Friday, 5 December 2014

Announcing the arrival of Waterlines 18....

Hello again!

I'm busy writing an erotic novella which includes a generous component of watersports in various settings, and I'm over half-way through.  But the Muse interrupted me with three short stories and I felt compelled to get them out of the way as quickly as possible so that I could continue with the novella in peace.  And here they are - in the form of Waterlines 18.

It's available now in Amazon Kindle and Smashwords; as soon as Barnes & Noble, Apple and Kobo have all scruitinized the content to make sure they're happy with the dirty bits, it'll be available on their websites too.

Warning: this work is for over-18s only and contain elements which some people may find offensive. If you aren't interested in watersports (golden showers), or oral sex - or aren't remotely curious - then please don't buy or read this book.  Here are some quick details:

Desperate Times (3,580 words)
Danielle badly needs to visit the restroom, but the nearest one's occupied. What can she do?  As a result of her action - done in the heat of the moment - she finds herself blackmailed by Jeff, her nasty 'ex'.  How can she extricate herself from this intimate and embarrassing predicament?

In the Beach Hut (2,780 words)
Kathy borrows her cousin's beach hut at the seaside while on a date with Bob.  Caught in the heavy rain, and comparative strangers, they find themselves thrown together into a situation where they become very close... in both senses of the word.  And then, at a critical moment, (spoiler alert!) there's a surprise visitor....

A Churchyard Birthday (3,690 words)
Steve takes a detour through a churchyard on the way home and sees a woman behaving in an extremely gross manner.  Explaining her actions to him, she invites him home for afternoon tea and... a few provocative extras which he'll remember for years ahead.  But things are not what they seem; has he been duped? 

SPECIMEN EXTRACT (from In the Beach Hut):

We’d met at a dance three weeks before; the two dates we’d had since then comprised dinner at restaurants and subsequent trips to the theatre – a shared interest.  We hadn’t held each other for more than a few seconds since the dance night.  And now, here we were, alone together and contemplating dancing in our underwear.

I found a radio station offering suitable music which we could use, and we began cavorting to a fast number by the Rolling Stones.  Arms were flailing around the room and we kept a distance from each other in case of accidental injury.  I observed that the energy he had expended had soon banished his erection.  But our wild dance came to an end in less than a minute and the radio DJ followed with a slow, smoochy ballad.  Bob held me close; it didn’t take long for our bodies to warm up in the body contact.  We said nothing as we moved slowly in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then realised his penis had grown again and his new erection had brushed lightly against me.  I felt flattered that I had induced this desire in him, although I had no plans to encourage him further.  He kissed me briefly on the cheek, but I didn’t respond; I had no wish to rush our relationship.  If it was going anywhere, I’d decided, we’d allow it to develop at a leisurely pace.  Then we could feel more confident about our future together.

Less than a minute later, the music stopped.  There was a scheduled news broadcast.

“We don’t want to listen to that,” I said as I reached across to switch off the radio.  “It’s the weekend.”

“So what do you want to do now?” he asked.  “It’s still pouring with rain outside.”

“We could talk, I suppose.  We still don’t know a great deal about each other.  When we’ve been out together, it hasn’t always been in the environment when we can talk.  We’ve always had to sit in silence at the theatre – and when we’ve been in restaurants, you never know who might be listening.”

“Yet I feel we’ve learned more about each other in the last twenty minutes than in the rest of the time we’ve spent dating.”

“Why?  Because I’ve seen your erection and you’ve seen my... cleavage?”  I pointed to my bra.

“Are you embarrassed about it?”

“Maybe I was at first.  But not now.  I’m sure you’ve been in more intimate situations than this before now.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t think this is the time or place for us to delve into each other’s sex histories.”“Are you hiding a secret about your past life, Bob?”


Just in case you're wondering about the new watersports novella that I mentioned above, I hope to have it out in January.  It's set in England and France during the French Revolution (1789) and contains a little light BDSM (nothing too painful).  There might even be room for a sequel.

Then, waiting patiently next in line in my To Do List, is another story in the Poor Nuns series: the narrator will be one of Dame Anna's grandchildren, and I have some surprises in store.  I'm aiming to have this ready in February.

If you are a reader living in North America or elsewhere outside Europe, you can skip this paragraph.  Now I have some bad news for readers who live in any of the EU countries, although you may have already read this elsewhere on the Web: the European Union is forcing all companies (based anywhere in the world) who publish ebooks to charge Value Added Tax (VAT) at the rate appropriate to the reader's country of residence.  An example: up to now, Amazon has been charging 3% VAT to all European residents, because they publish out of Luxembourg.  Now the tax is charged according to where you live.  UK readers will be subject to 20% VAT, which is a huge jump from 3%.  And standard paperbacks are not charged VAT - that's zilch percent.  Where's the justice in that?  I've been speaking about this to my Member of Parliament, and I've signed the standard petition to try and get this decision reversed.  If you buy any ebooks before December 31 this year, you won't have to suffer this surcharge.

Finally, I have to confess that 2014 wasn't my best year for creativity.  I had so many interruptions which impeded the flow of my thought processes, but it would be churlish of my to present a bunch of excuses to my loyal readership.  I promise to be more productive during 2015 !

My best wishes to you all for the Festive Season,


Friday, 26 September 2014


Yes, I'm feeling seriously frustrated... but not sexually frustrated. 

First, I had hoped to have my latest story out by now but I'm giving it a wholesale revision and it looks like it may come out as two separate books - maybe a trilogy.  When I first started writing it, I'd inserted a series of flashbacks to some earlier situations to help explain the story.  When I discussed this with my editor, we decided that I should abandon that idea and rewrite the story from the beginning and follow it through on a standard time-line.  It's like throwing a book in the fire and starting all over again.  But I know it was the right decision - even though it's going to delay publication of the finished works.

