Today I've got Heather Hart on my guest couch, and she's here to talk about her newest release "Abby's Bluff." But before we get started, I asked Abby one of my favorite questions.
How do you think the Internet and the surge of spanking related erotica is helping men and women who, pre-Internet, were confused or ashamed by their kinky desires.
Um - to be honest I have mixed thoughts about all this openness. I don’t like any desire being forced under the sheets. Take a look at history - when Victorian England took on their moral based censure of all things naughty and lewd, prostitution reached epidemic highs and ‘working’ women were left vulnerable and abused. I think the ability to explore an individual’s passions without fear of shaming is a beautiful thing - you might say almost constitutional.
On the other hand - a lot of the eroticism comes from the privacy and secrecy of certain acts. Take out too much of the mystery and magic and some of the fun dies with it, don’t you think? As in all things I would advocate for balance in the bedroom. Share what you must, don’t feel ashamed of what turns you on, but keep a little bit back from the world so it stays special for you and your partner.
I totally agree. Now on to Abby's Bluff....
Abby doesn't gamble. But when her friend's happiness is at stake, she risks her own body, betting on one crucial turn of the cards.
As I shampooed my hair in some expensive, almond-smelling goop I'd never heard of before, my thoughts drifted to all those other women he'd known before me. It wasn't the number of women he'd bedded; as to that, I couldn't care less. But I wondered, was there a special one among them? Was I one of a number, enjoyed for the weekend, then forgotten when my time was done? All too soon, I would be back on that plane to New Jersey, and after that I would never see him again. Perhaps I should be thankful, because there was certainly a touch of the bizarre about him, and who knew what other insanity there was to be found? But some foolish part of me had already connected to him, and I knew I would suffer when our crazy-assed affair was over.
I checked my pubic hair and was pleased to see everything was in good order. A razor would have been handy to tidy things up, but it wasn't too bad. Just as I had this thought, the shower door opened, revealing Joel, buck-naked and manly beautiful, his pajamas in a heap on the marble floor outside, and a ready-to-go condom in his hand. He stepped in, which was no problem, because the shower was large enough to wash a Lincoln. He took the sponge from my hand and began washing my back and over my buttocks. When he was done there, he turned me around and carefully washed everything else. His stroke was deliberately slow and sensuous, and I leaned into his hand, enjoying every pass over my skin.
"Shall I bathe you?"
"No. Be quiet and just enjoy."
The shower was fitted with a long marble seat, which Joel sat down on, and slipped the condom onto his already half-expectant penis. Then he pulled me onto his lap. There was a second showerhead at waist height, which he now turned on. I could feel his cock stiffen fully against my back, and he pushed me a little forward and entered me from behind. He thrust into me a few times, then his hand reached round to my legs and spread them wide. A moment later, I felt the full force of the water aimed at my clitoris, which he held open and exposed with his free hand. Round and around he swirled that jet, and my mind went blank to everything but the water, his cock, and his hand teasing my button along. Though there was no room for thrusting, he didn't have to; I did all the gyrating that was needed as I lined myself up with that jet, willing it to find the right spot. It was so powerful, and, though I felt him nibbling on my neck, I didn't care. The world had diminished to this shower, that jet, and my evolving orgasm.
"Jesus holy fucking Christ!"
Abielle O'Sullivan's world is turned on its axis when her boyfriend is killed in a motorcycle crash. To break the ensuing months-long cycle of self-destructive grief, her bestie, Miah, buys plane tickets and first class accommodation for a mad-ass weekend in Las Vegas. On their very first night, Abby meets Joel; an aloof but streetwise card sharp who is drawn to the cautious and sad-eyed beauty. He encourages the two friends to try their hands at the poker tables.
When Miah gets out-of-control drunk and loses more than she can pay, Joel offers Abby an unusual way out of the jam. Depending upon who wins one game of high-card, the alpha male will either cover Miah's losses, or Abby will become his sex slave for the duration of the rest of her stay in Vegas. Desperately wanting to help her friend, Abby is sorely tempted by his offer, even though she is not a gambling woman. Finally, she takes a chance and plays the game.
When she loses the draw, Abby's once limited sexual horizons are pushed to their limits.
With his understanding and sympathetic nature, however, Joel could prove to be more than a means to heal the hurt from her past. In fact, he might just be the one man she'd always dreamed of. Then again, he could also be a conman. In the end, only she can decide what her limits are.
And what happens after that is anyone's game.
Buy Abby's Bluff now!
About the Author:
Heather Hart is a British novelist and short story writer. Her pen names include P J Perryman and Jill Jackson. She currently lives in Maryland with two fat cats just a few doors away from her adopted American family. Heather dreams of having a NY Times best seller and being hugged by Benedict Cumberbatch. She's not fussy about which one comes first. Unless there’s chocolate. Sweet Lord, please! Feed her chocolate.
Visit her website here:
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