Lexie Bay is at my Party!

Hooray! I've got the gorgeous sexy Lexie Bay as guest of honour at the Butterfly Party today. I was lucky enough to share her company this weekend along with some of my fave erotica writing pals at Smut By The Sea in Scarborough... of course we were all very well behaved and shared a small cup of warm milk and some cookies after the event ;) Remember to read to the end for the usual giveaway and special offer - or look to your right :D

Oooo - the excerpt from her story below is the one she read on Saturday - and let me tell you, she has one very sensual voice. Take it away Ms Bay...

Hi Tabitha and thank you so much for inviting me to the party today to celebrate a whole year of A Clockwork Butterfly!

"It’s my party and I’ll……. laugh with my friends, refuse to do Karaoke, drink too much Jack Daniels and do the Conga home if I want to!"

And if anyone was at Smut by the Sea this weekend they’ll be able to confirm this ;)

Here’s a naughty little snippet of my latest story which appears in Coming Together With Curves. It’s called Flesh for Fantasy and it’s a cheeky scene between a girl and her gorgeous curvy girlfriend….. a makeover with a twist. I hope you enjoy it xx

Sophia brings the little pots of coloured powder closer to the edge of the bed as she kneels between my thighs, pushing my legs further apart so that she can get as close as possible to me. She arranges everything just so, and I feel like it’s a ceremony and I am the willing sacrifice. She unrolls a velvet pouch to reveal an array of brushes. They are jet black in all different sizes and I watch as she peruses the collection, deciding on which one to use to inflict colour onto my face. I could watch her for hours, the gentle jiggle of her breasts against the satin of her corset.

She pulls out one of the largest of the brushes and swirls it through a pot of pink powder then deposits it on my cheek with a flourish. The brush tickles my skin and the scent of the powder fills my nostrils making me want to sneeze. Sophia repeats the process on my second cheek and grins as she looks at me. “You suit a pretty flushed cheek,” she says. “It reminds me of how you look when you’re turned on.”

“I am turned on,” I say smiling back at her. “It would be hard not to be with your sexy curves so close to me.”

“Am I making your pussy wet?” she asks, walking her fingers up my inner thighs towards my damp crotch. I spread my legs a little wider, bucking my hips in a desperate attempt to get her to stroke my throbbing pussy. She is teasing me, the mischievous glint in her eye telling me that I am not about to get relief anytime soon. Sophia purses her lips and blows on the brush, letting a fine dusting of pink powder rain down onto my thighs. She leans towards me again and trails the fluffy end of the brush over my cleavage. I gasp at the sensation of the brush on my skin, my nipples hardening instantly beneath my lacy bra so that they rub tantalisingly against the fabric.

Sophia runs her tongue over her bottom lip as she watches my reaction. Then she leans forward and runs it over the small curve of my left breast. Before I can react she blows gently on the wet patch, watching my skin pucker into goosebumps, sending darts of pleasure through my body. My breasts feel heavy and swollen, the nipples aching to feel her tongue, lips, fingers, anything.

She has something else in mind though and goes back to her pots of colour, biting her lip as she thinks about which colours to use to paint my eyes. I love how she gets all serious as she works on me. She trained at beauty school before she became a dancer and she knows her stuff.

She picks a small brush and dips it into a pale pinky colour. “Close your eyes,” she murmurs and I do as I am told. The loss of my sight makes my other senses go into overdrive. I can smell the musk of her pussy and the hot scent of my own need. I can still taste the sweetness of her lip gloss and the smooth slide of her skin against my thighs is driving me crazy. She sweeps the brush over my eyelid. She is so close; her ample breasts rub against mine. I keep my eyes closed even when she removes the brush, waiting for her to continue. She lets her lips press against mine briefly, her free hand on my leg before she moves to the other eye. Her breath is warm against my cheek as she concentrates on getting the colour even. I stay perfectly still, my eyes closed, waiting to see what she will do next, the thrill of the unknown making me wetter than I have ever been.

Sophia blows briefly over my eyelids to remove the excess and then I feel the soft bristles of a tiny brush stroke over my cheeks and linger on the bow of my lips. She teases me with the sensations, stroking and dabbing against my skin. I giggle as she tickles me, trying to squirm away but she holds my hand to keep me still.

“Stop wriggling,” she chides, giving me a playful spank on the thigh. I am so desperate for her touch that I wriggle again, trying to get another slap.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says, “but if you can’t sit still I’ll have to make you.” With that she grabs a silk scarf and binds my wrists together behind the chair. I moan softly as the material holds me tightly against the chair. I spread my legs a little wider, knowing that my thong is barely covering my pussy and that the sight of it will be making Sophia hungry for me.