Second, I entertained some of my in-laws a couple months back.  They created such havoc in my mind while they were guests in our house that my Muse upped and fled.  When I finally persuaded our house-guests they should be thinking about returning home - their cat would be missing them - they finally took the hint.  But it took several days before Muse returned and I started writing again.  THEN - at the instigation of my erstwhile house-guests - another bunch of relations decided to invite themselves round, as they'd heard I'd given the first group such a great time while they were here.  Needless to say, Muse went up to the roof and stayed there.   My husband and I now have the house to ourselves once more, and I am gradually trying to coax Muse back down again with bars of chocolate.

But all is not doom and gloom.  During one of her brief visits recently, Muse left me with the scenario for another story in the Medieval Nuns' series - but I still have to do a great deal of plotting before I can start writing.  Of all the stories I've written recently (the last three years, say) I think I've enjoyed writing about the Nuns more than any other characters.  And the stories are more popular with my regular readership than I could have dreamed when I wrote the opening chapters of the first one.  Just when I thought the latest one I'd written was going to be the last....

That's all for now... watch out for my next title when it hits the shelves!

Best to you all,

email: cpw (at) restroom (dot) net

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

Waterlines 17 is here!

Hello again!

I hadn't expected to be writing here again so soon, but I am pleased to announce that Waterlines 17 has been published by Amazon KDP and Smashwords (for Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, et al).  The cover is a little provocative because it depicts a well-dressed woman cleaning the urinals in a men's restroom, and I suspect this unusual scene may have been the reason for the initial delay in publication with with Amazon - one can imagine a hastily-convened committee meeting at Amazon HQ to determine whether the picture breaks any "house" rules.  Waterlines 17 contains three short stories:

A Sprained Ankle :  When you've injured yourself and you can't do things that you've taken for granted for so long, it's time to get inventive....

Paintball War : Sophie, a college teacher, allows her class to go on the rampage in the woods in a paintball war. When they continue their rampage in the men's restroom, she's left clearing up the mess. But there's a silver lining to this cloud....

Subterfuge : What do you do when you're on a train, the toilet's out of action, and you want to "go" when there's no chance of any privacy?


     When her duties were done, Sophie walked back towards the common room to pick up her bags, thinking about the long holiday that awaited her.
     “Sophie!” It was Gerry calling, from a few feet behind her.
     She turned round and saw him scurrying urgently towards her.
     “A few of the Second Year students have been having fun and games in the men’s restroom upstairs. There’s paintball graffiti all over the walls. Remember our deal yesterday? No mess in the college buildings, otherwise they’d have to clear it up afterwards. Well, they’ve gone. So you’ll have to play janitor yourself. And you’ll need to do it now, before you go home today.” He walked off, allowing no time to protest.
     “But Jason is equally at fault. He should be doing it too.”
     “He’s gone.” He called, without looking back.
     Shit! she said to herself, and went upstairs to the men’s restroom.

I hope you enjoy the stories.  Subterfuge is based on an out-take I saw of a European movie some years ago.  No, I don't remember the name of the movie or which country produced it.  I couldn't understand the language spoken, so I'm confident it wasn't French or German.  If I hadn't seen this scene myself, I'd have considered the concept just a little far-fetched.  But, hey, that's what erotic fantasies are all about, don't you think?

All the best


email: cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Tuesday, 24 June 2014

Return to the Poor Nuns

Hello again!

Return to the Poor Nuns  has just been published - it's the third in the "Medieval Dickgirl" series, following on from A Poor Nun's Endowment and The Poor Nuns in Revolt.  I do hope you enjoy it.

Here's an outline:

Seeking sanctuary for her daughter Agnes, Dame Anna presents her to Prior Michael at the abbey and, whilst there, Agnes writes more to the tale of Mary and the Poor Nuns started by Anna and continued by Michael.  In Agnes' contribution to the tale, the evil Benedicta pleads with Mary to help her return to the Poor Nuns.  Unsure whether she is truly contrite after her imprisonment by the bishop's chancellor, Mary advises the prioress to keep her in a secure environment... just in case.  Can Benedicta be trusted?  There is a new priest overseeing the spiritual welfare of the nuns and, still having to come to terms with his vow of chastity, he has his own agenda.  And some of the nuns still crave some moments of lust with Mary's unique endowment.  How can she resolve the situation before her husband comes to take her home?


          Clare grinned sheepishly. “Shall we go for a walk together? The room where Benedicta had you confined has been repainted; it is of course the cell where she will stay when she is appointed Anchoress, and is quite private. Would you like me to show it to you? We won’t be disturbed.” 
          “Yes. I’d like that.”
           They left her chamber and walked together into the cloisters, through an isolated doorway that led to a flight of steps; at the top was the door to the private room that would be home to Benedicta once she was readmitted to the community. It had been home to Mary when she had first arrived here, a sanctuary where Benedicta had her shut away from the world so that she could  indulge her own passions with her, unseen by anyone else. Clare unlocked the door and invited Mary to enter; the place smelt so much fresher now, and a new bed had been placed in the corner. 
           Clare pulled off her habit over her head and, standing naked in front of Mary, she took her hand and drew her silently across the room; with her back to the wall, she reached forward and put her hand up Mary’s gown to feel for the thing she craved to have inside her.


I hope to have Waterlines 17 published very soon.  Then I'll be busy with a couple of romance titles (one contemporary, one Regency) that I have in the back of my mind which will be going out under my alter-ago, Rachel Cray.  In the meantime, I'll be hoping that my Muse will deliver some more erotic stories for me to tell in the C.P. Waterman franchise.

