“Wet Satin Plaything” in Licked – an Anthology of Oral Pleasures

Tags

Adrea Kore, Anthology Release, cunnilingus, erotic fiction, erotica, femme fatales, Kinky Revenge, Licked Anthology, Oral Sex, Publications, reviews, Taboo, Wet Satin Plaything

 My story Wet Satin Plaything was accepted by House of Erotica for their themed anthology Licked  and was released December 2015.

It’s Spring here now in Australia -and I’m in the mood for some spring-cleaning – so  am updating all of my published fiction information this month.

 This was quite a cathartic little beast of a story to write – allowing me to explore some themes I find particularly (and personally) compelling  – those of acute sexual hunger that verges on addiction, complex relationships as places of struggle and transformation, and feminine revenge .

Licked contains “seven lip-smackingly sensual stories of all kinds of oral pleasure. Stories of nostalgia for the taste of a lover, long distance relationships, and revenge. Stories taking in both the distant future and pleasures in the past. ”

Edited by Jillian Boyd (Spy Games – Flappers, Jazz and Valentino) Licked is a tribute to the act of oral sex – to the intimacy, trust and the taste of your lover, the scent, the feelings the act invokes in both the giver and receiver. … Licked is a sizzling fictional exploration of some of the many ways oral sex can inspire so much more than just a hot flash of arousal. ”

For a sneak preview of my story, read on …

WET SATIN PLAYTHING

Last week, she tried to leave him on a Wednesday just before dinner.

But then, he’d pinned her to the wall in the hallway. Slowly increasing his weight on her body as one hand stole under her skirt, he’d caressed her satin-covered sex, kissing her deeply, quieting her distress.  He’d sunk to his knees, sucking at her through her underwear. Her fingers running through his rough blonde curls, coaxing his tongue deeper into her, were a tender plea for reconciliation. The cooking casserole had dried in the oven, as they devoured each other instead.

The week before it had been an early Tuesday morning.  He had taken her from behind, half-asleep on her side. No words passed between them, just the surprised gasps of her prolonged orgasms, and the quiet grunt of his eventual release. Then he rose silently, almost stealthily from the bed to leave for work. Lying awake in the chill of dawn, she wasn’t sure at what moment she felt more alone – when he was deep inside of her, or in the silence eddying through the house in the wake of the slammed door.

Sex was now the best kind of conversation they had. And although sometimes she hated herself for it, she always became wet at his first touch with any hint of sexual intent. In two years, he’d never failed to fling her onto a wild carousel of sensation, orgasms whirling through her with a carnivalian ecstasy and ferocity, seduced onto this maddening ride by his cock, his tongue, his seeking-finding fingers.

The month before, she had wanted to leave him on a claustrophobic Friday night. Claustrophobic because they never went out anymore, and she found herself curled in a foetal position in the hallway after trying to start a conversation about his behaviour (she daren’t use the word anger), and the yelling and threats had started and didn’t stop for an hour. His fury fell on her like piercing needles of relentless rain. No matter how small she tried to make herself the tirade hit her all over her body, the needles seeming to edge their way with icy precision through her hunched upper back into her heart.

…

She would leave him. She would. They were never going to go back to how they were in the beginning… She would watch as the kind gleam in his blue eyes steeled over into the grey slate of barely-repressed fury if she demanded too much of him. The electrifying sex remained, but with an undercurrent of desperation for her now.

Her earthen man with hands of bark liked to get her wet before taking off her panties. He liked to suck at her through the sheer fabric, his hot breath melting her into streams of pleasure. The thrill of his mouth being so close, feeling his tongue trying to enter her would send currents of yearning through her body, saturating the fabric with her liquid orgasms. Kneading into her cunt with his lips, he would force her thighs apart with his hands, giving her the occasional wet flick with his tongue, until she was pliant and yielding. Only then, when her wetness had seeped out onto the sheets as irrefutable evidence of her desire for him, only then would he remove her panties.

