Moore and I write movie scripts. Over recent months, we have been adapting some of the scripts we’ve written and not sold, into novels.

(Adam was kind enough to publish the first such adaptation as my erotic novel, Dominant.) The process of turning scripts into novels has brought home to us an important advantage that the written word has over tales told in moving pictures.
In a movie, you might watch a 17th Century Parisian seamstress find solace with her last candle. (Warming her hands at its flame. What did you think I meant?) In a novel, however, you can be that seamstress.

Only the written word can take people inside characters. The difference between watching a movie and reading a book is the same as the difference between sympathy and empathy. In an erotic movie, you can see and hear a character express joy at buggering or being buggered; dominating or submitting; sucking or being sucked. In an erotic book, you can share the characters’ glee from the inside. That way, you can truly understand not only the physical sensations, but the emotional ones. It might seem contradictory, but there is more realism in what you read than in what you watch.

All of the foregoing, ladies, was foreplay. It’s a preamble to the meat of my essay, which is that I am delighted that Black Lace is both for and by women. Most of the opinions I’ve expressed so far pertain to all writers of erotica, male or female. There is, however, an important difference, to the readers, if they know beyond any shred of doubt that the authors are of the fair sex.

I have written erotica under feminine pen-names. I suspect that my readers have often twigged my ruse. So, when I write of female characters who yearn to be sodomised or who can’t get enough of any of the depraved acts I have described, a reader might think, ‘Of course he writes like that. He’s a man. Real women don’t…’

It’s sad, but many men and even a few women, believe that women feign sensuality for duplicitous reasons – to trick men into marriage or to get pregnant or simply for pay. Yes, a woman’s sensuality can be quite different from a man’s, but it can be just as intense, or even more so.

Men doubting this has ruined many relationships. Women denying this has excused psychological frigidity. An incredible number of women consider the female orgasm to be a myth – and I’m not talking about ejaculation.

But, when a writer who is ‘certified female’ invites readers of both sexes into her mind and extols the pleasures of fellatio or cunninlingus or buggery, and describes in fervent detail the ecstatic glee of a fine climax, no one can deny the truth of what she writes. Women readers can learn that such joy is within their reach. Men readers can learn to become better and more trusting lovers.

Ladies of Lust, you are strippers all, baring your innermost selves, and whatever your motivations, you are simultaneously incredibly exciting and powerfully therapeutic.



Felix Baron writes in a number of genres, under various names, and teaches a Course in Writing Erotica for http://www.qualityofcourse.comHis latest novel for Nexus, Sweet As Sin, will be released in October, 2007 and is available for pre-order now at Amazon.com.