All the best!


email : cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Tuesday, 20 May 2014

Waterlines 16 is out!

Hi, readers!

I'm pleased to announce the publication of Waterlines 16 on Amazon Kindle.  The Smashwords edition (for use with Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and others) will be available later today.

The ebook contains three short stories containing intimate fun of M/F couples who conduct experiments in three different positions:
Side-by-Side (4,100 words)
Front-to-Back (3,000 words)
Back-to-Back (3,200 words)

Warning: these three stories are for over-18s only and contain elements which some people may find offensive. If you aren't interested in watersports (golden showers), anal or oral sex - or aren't remotely curious - then please don't buy or read this book.


Every Friday night, if we didn’t have to stay late at the office for an emergency, most of us went round to a local bar to let our hair down for two or three hours.  It was a routine that we looked forward to; the firm hired a room so that we had a certain amount of privacy, and we treated it like an extension to our business environment: what was said in there stayed there.
Gina had only been with us for a few weeks and I didn’t really have the chance to get acquainted with her.  It would be ungracious of me to describe her as a plain young woman, but she had no features that one might consider to be particularly attractive.  There was a rumor in circulation that she hadn’t had much luck with men; this could have been invented by one or more of her co-workers, who were known for their lack of charity.  But, when I spoke to her that evening, she exuded a warm personality and was capable of conversing across a wide range of subjects.  I must confess that I took up much of her time at the bar, but most of the others were talking of inconsequential work-related issues.
Gradually everyone peeled away and, after some time, we found ourselves the only customers left in our room.  “I’m in no hurry to get away.  How about you?”
“No.  I have no immediate plans.”
We got to talking about secrets – I can’t remember what led us into that subject – and the conversation soon drifted on to secret sexual fantasies.  The drink had begun to take its effect and, although we were relative strangers, we had lost all inhibition with our talk now.
“Of course I have some,” she laughed.  “Well, at least one.  But I’m not going to reveal that to you here.  We hardly know each other.  How about you?” 
“Yes.  I have something in mind that I’d like to do.  But when I’ve suggested it to girls I’ve been with, they cringe and call me a pervert.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not telling you.  You’ll back away and call me a pervert too.  Just when we’ve started to get to know each other.”
“Then we shall never know.  Which is a bit of a shame, don’t you think?”
“Do I detect a hidden desire on your part to reveal your secret to me?”
“Not here.  And only if you tell me yours too.”
“If you’re too embarrassed to tell me, let’s get a couple of sheets of paper, write them down and show each other.”
“Mine is too complicated to describe.”
“Then draw me a diagram.  I like diagrams.”
“It would be pornographic!” she laughed.
I felt a stirring in my loins.  I had to stick around with this girl.  “Can’t you give me a clue?”
“Watersports,” she whispered.  “And I don’t mean water-skiing.”
I nodded and smiled.  “That’s a coincidence.  My little secret can be placed in the same category.”
We smiled at each other, each wondering who would take the next step.  She grinned at me, and crossed her legs.  She pulled up her skirt as she did so, making sure I saw the top of her stocking on her thigh.
I spoke.  “I think we’ve whetted each other’s appetites, don’t you?”
“Whetted?  Was that a pun?”
“I’m ready to reveal my secret, if you are yours.”
“O.K., then.  But not here.  Your place or mine?”
“I have no privacy at my apartment right now.  My brother is staying over.”
“It’ll have to be my place, then.  I don’t live too far from here.”
“It’s getting late, and it’s started to rain.  I’ll call a cab.”


I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.  I shall be going on vacation soon but shall be starting another long story as soon as I get back.



email : cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Monday, 12 May 2014

Paying the Rent

Hello again!

I'm in the middle of writing some short stories for inclusion in Waterlines 16.  I started one called Paying the Rent; it showed promise but, as I continued writing, it became obvious to me that this was going to be a great deal longer than the usual story that goes into the Waterlines series.  And I had no way of breaking it up into a serial with two or three parts.

I could have shelved the story and found something else to put in the Waterlines edition.  I liked the story, and wanted to carry on with it, while I still had my Muse breathing down my neck.  So here it is.  But please rest assured that Waterlines 16 will be out as soon as I can finish it and get it passed by my editor.

And now here are some details for Paying the Rent:

     Adults Only. Warning: this story contains elements which some people may find offensive. If you aren't interested in golden showers or watersports, or aren't curious about the fetish, don't buy or read this book.
     Susie lives with Gerry - a control freak - but takes a break to attend a summer-school where she meets Ben, a lawyer. At the end of course party, she gets drunk and ends up in bed with Ben. When she gets home and finds that Gerry already knows what happened, he makes life hell for her. When finds a new place to live, but can't pay the rent, her new landlord has a solution.... What exactly has he in mind? (12,000 words.)