She would leave him this week. Before the verbal threats of ‘smashing her face in’ via a heated phone call a few mornings ago became a reality. Before the violence seething in his words and in the aggressive way he drove his work truck – tools lurching to and fro in the back just as her stomach lurched – bled into his actual actions towards her. How had she gotten here? She had not been with verbally abusive partners before, and she was enough of a feminist to know that she didn’t deserve to be treated this way. This didn’t stop her from feeling the fear in her belly when he was possessed by one of his rages, from shrinking and becoming this placating, cringing thing she didn’t recognise when he would threaten to leave her. Worst of all, it didn’t stop her from wanting him, wanting him even when he reeked of sweat and soil. It was as if she wanted to be sullied by him.

Her earthen man with hands of bark.

The man who loved cunt, she thought wryly. She suspected he loved her only when his face was between her legs, breathing in the scent of her arousal, his tongue a probing promise of release. Or maybe it was more twisted than even that. Maybe he just loved her cunt. Not her. Sometimes this gave her a strange confidence, a surety that he would not, could not, leave her. He needed the scent of her all over him, like an archaic ritual that meant she belonged to him. She was his territory. But her scent on his skin was also a calling spell, marking him as hers, compelling him to return to her. Who had more power, she wondered. Waiting for him to text, delaying making weekend plans with other friends until she knew when she was seeing him, she knew the answer.

At other times, she was seized by an image of her own cunt, opening wide, labia swelling up and backwards, forcing her legs to fold up on either side of her torso like giant reverse secateurs, engorged lips turning back on herself, devouring the rest of her, a dark hungry mouth. Vagina Dentata, she thought, though somewhat inverse to how Freud had originally conceived of it. Instead of it being about a man’s fear that the vagina would envelop and devour him; that he would be sucked back into the womb from whence he came into the world, this was a fear that her own vagina and its insatiable desire for one man would devour her.

Turning back on herself. She heard her own description echoing in her head. Her sexual need for him was making her turn her back on herself.

Was this what addiction felt like?

She would leave him when he least expected it. The prolonged simmering of her own unexpressed anger was starting to develop a voice. Starting to have ideas. Making her feel like she could do something totally unexpected. And this ‘something’ was the only way she would feel some sense of retribution.

…

*  * *

“Lie still. Let me look at you…”

She can’t believe she’s done this. Can’t believe he’s lying there naked, silent, so very compliant. She saunters around the bed, viewing him from all angles, ensuring he too can see the undulation of her hips and buttocks in her high heels, the now-bared and beckoning place between her thighs dipping in and out of his view.

Laid out on the bed, she thinks how vulnerable he looks in them. How he is suddenly transformed; the harsh words, so unexpectedly hushed.

Now, he is her plaything.  All the dirty-earthed hard labour of him is softened in supplication.  Softened by the touch of satin and lace.  Her satin and lace.

Stretched across his cheeks, the sheer fabric strains to contain him. They are tighter on him than on her; black to match the leather bindings around his wrists. These two dark interruptions against his skin are almost all she needs to tame him.

Almost.

Hands on hips, she stands at the base of the bed, brazenly contemplating his erection as she moves her own legs further apart into a defiant stance. With satisfaction, she notices how he lifts his head to get a better view of her.

“You know what you are, today? You’re my little satin plaything.” She prowls onto the bed, knees on either side of his legs, as she moves slowly up his torso, to a standing position. “And I am going to do whatever I like with you.” Gazing up at her, he is perfectly silent.

“Take off my shoe, satin plaything.”

Despite the binding, he manages it.

“Good. Now the other one.”  Clumsily, he repeats the two-handed manoeuvre on her right shoe.

As she stands on the bed over his body, she trails a toe along his torso, smiling down at him as she moves herself so her sex is directly above his face.

“Such a clever little plaything.”

She tantalizes him, oscillating her hips as she lowers herself towards his face. He’s twitching and moaning. But he’s making no attempt to regain control.

She likes him like this. Vulnerable. Waiting. Wordless.

One thing is certain. Today, he’s not the one in control.

She lowers her knees on to the bed, her thighs a vice on his torso. Holding  him firmly in place she moves her hand to his mouth, examining her creative handiwork and reaching out to stroke his lips through the sheer fabric; this potently personal totem of her desire.

She leans in to kiss him – a masked kiss, a cloak-and-dagger-kiss.

The perfect gag.  Perfect to keep her plaything quiet.

© Adrea Kore September 2015

*  * *

 

  SO GET LICKED – YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!

 Also available via Amazon

What the Reviews are Saying:

“I would definitely recommend this anthology to anyone who loves erotica and likes to indulge in very naughty short reads.

Licked, liked, and loved it! (I didn’t actually lick it, but had it been a hardback I was reading I might have).”

Coco Bell – Bell, Book and Erotica

“One of my favourite writers of erotic fiction, Adrea Kore, explores the torture of desire, of compulsion and addiction … She writes not only to arouse but to challenge us intellectually and emotionally. Her cleverly embroidered story of revenge is haunting, its prose woven with poetic refrain.

Let go your inhibitions and inhabit your senses. Embrace these tales of salt-sweet delight and, in so doing, discover oral pleasures anew.”

• Emmanuelle de Maupassant 

 

I hope you enjoyed my excerpt – and would love to hear what you thought … 

I’m interviewed by the anthology’s Editor on the intricasies and challenges of writing about oral sex  ….. here

 

 

Interview: Oral Pleasures on the Page – with Editor Jillian Boyd

Tags

Adrea Kore, Anthology Release, cunnilingus, Female Sexuality, femme fatales, Interview, Licked Anthology, Oral Sex, sex as addiction, Squirting, Taboo, Wet Satin Plaything

 

Soon after the release of erotic anthology Licked, I chatted to the anthology’s editor Jillian Boyd. She asked me to talk about my story Wet Satin Plaything: one of seven stories featured in the anthology and my thoughts on the rather slippery subject of the anthology’s theme: oral sex.

Jillian: What would you say your story is about?

Adrea: My story Wet Satin Plaything started off as several scenes of hot oral sex and intense, somewhat kinky sex, where a generally non-dominant woman is driven to a point where she finds her Inner Dominatrix.  It centred around a man and woman in relationship, the man is very into the act of cunnilingus, and gets off on all things associated with it – a woman’s sexual scent, lingerie, wetness, squirting. Seeing how many times he can get his lover to orgasm and assisting her to go deeply into that altered space of sexual pleasure.

…as I wrote those scenes, I realised something darker and more complex was trying to come out – an actual story where I wanted to explore the dynamics of something like addiction

But as I wrote those scenes, I realised something darker and more complex was trying to come out – an actual story where I wanted to explore the dynamics of something like addiction – addiction to sex with a certain lover. It’s not addiction in the textbook sense of the term, but it gets close. It clouds her judgement about the behaviour of the man and the healthiness of the relationship. It starts to change her behaviour and feelings about herself. Classic sex addiction is something only a small proportion of people experience, but a sexually compelling, yet emotionally dysfunctional relationship that we get caught in, and find really hard to disentangle ourselves from? I think many of us have been there.

She succumbs to it just like a need for a hit, and it feels impossible to leave the source of the hit, even though she questions his love and knows his behaviour is emotionally abusive. As time goes on, the high from the sex becomes more short-lived, and other problems start to crowd in on her. Just like a substance addiction. She realises she has to do something drastic to break the cycle, to free herself. And although the story is told from her perspective, it seems like he may have a kind of addiction too – to cunt, to being in control, to being needed sexually. I’m never quite inside his head – so these things are all possibilities!

J: What made you want to write a story for Licked?

A: It was one of those convenient synchronicities – I was drafting this story, and saw the submission call for stories that centred around the theme of oral sex. It made me realise a lot of my stories do feature oral sex scenes. Having the deadline definitely helped motivate me to get the story written, so I thank you for that.

J: My pleasure. What was the inspiration behind your story?

Apart from the theme of sex addiction, I wanted to explore how a woman might extricate herself from an emotionally abusive relationship; how she reclaims her power. And initially, I just kept seeing a scene in my head where a very assertive, somewhat controlling man, only lightly restrained, is psychologically subdued by a woman who knows him well enough sexually to appeal entirely to his particular ‘kinks’. She manages to subdue him so effectively that he doesn’t see what’s coming until he’s in a situation entirely unfamiliar and quite terrifying, with a woman he’s (supposedly) very familiar with.

I’ve always been fascinated by femme-fatale archetypes like Lady MacBeth.

I’ve always been fascinated by femme-fatale archetypes like Lady MacBeth.

“Unsex me here” Part of Study of Lady MacBeth by Gustave Moreau

Back when I was acting and directing in independent theatre, I created an entire theatre piece around the theme. Does every woman have this archetype inside them? I’m not sure, but I am sure if you are wounded by the masculine in some way early in your sexual development, a woman is more likely to have this aspect somewhere inside her. So, what kind of situation might bring it out? Well, here’s one in Wet Satin Plaything.

J: Well, as I told you when I accepted the story for the anthology, the opening sentence packs a fucking great punch that draws you in.

A: Thanks. Yes, that line came quite quickly – as soon as I knew I wanted to turn my scene in to a story.

J: When did you first become aware of oral sex being a thing people did?

A: Early – maybe too early! I think I would have been five or six when I first encountered a description of a guy getting a blow job. I was one of those precociously bright children with a very high reading age. I was voraciously reading everything I could, and I had a habit of randomly taking books from the top shelf of the family bookshelf and reading from them – whenever my Mum wasn’t around.

In this case it was one of those steamy paperbacks popular in the seventies – set in Hollywood, and about a male porn star called Toby – I even recall his name. Put it this way – a child is sexual from an early age. I felt guilty as hell, but I scoured those pages looking for the “rude” scenes – and let me tell you, I was well rewarded in that book! I remember being both fascinated and kind of horrified. I knew what a penis was, but it was for peeing, so the fact that women were described putting one (well, several) in their mouths was pretty shocking for me.

I don’t think I realised that such an act existed in regards to women until much later – maybe when I was 13 or 14. Depictions of it, even in illicit media I might have stumbled upon, wasn’t as common as that of fellatio back then – and my Mum, surprisingly enough, didn’t include it in her “how babies are made” talk when I was around eight.

Pheromones and sexual instinct, the archaic programming in our limbic brain to want to get close, and closer, to push ourselves up against and into someone we are attracted to when we smell the scent of their arousal, their sexual juices. It can over-ride our more refined taste-buds. We salivate over what isn’t clearly sweet or salty or bitter, but a little of everything.

J: What’s the best oral sex scene you’ve ever read / seen (in any form of prose or film, not just erotica or pornography)?

A: From memory, I think the French cinema classic Betty Blue (the Director’s cut) has at least one hot, intense scene where Beatrice Dalle’s character Betty is being treated to some incredible cunnilingus by her lover Zorg. What I love about this film is how apparent it is that Betty adores sex, without any shame, and gives herself to it with utter abandon. Diary of a Nymphomaniac, a Spanish film is up there too. And so many of the stories from Nin’s Delta of Venus depict oral sex, in all its variations and hues so evocatively.

“Licked” – Seven Explorations of Oral Pleasure

Tags

Adrea Kore, femme fatales, Licked Anthology, Oral Sex, Published Fiction, Wet Satin Plaything

Only a few days to go till the release of “Licked”, an anthology exploring the theme of oral sex in many different ways. Here’s the casting call, and I’m thrilled to be included (as most of my stories seems to put oral sex centre stage, I think I deserve to be here).

 

Sit back and enjoy seven lip-smackingly sensual stories of all kinds of oral pleasure. Stories of nostalgia for the taste of a lover, long distance relationships, and revenge. Stories taking in both the distant future and pleasures in the past. Oracles, ranchers and café cooks, all united by their love of using their mouth. And tongue. And fingers, for assistance.

Edited by Jillian Boyd (Spy Games – Flappers, Jazz and Valentino) Licked is a tribute to the act of oral sex – to the intimacy, trust and the taste of your lover, the scent, the feelings the act invokes in both the giver and receiver. With stories from the likes of Rob Rosen, Jessica Taylor and Dale Cameron Lowry and more, Licked is a sizzling fictional exploration of some of the many ways oral sex can inspire so much more than just a hot flash of arousal.

Come in. Have a taste.

  *   *   *

My story, Wet Satin Plaything is the darker, revenge-themed story in the collection. The premise? A woman breaking free of a sexually compelling, but emotionally abusive relationship, who does something out of character to create the catalyst necessary to leave him. She stages a sexual scene that seems to give her boyfriend more than what he desires, only to turn the tables on him, leaving him freaked out and humiliated.

 I’ll be discussing the stories’ inspiration, my thoughts on oral sex, and more with editor Jillian Boyd in an upcoming post very soon.

And for those who want a sneak peek of an excerpt of Wet Satin Plaything … come with me.

You can have  the whole anthology, by clicking on the above image.

So get Licked … you know you want to …

 

 

 

 

 

Reflections in a Pixelated Pool

Tags

Adrea Kore, authenticity in writing, erotic fiction, erotic poetry, erotica, Greek Mythology, On Writing, Wet Satin Plaything

A few days ago, Kore Desires turned one.

Before I began this blog, I knew virtually (pardon the pun) nothing about blogging.  I rarely read blogs, had no clue about to set one up myself, or even how to create the avatar needed to allow you to comment on other’s blogs. I had only written two rather epic, rambling guest posts (under my real name), which I may well cringe at if I read them now.

Reaching the first anniversary of my blog caused me to reflect on the challenges of this year, and think about what I might have achieved and learned.

One year on, and I’ve met and connected with many other wonderful writers online, and have found in the sex and erotica blogging world what proved to be both expensive and elusive in the realm of my old-school tendencies ie – seeking knowledge and literary inspiration primarily through books. In this new-to-me realm, I discovered what I had long been hungering for – contemporary thinking and writing on sexuality – both fiction and non-fiction. Intelligent, provocative, diverse, creative and relevant – these writers are also in some way my contemporaries and peers – my stories sit beside theirs in published anthologies. This writing keeps me thinking, engaged, wrestling with ideas. The ongoing conversations between blogs and forums keeps me tuned like a cello, listening for my own chords, my own music. The exchange hurries me to the page at times, and has given me a sense of belonging in a like-minded, yet diverse, community.

Thirty-two posts on and counting, (plus a few guest posts), I’ve learnt quite a bit about this hybrid twenty-first century communication form, the blog.  It’s my observation that the form of a blog lies somewhere in the overlap between a journalistic article, an essay, a journal entry and a good conversation.  Depending on your voice, what you want to say, and who you want to appeal to, one borrows the shape of one or more of these four forms in differing intensities.

At times, blogging strikes me as a strange paradox. It’s like being in a private, quiet room, whispering thoughts to oneself – yet it’s also a room you share publicly, with readers you may know, but many who you don’t. Right now, I write within the illusion of solitude, yet at the back of my mind are the expectant rustlings and sighs of a would-be audience.  A blog is not a journal.  Anyone who claims they are the same has not kept a private journal. The mind’s focus is entirely different.

