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.

SPECIMEN EXTRACT:

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.

Best

Chrissie

email : cpw (at) restroom (dot) net

Twitter: @RachelCray1

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.)

SPECIMEN EXTRACT:

     “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...

Best,
Chrissie

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

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?

SAMPLE:

     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.

Best

Chrissie

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