I keep my eyes closed, wondering if she will continue with the makeup. I find out soon enough.   She tells me to open my eyes, and I feel the cool of the mascara wand as she delicately flicks my eyelashes with jet black, defining and highlighting my features with her miracle touch. In that moment I adore her, the way she fusses over me like I am her living doll.

“So beautiful,” she says, standing back to admire me, “but I think we need a little more work elsewhere. With that she slides her scarlet-painted fingernails into my thong and in one swift motion pulls it down my legs, flinging it unceremoniously across the bedroom. The sudden cool of the air on my pussy makes me moan and I look at her, watching as she studies the dark pink slit she has exposed. She kneels before me again and with a flourish, takes two more scarves and ties each ankle to a chair leg.

Author Bio:

Lexie started writing to immerse herself in a fantasy world where women are adored and men fall at their feet.  It didn’t take long before she realised that sometimes men do that so you can stomp all over them in your sexy stiletto boots and since then she’s been creating stories that stay true to her original romantic dream while exploring the erotic, the kinky and the downright filthy.  She writes about anything that emerges from the murky depths of her imagination, whenever she gets the opportunity.

Lexie lives with her husband and two daughters on the south coast of England, and spends her days working as an accounts director. She loves the adrenaline rush of the unexpected, craves peace to write every day, likes to lose herself in the realms of fantasy and has a thing for smells that take her back to her childhood.

Lexie is published by House of Erotica and Sweetmeats Press and you can find out more about her at:

www.lexiebay.co.uk

Follow her on Twitter:  @lexie_bay

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LexieBayAuthor

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4475587.Lexie_Bay  

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/lexiebay/

Thank you for coming to the Butterfly Party Lexie - loved the party tip ;) - and Lexie has the best shoes ever - I'd check out her Pinterest! 
Remember the sales and giveaways  click on these links:

Beachwalk is running a 50% off ebook sale of my erotic fantasy, A Clockwork Butterfly (code ButterflyParty) and don't forget to enter the Goodreads paperback giveaway. 

See you tomorrow x x x

Coming Together - With Curves

I'm delighted to introduce you to this wonderful anthology - not only will you be taken to giddy erotic heights, you will be supporting Parkinson's Uk.

Coming Together: With Curves, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse

Curvy girls and the men (and women!) that love them is the theme of this charity anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From Zumba classes to Burlesque dancers, all kinds of big and beautiful women are portrayed between the pages of this book. Read about birthday surprises, smut at the gym, horse riders, lusty couples, naughty neighbours, skilled bakers, rope bondage and misunderstandings from some of erotica’s best authors.

Sales proceeds benefit Parkinson’s UK.

Contents: Six Lengths of Red Hemp (Tilly Hunter), Cross Trainer Number Four (Lily Harlem), Bella Buxom, Just Squeeze Me (JoAnne Kenrick), Captivated (Elizabeth Lapthorne), Red Rag to a Bull (Victoria Blisse), Girl Next Door (Bella Blake), Lush Buns (Sommer Marsden), The Big Reveal (Giselle Renarde), The Wrong End of the Stick (Lucy Felthouse), Riding School (Bella Blake), Flesh For Fantasy (Lexie Bay).

Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/coming-together-with-curves/

*****

Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course through work. She was the only one from her office who’d been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down. It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her eat, she could feel the judgment rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.

It wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing. She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.

Because she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. She was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he’d been peeking at her. Again.

Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.

Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.

She decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch, she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness.

Deep down, she knew she was going to have to go over and say something to him. After seven days, he wasn’t going to suddenly amend his habits. She was just being a bit of a wimp, really, hoping to find some way of getting out of confrontation, because she didn’t like it, not one bit, and it was absolutely a last resort. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single other way of stopping him from doing it. Perhaps she could put up a sign in front of her saying “Please stop staring at me.” But if he couldn’t take the hint when she’d glared at him, he wouldn’t take any notice of a piece of paper.

Several minutes later, her salad was gone and she moved onto her drink. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she saw he was just as interested in her now as he had been when she’d been eating. Damn, confrontation it was then.

Draining the carton, she gathered her plate, cutlery and other rubbish onto her tray, stood up and slid it onto the rack nearest her. Then she returned to her table, grabbed her bag, pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils and marched over to the Peeping Tom. She slid out the chair opposite him and sat down on it.

*****

Editor sites:

http://victoriablisse.co.uk

http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk