Tom Jones Part Three

It’s an epic blockbuster, or should that be bonkbuster!

Tom and Sophia reach London in this one, and Tom finds a protector in a noble lady. Sophia finds shelter, and somehow—but you’ll have to read it to find out!

Now the little trembling hare—which the dread of all her numerous enemies, and chiefly of that cunning, cruel, carnivorous animal, man, had confined all the day to her lurking-place—sports wantonly o’er the lawns. Now on some hollow tree the owl, shrill chorister of the night, hoots forth notes which might charm the ears of some modern connoisseurs in music. Now in the imagination of the half-drunk clown as he staggers through the churchyard, or rather charnelyard, to his home, fear paints the bloody hobgoblin. Now thieves and ruffians are awake, and honest watchmen fast asleep. In plain English it was now midnight, and the company at the inn, as well those who have been already mentioned in this history as some others who arrived in the evening, were all in bed. Only Susan Chambermaid was now stirring, she being obliged to wash the kitchen before she retired to the arms of the fond expecting ostler.

Our hero, on turning over in bed, made the delightful discovery that he was not alone, something he had quite forgotten in his slumbers. He continued his roll until he had the best mattress imaginable under him, in other words, the soft body of a woman.

Moreover, it was the body of a willing woman, Mrs Waters. When she opened her thighs, he felt the heat and the wetness of her, something he did not hesitate to take advantage of.

He slid down her body and paused at her generous breasts, always twin founts of delight for Jones, and took his time suckling them, pleasuring them both until she sighed and moaned under him.

Then, instead of resuming the position in which he could give them both fulfilment, he took the part of the most generous gentleman and inserted his shoulders between her thighs, the better to widen her legs and give her the most comfortable of footstools on his back.

As he elevated her to his satisfaction, she twisted, having awoken from the sweetest dreams imaginable, and discovered that which she dreamed of was real. But she wanted none of it, she wanted a part of the performance.

So the sheets on the bed turned under her as she moved, and urged Tom to, “Lift up, sir, that I might taste you. I thirst for what you may give me.”

Her breathless tone persuaded her young lover to obey her request. Accordingly, he, being the younger and more agile of the two, turned, presenting her with the best cock she had seen for a long time. She lost no time in taking hold and closing her mouth over the object for which she thirsted.

After letting out a great groan, Tom set to and lapped the lady with a will, taking her nectar like some exotic bird at the flower. Or a good English bee, which sucks from flowers until content. For although Tom loved Sophia truly, he thought her lost to him, so he took his pleasure where he might. As long as the lady was willing, and this lady for sure and certain was.

Eventually, when he was done teasing and tasting, he took her tiny bud of flesh into his mouth and set to suckling harder, making much use of his agile tongue to entice.

So well did he succeed that she cried out and shuddered as he brought her to that sweet conclusion so long looked for. She gave up tormenting his cock with her mouth, and her temporary state of incoherent bliss gave him the opportunity he needed to reverse his position. He was now in a situation to pleasure her, cock to cunny, and he did so, not losing any time and using the lubrication he had already imparted to her to drive into the depths of her body.

Again he thrust, riding her hard. Her response was to lift her legs and curl them around his waist with remarkable dexterity for an older woman. However, it could be said that an older woman in possession of her faculties and her bodily strength would learn the ways of her form, and could use it to better ability than her coltish younger sister.

Howsomever, she pleased Tom mightily with her work, and he set to, rocking the bed they lay on with his efforts, which was something to behold as the bed was old and well made.

In very short order he had her crying out again, until her nails made lines down his back and he sweated prodigiously, but did not stop his efforts until he too had arrived at his looked-for conclusion.

They failed to put the bedding to rights, merely pulled the covers roughly over their bodies and curled up like kittens in straw.

In this posture were affairs at the inn when a gentleman arrived there post. He immediately alighted from his horse and coming up to Susan, enquired of her in a very abrupt and confused manner, being almost out of breath with eagerness, whether there was any lady in the house? The hour of night and the behaviour of the man, who stared very wildly all the time, a little surprised Susan so that she hesitated before she made any answer, upon which the gentleman with redoubled eagerness begged her to give him a true information, saying he had lost his wife and was come in pursuit of her.

“Upon my soul,” cries he, “I have been near catching her already in two or three places, if I had not found her gone just as I came up with her. If she be in the house, do carry me up in the dark and show her to me, and if she be gone away before me, do tell me which way I shall go after her to meet her, and upon my soul, I will make you the richest poor woman in the nation.” He then pulled out a handful of guineas, a sight which would have bribed persons of much greater consequence than this poor wench to much worse purposes.

Tom Jones is here!

The Mysterious Diedrich Knickerbocker From CC The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

A young Washington Irving

Washington Irving had a strong feel for satire, and his first successful book , A History of New York, parodied the self importance that was prevalent of many New Yorkers at the time. He wrote this book under the pseudonym, Diedrich Knickerbocker, and launched his own brilliant promotional campaign to generate interest in his book. He placed several missing persons ads in the newspaper seeking to find the crusty old Dutch Historian, Knickerbocker. He also placed ones that were supposedly from the hotel where he was staying, stating that if he failed to pay his bill, then they would publish his book and collect the royalties. The story held the public in thrall, and they rushed to buy it when it came out.*

The fictional Diedrich Knickerbocker

Thus, Diedrich Knickerbocker was born, and would go on to be a part of New York's history to this day. Think the New York Knicks, residents of Manhattan being referred to as Knickerbockers, the Knickerbocker Hotel, and the Knickerbocker Theatre on Broadway.