Sometimes, I feel decadent having a room all of my own here. A room, a kingdom… A domain. (I just bought mine – adreakore.com is coming soon!) I grapple with the narcissistic connotations of a blog, along with the subtle but present pressure to create and maintain a consumable, desirable image. I’m deconstructing this image right now by typing that last sentence, these words right now. But, you see, I will reveal, but only what I choose to. I will also conceal, and you the reader will not know what I conceal. Absences are enigmatic in that way…

The title of this blog came to me because I was thinking about the myth of Narcissus, the beautiful but vain youth who falls for his own reflection in a pond; about how seductive it is to remain gazing at one’s own (self-created) reflection, albeit a pixelated likeness in the greater online pond.

pixel

ˈpɪks(ə)l,-sɛl/

noun

ELECTRONICS

noun: pixel; plural noun: pixels

1. a minute area of illumination on a display screen, one of many from which an image is composed.

   “the camera scans photographs and encodes the image into pixels”

Origin

ENGLISH

1960s: abbreviation of picture element .

This might be a somewhat macabre metaphor for a blog, but I do think it’s apt in its reminder that we be wary not to fall for our own online reflection, lest we waste away and forget our real-life selves, like Narcissus.

“Narcissus” – by Caravaggio

As I’ve written elsewhere, the first two-thirds of this year had been arid creatively. Much of that has been due to the emotional impact of a relationship ending, the ensuing grief and confusion, and then the energy it’s taken to slowly reassemble the pieces of myself. I have been flung against the jagged edges of my own emotional limits. I experienced deep love, then the severing of that love, in what turned out to be an impossible situation.  It didn’t break my heart – it lacerated it, and also shattered parts of my identity. For several months, it was difficult to feel anything except despondency, failure and pain. I have learnt much about the conflicting impulses of my open, curious mind, and my more fragile emotional needs, and that for me, respecting my emotional well-being is paramount. Someday perhaps I’ll have the courage to write openly about it.

Although I couldn’t bare to write fiction, my critical faculties, suspended for a time in limbo with my emotions, flared back to life.  Some days, I think my intellect may have saved me from the seemingly endless spiralling of my darker emotions. I took hold of ideas and in responding to them intellectually, pulled myself out of that limbo. I discovered I still cared about what I thought about sexuality, and our culture’s responses to that. And for that stretch towards vitality again, I particularly want to acknowledge the inquiring minds and intellectual passion of Remittance Girl, Emmanuelle deMaupassant and Malin James. Thankyou. ❤

So, after several painful endings, and my time in a kind of torpor, some things are finally shifting.

Through this dark time, paradoxically I discovered something I love doing which allows me to assist and work with other writers – structural / developmental editing. After so many years interpreting play-texts as a theatre director, I believe I’ve developed a skill for sensing the spine of a story, for assisting the author to bring out its themes and nuances, and for hearing a writer’s voice, and seeing what might be getting in the way of the full expression of that voice. I have my first client for a significant project, a deeply imaginative writer, with whom I’m delighted to be working. I hope to attract more of this kind of work in the future.

And if you’ve read some of my recent posts, you’ll know I recently broke my drought of creative writing with a flood of story – my longest piece yet – Wet Satin Plaything.  I wrote it for a Submission call for House of Erotica, and I’m excited to announce that it’s been accepted. It will appear, along with stories from six other authors in an antholology called Licked – release date to be confirmed soon. (If you’d like a little preview, go to the end of this article).

I’ve also just found out I’ve had several of my erotic poems accepted into Coming Together, the well-known erotica-for-charity anthology. Erotic poetry antholologies are released far less frequently than story antholologies, so consider adding it to your collection. Edited by the prolific Ashley R Lister, proceeds for Coming Together: In Verse will go to domestic animal rescue organization Hope for Paws. I’m very happy that my poems can assist animals in need.

With at least some parts of myself reclaimed, I have newfound determination for several drafted future projects. And now, when I look at my reflection, maybe, just maybe, it’s becoming clearer …

So … wish me Happy Birthday … and many more to come…

Wanna slip into a little Wet Satin? Right this way, please …

For a sneak preview of one of the poems to be featured in Coming Together in Verse, come with me …

If anyone is interested in my services as a structural / developmental editor, drop me a line here.

And here’s where you can connect with the creative minds of Remittance Girl, Emmanuelle deMaupassant and Malin James.