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  • feedwordpress 09:42:57 on 2017/09/13 Permalink
    Tags: , concubine, hooker,   

    American Concubine – Steamy S&M With a Younger Man 

    American Concubine is out – finally, frantically, breathlessly … I have a dampness beneath my armpits and a feeling of guilt that’s terribly English, I know, and completely genuine.

    Guilt because I have not written a blog for months and now here I am asking you, my loyal readers, to dip into their pockets and get a copy of my new book. And even that needs an explanation.

    American Concubine is the retitled anthology of six novellas originally titled Fallen Angels. For some reason, the android censors at ‘distribution’ discovered reasons to shield the reading public from my work – it was just SO sexy their mechanical minds had to be re-oiled twice a day! I had to tinker with certain sections until the robots  settled down and did what robots are supposed to do, stop being human. Weird? Absolutely.

    The anthology consists of six novellas beginning with the luscious tale of an unfulfilled woman who meets a younger man and learns that discipline might just be the answer to cure her own frustrations. With American Concubine are five more tales: Snow Falls Softly, Flight 69, Sophie’s Secret, Hell is Other People and Bringing Angels to Life.

    Excerpt from American Concubine

    She slipped down to the bed so he could remove her shoes, her red pants, her panties with satin bows. She was with a man ten years younger than her and she thought about something Justine had said: why had she waited so long? She was naked, finally, and being naked with this stranger she didn’t know and knew nothing about made her nipples harden.

    He stood there waiting for her to unbuckle his belt, unsnap the button at the top of his jeans, lower the zipper. He was wearing white shorts and when his cock emerged from the folds she hesitated only long enough to admire this thing, this creature that is man, this work of art, this object with a will of its own. His cock was long, wide, the head pale pink and it felt as smooth as porcelain as it slid between her lips and down her throat.

    ‘That’s it, slowly now, up and down, up and down. Don’t think, just go with the flow,’ he said and she remembered the way he had encouraged her with his velvety voice as they crossed the Queensboro Bridge and completed the New York Marathon.

    She paused for breath. She flicked her tongue across the indent at the tip of his cock and softly squeezed the sack of his balls. He sighed. He liked that. She dropped to her knees. She pulled his jeans and boxers down to his feet. He tossed his jacket on a chair, removed his tee-shirt and took hold of the hair at the nape of her neck before setting her back in motion.

    ‘Open your eyes, look up at me,’ he said and she did.

    Michelle could hear the whoosh and slap of flesh against flesh. She held the globes of his backside and slid rhythmically up and down the length of his cock, her mouth expanding and contracting, her senses pricked by the scent of roses. She hadn’t done this for a long time, longer than she could recall, but it’s like…like swimming. You don’t forget. It’s natural, it’s feminine. She had no idea why it felt so right but it felt so right; it felt as if she were born to be down on her knees, eyes wide, a beautiful cock sliding in and out of her throat.

    American Concubine is available

    NOW, TODAY –

    Just click and read –

    https://bookgoodies.com/a/B075H392G4

    The post American Concubine – Steamy S&M With a Younger Man appeared first on Romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

     
  • feedwordpress 14:24:38 on 2016/05/26 Permalink
    Tags: becoming a prostitute, , call girl, hooker, prostitute   

    Becoming a Prostitute Has Never Been Easier 

    Becoming a prostitute is a mind set, a cultural shift where girls no longer see any reason to feel ashamed, contrite or degraded.

    Gone are the analogue days of standing on street corners in a short skirt that shows your knickers, or pasting cards in smelly phone boxes. In the digital age, becoming a prostitute is practically the fashion.

    Finding new partners is a swipe away, easier than painting your toe nails. If you go on a dinner date and the guy is boring the fillings from your teeth during the main course, you can slip off to the loo, hit the smart-phone and hook up with somebody a taxi ride away in time for dessert.

    Girls like sex. Sex is good for you. It’s healthy. It keeps you young. The stigma once attached to sleeping around is so last century. Many girls (boys, too) who need cash view becoming a prostitute in the same way as, say, working the night shift, just better paid. According to a recent survey, for 1 in 20 students, becoming a prostitute is seen not only as the only way to pay living expenses and college fees.