     “I have a problem. You might as well know: my former boyfriend has emptied my bank account. I’m trying to get it back, but it’s going to take time.”
     “And in the meantime… you have nothing to fall back on? Nothing worth selling?”
     “No. And unless I find something pretty soon, I won’t be able to afford to pay you next month’s rent.”
     “Thanks for your honesty. I appreciate that. And I hope you can get your money back quickly. But you have to see things from my point of view. You’re a new tenant, and as far as I’m concerned you’re still on trial here. We hardly know each other, but if you’d been here for six months, let’s say, I’d know you a lot better and I’d probably feel I could trust you. If you can’t pay me when the rent is due, you’ll have to leave.”
     I hadn’t expected this reaction. I was close to tears. “But I have nowhere else to go. Can you help me? Please?” I felt as if I was begging.
     “I have a line of tenants waiting for my rooms. I allowed you to jump your turn as a personal favour to Marina, that’s all. You have to consider yourself lucky to have got this room in the first place.”
     “And Marina’s done a lot for me already, and I don’t want to pester her for any more help.”
     He thought quickly. “Maybe there’s something else. Can we go in your room for a minute or two?”
     I unlocked the door and showed him in. He sat on a chair at the table.
     “I’ve never varied arrangements for rent with a tenant before, but maybe I could be flexible in this case, provided you’re prepared to be flexible too.”
     “Honestly, Scott, I’m desperate. I’d be prepared to consider anything.”
     “I could take a month’s rent in another form.”
     I thought I could see where this was going. I remembered my grandmother telling me she once had a neighbour who had a private arrangement with her landlord.
     “Over the next month, you’d have to sleep with me – here in this room – as often as I choose, on the nights that I choose. There’s room in your bed for both of us. I’m not a violent man, and I’d never harm you. I’d never seek to humiliate you; this is a straightforward business transaction, remember. I wouldn’t make too many demands, but it’s fair to warn you that I do have a few strange fetishes and you’d be expected to satisfy me in that direction too.”
     “Fetishes? What fetishes?”
     “We could call them small services. Things that you would do naturally anyway. Nothing for you to worry about. That’s the deal. Yes or no? If you can’t bring yourself to consider it, you will have to vacate the premises by the end of this week.”
     I sighed and looked at him. He seemed a reasonable guy, I supposed. At least he wasn’t a vicious brute like Gerry. I’d have to steel myself; in the dark nights I could pretend that I had Ben, that adorable lawyer from summer-school, inside me.
     “I don’t want to pressure you, but I have to know now. As I said, I have clients waiting in line for this room if you don’t feel –” 
     “O.K. I agree. Provided it’s only for the month.”


And now I have to get back to Waterlines 16...


email : cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter:  @RachelCray1

Saturday, 3 May 2014

The Master of Glastonbury has arrived

Hello again! 

At last I'm pleased to announce the publication of The Master of Glastonbury.  Thoughts about this story have been lurking on my radar since mid-January, and I started writing it at the beginning of March; other projects intervened (notably Waterlines 15) and I've been working hard at it over the last month, with several final retouches to the text.  I'm relieved it's finally complete!

Here are the details, with an extract to whet your appetite:

Medieval erotica: A story associated with The Poor Nuns series.
Agnes, a gifted artist, dresses as a man to achieve her ambition to become a master painter in great church buildings; her sexual frustrations lead her to create private works of erotic art for private commissions.  Following a narrow escape from a sexual assault one night, she needs somewhere to hide and is permitted to wear a monk’s habit whilst continuing to work in a remote nunnery, a safe haven.  But she craves to become accepted as a woman once more; to be married and raise a family.  Can she ever rid herself of her past life?


     Agnes spent much of her spare time the next day with Master Edward’s book of sketches, studying the pictures of David - dancing provocatively half-naked before the Ark - and of Judith with Holofernes.  Deciding finally on Judith as her subject, she would have her masturbating the drunken Holofernes while she had her knife poised at his neck. This would give her the most sexual pleasure; she could work this theme with a passion, with the kind of driving fury she had seen others apply in their work here when they were totally absorbed. She identified the empty space she would use for her sketch, and would bide her time when she could be left alone to fulfil her growing infatuation.
     The evening came; it was still early enough for her to have all the light she needed, although she would have to work fast. As was her custom, she returned the book to Master Edward without raising any suspicion as to her intentions; then, rather than walking out of the church, she made for the chapel containing the blank wall.
     First, she sketched the head and sinewy body of the male figure, the Assyrian general Holofernes; bearded and handsome, like the lord of the manor who had released her into the care of Master Edward, he rested with his eyes shut, drunk with wine and desire for the young Jewish widow who held him in her arms. Then she began delineating Judith, her breasts cascading out of her loose upper garment, her legs apart provocatively. One arm reached up, holding the general’s sword at his neck, while the other hand went down to caress his erect penis. She wondered whether the original Judith had actually managed to induce her adversary to climax in the moment of his death; she felt a pounding in her crotch as she viewed the completed work. It was important for her to capture the whole scene in her mind for, one day, she would recreate this picture on a wall somewhere for an important commission, painted to perfection and admired by everyone who saw it.
     When she had committed everything to memory, she knew it was time to wash it away. For it must not be seen by anyone; if any of the priests or monks here saw her at work on this - with its erotic connotations - she would be severely punished. It was unseemly for a woman to paint or draw a man’s genitals, particularly a single woman. She would be branded a whore and would be consigned to a brothel at a local tavern to work.
     On the verge of panic, she reached for a rag and plunged it in a pail of water that she had standing ready. There were voices outside in the nave, and they were getting louder. Edging against the doorway, she saw three monks approaching. She would have to stop erasing her work and see to her own survival. Then a voice called out in the distance. The monks turned, and she heard a discussion begin. She looked round the chapel, and saw a table-tomb standing in one corner; it stood only two feet high, and probably contained the remains of a former abbot. There was just enough room for her to hide behind it if the monks came through the doorway.
     Racing over to her hiding place, she squatted behind it and waited to see if the men entered the chapel. She heard footsteps, and looked round the end of the tomb. Only one of the monks had entered, and he was looking at her work. She heard him gasp, and watched as he shuffled his hands round his robe. Although his body hid his actions, he seemed to be holding something in front of him, although his gaze was fixed on her picture. His elbow moved slowly, almost rhythmically, and she realised that he was starting to masturbate. He had been sexually excited by the image she had created out of her own imagination.
     This, to her, was the ultimate accolade; she had inspired a man - through her work - to feel the need to express seed out of his body. And this recognition made her feel sexually excited. If he could make love to himself at the sight of her accomplishment, then so could she. As she began fingering herself, she noticed the monk’s strokes were becoming faster. And her own crotch was soaked with the juices of her pleasure. The monk was interrupted by a call from someone outside, and he left with his pleasure unfinished.  She would have to hold her breath when she climaxed. But, as that moment approached, she heard him depart quickly and she could relax, allowing her orgasm its full and unconditional gratification.
     No sounds were heard now, but she considered it unsafe to remain. Confident that she could escape unnoticed, she got up and made straight for the doorway into the nave, ignoring her sketch on the wall. Within minutes, she was back at her lodgings.
     “Where were you after dinner?” asked Joan when they climbed in bed.
     “I went for a walk. It was a pleasant evening,” she replied.
     “More like she’s found a man to fill her hole,” laughed one of the sisters. “There’s a curious glow about her face. Can you see?”
     “Enough! I’ll tell your father about your filthy mind,” she hissed, and rolled over, hiding her head under the blanket.


