Order your copy of Order!

Order: A BDSM novel

Order: A BDSM novel

My “deliciously wicked” novel “Order” will be available in paperback from the 27th March.

You can order your copy from:



Writing again…

Hello all you faithful followers; all of you who hung in there during my absence.

I hope I haven’t lost anyone…

I just wanted you to know that after I don’t know how long, I have started writing a new serial, which I hope to begin posting online soon (let me get a few more chapters under in the cache first…).

While you’re waiting, you could browse through my older stories to reacquaint yourselves with what I do. If you haven’t already done so, you could also by a book I wrote a while back.

And you could also help me by telling me what you like about my stories, and what you don’t like (e.g. Order is quite a Beaver-fest).

As for the new story, I’ve enjoyed writing what I’ve written so far. It’s probably closer to Eleanor’s story in style, so far at least, so I hope you will enjoy it as I start drip feeding it to y’all.

Thank you for staying the distance, and I hope I don’t disappoint.



The Postman Only Knocks Twice

Molly slumped down in her chair, and drank her coffee. She’d got rid of the kids, and was ready for some time for herself. She put her feet up, and lay back, looking forward to just laying there with no distractions.

She was drifting off when someone knocked on the door three times. She pulled herself up, and listened. Dressed only in her dressing gown, she didn’t want to answer the door. After a minute or two, there was nothing, so she lay back down again.

As soon as she’d got comfortable again, the knocking was there again; slower, louder, and somehow more insistent. Sighing, she got up, and made her way to the front door.

She opened the door slightly, shielding herself from public view behind it. She peered out at a tall uniformed man.


“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I have a package to deliver, and it wouldn’t go through the slot.”

“Ah, er, ok.”

She reached her arm out to take the package.

“I need you to sign for it,” he said.

“Uh, ok.”

He reached inside his jacket, and withdrew a pen, and handed it, along with a clip board, to her. Molly, tried to sign her name, but the pen just wouldn’t write.

“Uh, your pen doesn’t seem to work,” she said, handing it back.

“Oh, sorry, ma’am!”

He checked his pockets, before apologising.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t seem to have any more pens!”

Molly was getting a little cold, stood by the door.

“You’d better come in while I find one then,” she said, opening the door wide enough to let him through, but still shielding herself from the outside world. Continue reading

His Dream Girl

John sat on the bench in the park, as he did early every morning. He had his study books beside him, and listening to one of Chopin’s Nocturnes on repeat. He checked the time – there was a few minutes before she would be there.

Camille jogged past this spot every day, and always gave him a smile that made his heart leap. She was lovely; he adored the way her long honey-blonde hair seemed to float behind her as she ran, and he admired her athletic, yet still womanly physique. But she didn’t know him, and she had an equally athletic boyfriend.

John closed his eyes for a few moments, waiting to hear the familiar sound of her footsteps. His breathing slowed as he relaxed, and he let out a deep, deep sigh.

He heard the sound of her feet pounding the path, and he opened his eyes. She was wearing something different today; a blue vest top and short skirt. She stopped right in front of John’s bench, something else that was unusual, but she didn’t look at him. She bent down in front of him, stretching her legs, and revealing her scant while panties to John, under her skirt; John gasped, and she turned around to face him.

“Are you looking up my skirt?” she said as she stood, hands on hips.

John was flustered. Continue reading


Linzi felt a little awkward. Sat in a coffee shop in a strange town, she felt slightly uncomfortable wearing clothes that she might have worn as a teenager. Might have worn, if she’d had the confidence, that is. The clinging silk low-cut top, the short leather-effect mini-skirt, and the black 6” stilettos; in her thirties, but she had the figure so it looked good.  She shuffled around a little, imagining the stares she was getting from those around her, and hoped Greg would turn up soon.

This was part of a role play game. They often indulged in games in the privacy of their house; doctors and nurses, teacher and pupil, secretary and boss. This was supposed to be two strangers meeting, and he’d insisted that they should ‘play’ outside for a change. She was quite reticent, but eventually relented, on the proviso that it would be in another town; somewhere far enough away where they wouldn’t be recognised.

But he was half an hour late. She’d emptied her cup about five minutes before, and didn’t want to order another cup.

“Hi Linzi!”

She froze. She recognised the voice as Mike, one of Greg’s colleagues. He had an unmistakable voice, and every time he spoke, she felt tiny tremors through her body.

Continue reading

Joey’s story

Joey sat, watching the action from behind the cameras. He wasn’t happy.

Jenny and Callum were in front of the cameras, getting ready for their scene.

Joey knew what his love did for a living, but he didn’t want to be confronted with it like this. Jenny winked and smiled at him; he broke eye contact, looking at the lighting guy setting up one of the bright lights that would be emphasising every nuance of his lover’s body for the camera.

As the director called ‘action’, Joey watched the two stars get to work, his jaw set firm, teeth clenched. Why couldn’t they have just met up afterwards? Why did he have to come here to watch? To be humiliated?

They peeled each other’s clothes off, and Jenny began to lick up and down Callum’s shaft, coaxing it into life. Joey shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, as Callum’s cock began to throb and swell, rising at Jenny’s attentions. Continue reading

Flying High

Miles sat in the airport lounge waiting for his connection. He had been booked on a direct flight back home. Unfortunately that flight had been cancelled, so his airline had booked him on the next quickest alternative; a regular commercial flight to this airport, almost in the middle of nowhere, and then a flight in a small plane run by a small company called ‘The High Flyers Club.’ He’d never heard of them, which, with him being a pilot, was fairly unusual. But they had a scheduled flight that would happen to take him home.

He flicked through their brochure, and smiled at the phrases their marketers had used; “Your pleasure is our business,” and “We like all our passengers to enjoy a high quality personal service.”

He wondered what the plane would be like. He’d been on some services where it felt as though the plane was held together with string, and powered by elastic, with seats that had been fruit crates in a previous existence. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the flight, but it would be for less then two hours, and then he’d be home.

A lady walked over to him. He couldn’t help but notice her; beige stilettos with a strap above the ankle, tan tights covering her long slender legs, beige midi skirt, white blouse, dark blue jacket with gold flashes, dark blue hat covering her dark hair, and impeccable make-up; she wouldn’t have looked out of place as a stewardess on a 1940’s aircraft, though there were no markings or insignia to show which airline she worked for.

She smiled the kind of smile that gave most men a twinge.

“Good evening. Captain Stokes?” Continue reading

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