    For a lot of girls, becoming a prostitute feels sexy, bohemian, written in the stars. Gemma, my best friend at school, is flighty, moody and beautiful. Her list of old boyfriends, ex-lovers, blind dates, strangers randomly met and internet one-nighters reads like a telephone directory abandoned in the Heartbreak Hotel.

    In a school staging of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, she once played the nymph Daphne, who pursues Apollo…

           Apollo flies and Daphne holds the chase.
           The dove pursues the griffin. The mild hind
           Makes speed to catch the tiger—bootless speed,
           When cowardice pursues and valour flies.

    And the role of the nymphet stuck.

    Becoming a Prostitute Blog

    Gemma moved to Paris six months ago to polish up her French and I made the journey from Barcelona on the overnight train at the weekend to visit. Seeing old friends is like being a teenager again. You jug. You giggle. You slip back through time to who you were not whom you have become.

    Apparently, I had not brought anything suitable for the Montmartre night ahead and Gemma dressed me in a black dress with a scooped back that showed the crack in my bottom, Mandaley mules, and my hair held in a chignon – très Français.

    Gemma was stunning in scarlet with matching lipstick. She insisted on giving me a key, in case we split up, sprayed a cloud of Guerlain Shalimar in the air and we clip-clopped on our heels down two flights of stairs into a taxi driven by a man in a matelot shirt with a rakish moustache and dark glasses. Paris always lives up to the cliché. 

    The driver dropped us at the entrance to a hotel where the restaurant had a view across Paris to the Eiffel Tower, lit that night in red, white and blue. The table was waiting for us. Dinner consisted of small elegant portions on large plates which cost a fortune and we barely touched. We did finish the bottle of Moët & Chandon. When you say no to champagne you say no to life.

    There is something sad and poignant being one of two girls dressed up with no one to admire you except the gay waiter from Austria with awful French and the fat man at the next table with the skeletal wife who resembled the remains of the trout meunière amandine pushed to the side of my plate.

    After dinner, we went to the bar, where girls dressed like us, alone and in pairs, sat sipping cocktails and looking as if they were considering the existential benefits of becoming a prostitute. Two men joined us. Jean-Paul and Georges, both French, fluent English speakers and both ‘in finance,’ a phrase that always makes me imagine a man who goes home at night, strips off his clothes and gets into a bath filled with $100 bills.

    How the deal was made, I have no idea, but ten minutes later, Gemma went to the loo and Jean-Paul followed. They vanished – to his room in the hotel, I would later discover. If Gemma, sparkly in red, was the prize, Georges didn’t seem miffed being left alone with me in black and an empty glass. He asked if I wanted another drink. I said no, and he shrugged and said: Let’s go up to my room?

    I should insert here that I have never shied away from going to bed with strangers. Quite the opposite. There was a time when it was something I would seek out, just for the madness of it; the danger. But I wanted to confirm what I thought I already knew and asked with false naiveté: What for?

    ‘Well, to sleep together. Isn’t that why you are here?’

    Georges was quite good looking, in a French rugby player sort of way. But the idea of becoming a prostitute that Montmartre night in Paris would never have entered my head.

    I took a taxi back to Gemma’s apartment – the Mandaley mules were beginning to hurt – and drank mint tea while I opened my notebook and wrote a heading in green ink: Becoming a prostitute has never been easier.

    Becoming a Prostitute Has Never Been EasierKatie in Love – more than 100 Five-Star Reviews. Visit Amazon.

    5***** “Chloe Thurlow’s novel draws the reader into a world of love and desire. Moving at a pace and keeping up the suspense throughout, the heroic Katie Boyd falls for a doctor from a different world with different perspectives. Their worlds collide, and it is the chemistry between them that has the reader gripped to the end. There is nothing cliché in their relationship. The reader feels present in the story, especially in familiar locations in the novel, like the city of London. Brilliant and thoroughly enjoyable read.” Sarah Jeffery, Amazon

     

     

    The post Becoming a Prostitute Has Never Been Easier appeared first on Romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

     
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