     Just for the record, there are plenty of instances of women doing masquerading as men - especially during the First World War (1914-1918) - when women went to fight and, hiding their gender, used specially-made wooden pipes to assist stand-up urination when standing next to the men when relieving themselves.  We only know of those occasions when the women were killed or injured in battle and they were discovered to be female.  How many other women went to war and returned home unscathed, having successfully hidden their secret?

     I hope you get as much enjoyment out of reading this story as I did writing it.  I shall be making tentative steps to write the next in this series - Return to the Poor Nuns - very soon.  It depends on what the Muse delivers into my mind first; I have a nice story already written for Waterlines 16, and am waiting to conceive another two tales to complement it.

     Please feel free to write to me at any time - I'm always interested in feedback and, if you're worried about privacy, I can assure you that your identity will never be disclosed to anyone.



cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

The Poor Nuns series

Right now I'm putting the final revisions to my latest work, The Master of Glastonbury, which is a story associated with The Poor Nuns series.  It occurred to me that I ought to write something here to clarify a couple of points, just in case there's any confusion about the order you should read the books, since I have not written them in a strict sequence.

Quite honestly, these stories can be read in any order.  In fact, when I began the first one (Dating a Dickgirl), set a few years in the future, I wasn't sure whether it would be popular enough to justify creating a series; I alluded to a family legend in that story and, when I realised a chain of books in this theme (futa, or woman with a penis - coupled with a bunch of horny nuns) would "have wheels", I wrote a story round the family legend (Dickgirl in the Dungeon); it turned out that the legend was based on a fairy story set a century earlier, so I wrote that (A Poor Nun's Endowment).  I guess that means we're talking here about writing a prequel to a prequel.

But that's where we stop going backwards.  Now all the stories will be moving forward, a step at a time.  If you haven't read any of these yet, you might derive the most pleasure from them if you read them in the following order.  But it's not compulsory!

1.  A Poor Nun's Endowment (narrated by the nun, Dame Anna, with the prologue and epilogue by Michael, her pupil)
2.  The Poor Nuns in Revolt (narrated by Michael)
3.  The Master of Glastonbury (narrated by Michael) - to be published soon.
4.  Return of the Poor Nuns (narrated by Agnes, Anna's daughter, with the prologue and epilogue by Abbot Michael) - I'm just about to start the first draft.
5.  [another story to come which will cover Agnes' sexual relationship with someone - no working title yet].
6.  Dickgirl in the Dungeon (Abbot Michael's solution to a family succession problem)
7.  Dating a Dickgirl (set far in the future - with an idea sparked off from an old family tradition about Abbot Michael, a distant ancestor)

I must tell you that The Master of Glastonbury is longer than the others in this series - almost twice as long - which has held up the schedule for writing my other stories.  I hadn't planned this - I have to blame my Muse for coming up with extra ideas as I've been busy at the laptop.
  Finally, I would mention here that I'm considering rewriting Dickgirl in the Dungeon.  The words will all be the same but (to paraphrase an old gag from Morecambe and Wise) not necessarily in the same order as the old version.  I believe I put too many flashbacks into the narrative, which might confuse the reader - so I may put everything back in a linear fashion, starting at the beginning and finishing the story at the end.  If any reader out there has a comment to make about this idea, I'd be very pleased to hear from you.

Until next time,

Best wishes,


email : cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter : @RachelCray1

Tuesday, 8 April 2014

At last... Waterlines 15 is out!

My sincere apologies to everyone about the delay in production of Waterlines 15.  It isn't due to laziness on my part, I assure you - I just have so many stories that I wanted to complete, and I was waiting for the Muse to descend to give me a hand.  Not only that, but I had to make a few changes in my strategy... for example, In Small, Intimate Rooms was originally intended to be a very short story that I could include in Waterlines 15 but, whilst writing it, the characters took on a life of their own and it turned out to be longer than I'd expected - so I had it published separately back in January this year as a stand-alone ebook.  And I'm close to finishing a sequel to The Poor Nuns in Revolt - but I'm still researching some details... I want to ensure historical accuracy to give the story some credibility.

And apart from that... I have two stories that I'm working on in my other personal, Rachel Cray - they're in a new series - I've been working on them both for eighteen months and I'm still changing my mind about one of the main characters.

Anyway, let's get back to talking about Waterlines 15:

Warning: these two stories are for over-18s only and contain elements which some people may find offensive. If you aren't interested in watersports (golden showers) or oral sex, or aren't remotely curious, then please don't buy or read this book.

When We Were Lovers (5,200 words)

Cheryl and Alan were once lovers, but split up after a six-month intense relationship.  After an erotic dream, she realises how much she misses him.  But when she finally tracks him down, hoping to pick up the threads of their affair, she’s in for a nasty shock.  Nothing ever stays the same.  Can anything good come out of her disappointment?

Having to Share (8,500 words)

Jessica and Ken work together; when the firm moves to new premises, there's no room for them and they have to stay behind until space is available.  There's only one toilet available that they have to share - and intimate accidents are bound to happen... especially when an unexpected visitor with a voyeuristic habit looks in, and tempts Ken into a little unplanned activity.


     Shortly after the main body of staff went to work in the new building, it was Jessica’s birthday.  Anxious to make the two of us feel as if we were still part of the organization, it was arranged that everybody would go to the local bar to help her celebrate the occasion.  By two o’clock that day, all the staff returned to work in the new office block, but I stayed with her at the bar because she looked a little unsteady on her feet.  I was watching carefully to make sure that nobody put anything in any of her drinks; someone had doctored a girl’s drink the previous year with the intention of seducing her.  The company had taken a pretty dim view of the affair, and the perpetrator had been fired as soon as he confessed.
     We stayed at the bar for another thirty minutes and then I decided I’d help her stagger back to the office and get her to sober up.  I fixed her a black coffee and she sat down in an easy chair with her legs curled round to make herself comfortable.  I returned to my desk to work, answering the phone when necessary, and soon got back into my stride.  I turned round to check Jessica was all right; she was fast asleep.
     After a while my bladder felt full, so I felt the need to go to the bathroom.  I stood at the toilet bowl in one of the cubicles, unzipped myself and began to let go.  Normally I’d have shut the door behind me but, since Jessica was asleep, I didn’t think I’d be disturbed.
     “Hello, big boy!”  It was Jessica.  My pee flow stopped automatically, and I turned round and smiled at her looking round my shoulder; as I moved, I guess she would have snatched a quick profile view of my dick. I don’t know whether she saw anything, but her face certainly looked down in that direction.
     “It’s O.K. I’ve nearly finished,” I said.
     “I thought you were in here,” she giggled.  “I have a confession to make, Ken. I’m horny.”
     “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
     “Maybe.  But I’m horny.  Is there anything you can do to please a girl?”

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Caught in the Act !

Hello again!
My latest title - Caught in the Act! - has been published on Kindle and Smashwords.  I hope you like it - the story is based on three events which actually happened to people with whom I have worked over the years.  I took the three threads and spun them into one single narrative.

Here's the outline:

Sally is promoted and moved to a new job; she finds a key member of her staff has a private habit and has alienated the rest of her team to the extent that its whole future is in doubt.  Anxious to make her mark in the office, she attempts to impose her own controversial solution to the problem... sometimes calling her own sanity into question.  Can she resolve the situation - and create a successful team from the remnant she has inherited?

And here's a specimen extract to whet your appetite:

At the end of one particularly exhausting day during her final period in her current job, she was relieved when it was time to get to bed.  She lived alone in her apartment, and had become used to her routine; she hoped that the new job wouldn’t interfere with the way of life that she had established over the years.  Sleep came easily to her that night but she was visited by an unusual dream. 

She was in the bar where she had been celebrating with her friends shortly after the news of her promotion had been announced.  This time, she was sitting in the chair that had been occupied by the young guy who had stared at her with such passion as he played with himself.  And the guy was back there in the dream, drinking at the table she had used; she looked down at his lap, and noticed he had his cock out again.  It was hanging limp, waiting to be entertained.

Responding to the challenge, she pulled up her skirt and made sure he could see the tops of her stockings, with the fastenings of her suspenders or garters.  He was electrified.  His hand flew to his crotch and his fingers curled round his cock.  She decided to go further, and pulled her panties aside to show him her pussy.  He began pumping hard at his dick.  Licking her lips to entice him further, she allowed her hand to wander down to her clit, parting her labia and showing him her vagina.

His face had gone red with pleasure, his eyes concentrating on her stockings, her thighs and her genitalia.  It can’t be long now, she thought.  He’ll have to come soon.

She focused her attention on the tiny pee-hole at the end of his dick head, willing his semen to spill out on to the carpet.

But, for all the energy he was putting into the exercise, his climax wouldn’t arrive.  Disappointed, but eager to help, she got out of her chair and knelt down under his table, positioning herself between his feet.  Without a word, she reached forward and put his warm erection in her mouth, moving it round gently with her tongue.

With her lips locked round his shaft, she groaned in an effort to prompt him to share his pleasure with her.  He remained silent; she moaned louder.

She jolted in her bed, and woke up.  She had been moaning in her sleep, and the sound had quickly returned her to the real world.  Her crotch was wet from her dream.

Looking at her alarm clock, she noticed it was only three o’clock.  She turned over and willed herself back to the bar, hoping to resume her ardour with this stranger.  But the scene wouldn’t return, and she felt frustrated; she couldn’t get back to sleep while she was in this state.
Grabbing her pillow, she tucked it between her legs and thrust her pelvis against it; she squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of the guy in the chair who was jerking himself off as the edge of the pillow brushed roughly against her clit.  In less than a minute she felt overcome with an intense rapture that flooded through her, bringing her infatuation to its conclusion.


I hope you enjoy it!  I'm busy preparing stories for inclusion in the next edition of Waterlines (number 15).  Watch this space for more news.

Keep smiling!

email: cpw (at) restroom (dot) net
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Sunday, 9 February 2014

The Look-out

The Look-out was published on Amazon Kindle yesterday.  It’s one of two stories I’ve written recently which are centered round sex in the office - I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it

Here are the details:

Adults Only.  Warning: this story is for over-18s only and contains elements which some people may find offensive. If you aren't interested in golden showers or watersports, or aren't curious about the fetish, don't buy or read this book.

Pauline meets Jim at the annual company dance; after a little flirting they become horny and go to a derelict warehouse for some exploratory intimacy. Worried about getting caught by people wandering into the abandoned site, she asks Cosima - a co-worker - to come with them and stand as look-out while she has sex with Jim.  Cosima gets jealous and wants a slice of the action for herself, but Pauline is worried that she might steal Jim from her.  What hold does Cosima have on Jim?  And what happens when she starts to behave strangely, threatening to wreck the relationship between Pauline and Jim?  Is there any hope for their future together?  (10,000 words)


“Yes, I’ve heard about her job offer,” Andrew said when Pauline phoned him that evening.  “And I’ll be glad to have her off my back.”

“She hasn’t made up her mind to go yet.  When I asked her about it, she said that she wasn’t sure.  Apparently she’s met a guy and doesn’t want to leave him.”

“Well, this is news.  Then she won’t be pestering me again, whether she stays or goes.  This calls for a celebration, Pauline.”

“I thought for a minute that the guy she met might have been you.  She wouldn’t tell me his name.”

“No.  You can breathe easy there.  It’s not me.  And I would never lie to you, Pauline.  Can you hold on a minute?  I can hear the door bell.  It’s getting late, and I don’t know who’s calling at this time.  I’ll just check the security monitor….  What the hell?  It’s Cosima, standing on my doorstep.  Looks like she’s carrying a bottle of wine.  This is too much….”

“Has she ever done this before?” Pauline asked.

“She’s badgered me on the phone a few times, but I’ve usually hung up politely.  She’s never turned up on my doorstep before.  I’m not going to answer the door.”

“She knows you’re in there.”

“What do I tell her that’s going to make her go away?”

“Tell her you’re entertaining me.  I know it’s a lie.  But in a way you are entertaining me, over the phone.  Hang up, answer the door, and ring me straight back when she’s gone.”

Pauline put down her phone and waited for him to call.  After two minutes, she was still waiting.  Relax, she told herself.  Cosima’s just being difficult.  She switched on the television to watch the news broadcast.  After a while, she looked at her wristwatch; she reckoned that over five minutes had elapsed since she’d spoken to him.  She wanted to ring him back, to find out what had happened.  But, she reasoned, she would be no better than Cosima, who had pestered him so many times on the phone; he might think she, too, was being demanding or controlling.  She decided to go to bed.

As soon as she’d switched out the bedroom light and tried to get to sleep, she felt more awake than ever.  She couldn’t spend the night with this uncertainty racing through her mind; she got up, made herself another drink, and began to watch a late-night movie on television.  But the action couldn’t drag her mind away from Cosima, standing on Andrew’s doorstep with her bottle of wine.  After an hour - by which time she had to admit that she had yawned so many times and had lost interest in the movie - she decided to get back to bed.  And, within twenty minutes, she was sound asleep.

She had a dream.  She was back at the firm’s annual dance, and had stepped out with Andrew for a little intimacy; they returned to the deserted warehouse once more, where Cosima was waiting for them.

“I need to pee,” Cosima smiled.  “Do you want to watch me, Andrew?  I know how much you like to watch.”


The other story - Caught in the Act! - will be published in the next day or two.  Details will be available just as soon as it’s ready.

All the best!


twitter: @RachelCray1


Thursday, 16 January 2014

Now Available: The Poor Nuns in Revolt

Hello again!

My latest story, The Poor Nuns in Revolt - a sequel to A Poor Nun's Endowment - has just been published on Amazon Kindle.  It will be available on Smashwords in a few days' time, and on Apple, Barnes & Noble Nook, and Kobo in a couple of weeks from now.

Here are some details to whet your appetite:

After Mary and David have made themselves at home in the deserted house they came across in A Poor Nun's Endowment, Mary is visited by an old friend from the priory.  All is not well with the community, after the visit of the Great Pestilence (the Black Death); the evil Benedicta has seized control and is now Mother Prioress.  Mary agrees to return to the priory for a week to see if she can influence Benedicta into easing the poor nuns into a gentler Rule.  But she hasn't reckoned for the priest, who has some deviant sexual habits and attempts to blackmail Mary into performing sexual acts to gratify his cravings once he discovers the unique endowment in her anatomy.  What strange hold does he have on Benedicta?  What can Mary achieve to bring about a happier way of life for the good nuns?

And here's a SAMPLE EXTRACT:

“Are you coming with us to dinner, Philomena?” Sister Angela asked her as they filed out of the church.
“Soon, sister.  And please call me Mary now.  I love you all, but I am not a member of your community.”
“Are leaving us again so soon?”
“No.  I’m staying a little longer.  I have a few private things I need to do before I depart.”
The nuns interpreted ‘private things’ to mean spiritual matters and didn’t care to invade her privacy. 
She was just about to enter the refectory when she felt a hand on her shoulder.  Turning round, she saw it was Clare; she looked solemn.
“There’s talk of your going away,” she said.  “I couldn’t bear it.  Not now.  We were so happy when you came back to us.” Clare led her a few steps past the refectory door so they could have privacy.
“I promised you I’d stay a week, dear Sister Clare.  I have my own man waiting for me at home, and a lot of tasks to be done on our land.”
“I know.  But, before we go to dinner, may I hold you?  May I hold your cock, just for a few moments?  It’s so comforting.  And you can put it inside me, if you like.  Just like you did last night.” There’s a dark recess along the cloister where we won’t be seen.”
“Not now.  It’s too risky.”
“When, then?”
Mary remembered that, now that the priest had gone, his bed in the vestry would be available.  “We can go in the church vestry tonight.”
“But the last time I came to see you, when the others had left, that old priest came and threw me out.”
“Don’t worry.  He won’t be there.”
“After Compline prayers?”
“Yes.  But not for too long.”
They went to the refectory for dinner and, afterwards, there was a short period of quiet time set aside for reflection.  Mary had decided that this would be an appropriate moment for her to call on Mother Prioress to tell her of the priest’s departure. 
But Clare detained her.  “Dear Mary, I couldn’t stop thinking about… about tonight.  I’m bursting now, and don’t think I could wait until tonight.  Couldn’t we go to the vestry now and… do what we were going to do after Compline?”
She had a soft spot for Sister Clare.  It wouldn’t do any harm, she supposed.  And then she’d go and see Benedicta about the priest.  They walked across to the church and entered the side door into the vestry.  Once inside, Clare lay down on the straw bed that they had used last night, and pulled up her habit ready for Mary to take her.


The first in this series,  A Poor Nun's Endowment, was very popular and if you enjoyed that story, I hope you'll enjoy this one too.  And, in the Epilogue, I've inserted a hint of two more stories still to come.  At the end of the book I've inserted the opening sections of other works with this theme - Dickgirl in the Dungeon and Dating a Dickgirl.

Until next time,

Best wishes,

cpw (at) restroom (dot) net

Saturday, 4 January 2014

In Small, Intimate Rooms - an erotic short story

Hello again - and a Happy New Year to everyone!

I’ve just published my latest short story - In Small, Intimate Rooms - and I do hope you enjoy it.  Here’s a quick synopsis:

On a vacation in a remote area of Thailand, John meets an East European prostitute; she tells him of her unfortunate plight, and he feels sorry for her; he returns to her village the next day to find she has disappeared with a Danish guy.   Although John meets her again briefly on a business trip in Copenhagen the following year, he wonders if they will ever see each other again and rekindle the passion he had with her in her tiny room during their first encounter... 

Adults Only.  Warning: this story is for over-18s only and contain elements which some people may find offensive. If you aren't interested in golden showers or watersports, or aren't curious about the fetish, don't buy or read this book.


Before I had a chance to turn round, thank her and depart, she moved behind me and shut the door. She pulled up her skirt, revealing black stockings and garters; like the other girls I’d seen earlier, she had no underwear. “You do want to fuck me, don’t you?” she asked. “It’s cheap for you. Special offer. And you can come back for more tomorrow.”
I was tempted. But I’d heard a lot from other guys who’d got themselves all kinds of nasty diseases from these girls and I wasn’t prepared to risk my health.
She saw my hesitation. “So you don’t want to fuck, then? There are other things we can do. You want to come between my legs, maybe?”
“All right,” I said, and pulled my pants down to my knees.
“Why not take them right off? You want to pee, but can’t. But I want to pee. Then after you’ve come, you can pee too.”
She stood with her legs astride the toilet bowl, and beckoned me to come forward.
“Hold me tight.”
I obeyed, and felt her jump forward, her thighs wrapped round mine; her cheek rubbed against mine, and I smelt cheap perfume. Her heels pushed against the back of my knees; I took the entire weight of her body.
“Hold me still. I’m going to pee now.”


I’m busy writing a sequel to A Poor Nun’s Endowment and I hope to have that out soon.  Mary returns to the priory, where all hell has broken loose, and...  No, I mustn’t write any more here and spoil your enjoyment.

Keep smiling!
My best wishes to you for 2014,


Monday, 25 November 2013

The House Sitter

Hello again!

My latest title, The House Sitter, has just been published and is available for Amazon Kindle immediately.  I've been assured that editions for Apple (I-books) and Barnes & Noble (Nook) will be ready shortly.
This is the second in the new series Strangers for a Night, and here's a brief introduction:

A guy walks into Heather's office whom she hasn't seen for fifteen years; at the end of their business meeting, she invites him to lunch at her home, where she's house-sitting for a wealthy couple currently out of the country. Over the course of the afternoon they develop a sensual connection and enjoy sex games together. But when he takes her back to his hotel room to continue their romp, the prospect of a relationship suddenly comes crashing down....
And here's a sample extract:

     We were stretched out, fully-clothed, on my bed. We had our arms round each other and began kissing again. Soon I felt his hand fumbling up my skirt; I pulled up the front and he quickly found his way into my panties. His finger had no trouble finding my bud and he started stroking me.
     “I want to go down on you,” he whispered in my ear.
     Without answering, I pulled off my hose and underwear and pushed my skirt up to my waist; I rolled over on my back and opened my thighs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a man’s tongue down there; I braced myself and thrust my crotch repeatedly at his mouth. I wanted my climax now. I couldn’t wait any longer.
     The boy next door whom I had once fancied was now a man and he was performing one of the most intimate acts on my body. The fact that he was a business client seemed to have no relevance to the occasion. I wanted him to do this. And, when I’d come, I’d want him to do it to me again.
     I felt his finger slowly poking its way up my anus; I hadn’t expected this. I’d never had this done to me before, and it heightened the sensation. My mind drifted and began fantasizing how it might feel with his cock up there.


I'm still waiting for my Muse to deliver the next story in this series - I have other projects in the pipeline and I'm hoping to have another title out before the Festive Season.

All the best

email : cpw (at) restroom (dot) net