But Irving wasn't done with good ol' Diedrich yet. He reappears in Irving's Book The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, a collection of short stories including "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." He is especially an integral part of Sleepy Hollow. The beginning of the story states that it was found amongst the papers of 'the late Diedrich Knickerbocker'. As the story is told in first person, it begs the question of how Knickerbocker would know so much about the interior thoughts and intimacies Ichabod and Katrina shared. Unless...

And this how my Diedrich was born when I added him into the Clandestine Classic version of Sleepy Hollow. For how else would Knickerbocker know so much unless he was intimately involved with both Ichabod and Katrina? As in the third to their lusty threesome. And lusty they are. Here is a small extra-hot excerpt that includes a younger, and decidedly less grumpy Diedrich:

By the time we had cleared the top of the ladder, Katrina’s ample breasts were exposed to our eyes, her peachy nipples at a hard peak. All that she had left to divest herself of were her undergarments, and she did so slowly and saucily, creating more discomfort for my crotch. I could tell this would not do for what I had planned, wanting to take my time with her tied up to the railing and taking her downstairs as well where I could tie her to a post and whip her. I would not last in this condition.

“My dearest lovers, I’m afraid I need a quick release in order to facilitate this evening’s games more effectively.”

Both Ichabod and I were still near the top of the ladder standing in the loft, and Katrina—now completely nude—crawled over to us. She looked up at Ichabod and winked. He dropped to his knees, and they began to pull at the opening of my pants. Katrina tugged them down to my ankles, whilst Ichabod cupped my bollocks with his long fingers, teasing and tickling the underside in the way he knew I loved so well. He then presented my pulsing staff to Katrina, and she sucked it into her mouth greedily, taking it all the way in.

I suppose for the sake of clarification only, I should mention that whilst I am not short changed in the manhood department, my cock did not present as much of a challenge as Ichabod’s gargantuan member did. She suckled me in a hungry manner, pulling at my shaft with her hot moist mouth, sending delicious shivers up my spine. Ichabod replaced his hands with his mouth on my testicles, and sucked each in one at a time, licking them boisterously. As I was already in a fevered state before they began, their lusty mouths on both cock and balls simultaneously afforded me no chance to resist, and I spent my seed down the lovely Katrina’s throat. 

I fell to my knees in thanks to them both. I kissed each one in succession, my fingers entwined in their hair, tasting first my salt, then my musk on their tongues.

Pick up a copy HERE and read the rest of this saucy menage.

 

* Information gathered from Wikipedia on Washington Irving.

Sharing a Snippet from The Phantom of the Opera!

Have you ever read one of the classics and wondered was happened behind those doors, curtains, trees? Yeah, us too. As you've seen, we've brought you the stories with those thrilling bits included. Here's my addition to the line, The Phantom of the Opera.

Why the Phantom? Well, I've been asked a lot to change the ending. I won't give it away, but some aren't thrilled with who gets the girl. I liked the way the book worked out and I loved the idea making the story line sizzle. I also enjoyed the challenge of sticking with Gaston Leroux's plot line. He's got a complex story going on there, but there were so many little places where a little heat went a long way! Yes, working with the time period and language of the day wasn't always easy, but it helped me to appreciate the little things, like not having to wear so many layers of undergarments! Grin. Want a taste of the Phantom? Keep reading!

Here's the blurb:

The Classics Exposed…

A chance sighting at the Opera, fated love, and three lives in turmoil.

One man pledges to own her, while another wants her heart. The Opera sets the stage for romance and intrigue. In the catacombs below the building lives a man rife with sorrow and passion. The Phantom. But he’s not content to live alone. He wants to possess the one woman who can set him free.

His Christine.

Viscount Raoul de Chagny doesn’t believe the rumours of a Ghost living below the Opera. He only has eyes for Christine, his childhood friend and first love. Together they embark on a sensual journey of discovery and fiery desire.

But she can only have one man. Will love raise her up or tear their world apart?

Available here!

Teasers are so great, aren't they? I'd love to share a snippet from Phantom with you! Happy Holidays!!!

“What are you asking of me?”

“Your submission. Allow me to direct you as if I were the composer of one of your songs. Do you trust me?” Raoul smoothed a lock of her hair between his fingers. She smelt of flowers, a most intoxicating scent. Although she trembled in his arms, she met him for a kiss. Christine whimpered. Damn the blanket and the layers of fabric between them. He longed to feel her body next to his. He parted her robe and shoved the garment from her shoulders, leaving her in her nightgown. He swiped his tongue along her bottom lip and palmed her breast.

“Raoul,” she gasped, but didn’t swat him away. “I trust you.”

“Let me make you feel the magic.”

Christine stared at him a moment. “What do you want me to do?”

“Give me what I want. Can you do that?” He unbuttoned the top button on her nightgown. “Show me the depths of your soul.”

“I can.” She whipped her nightgown up over her head, exposing her body to him. Her rosy nipples peaked and the flush spread across her entire chest.

Raoul shrugged out of his nightshirt and tugged her back onto his lap. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, he lost himself in her sweetness. His desire to conquer her took over. Christine slid her hands up his chest and twined them behind his head.

“Do you still wish to learn? This will not be what you expect.”

“I do.”

He sat back on his heels and hazarded a glance to the door to reassure himself it was locked.

“Raoul?”

“I do not wish to be interrupted.” He grabbed the chair at the small table and dragged it to the couch. “Sit.”

Christine hesitated, then moved from his lap to the edge of the bed. Raoul eased her onto her back. He crawled between her thighs. “I will pull out so I don’t leave my seed inside you, but I cannot guarantee this won’t hurt.”

She nodded, but didn’t look particularly agreeable. He braced himself on his knees and one hand. With his free hand, he stroked her cheek. “I will make you feel precious when I’m done.”

“I’m yours.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katrina Van Tassel - Coquette or Innocent Lass?

Katrina Van Tassel is the heroine of the classic story, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving. He describes her as "a blooming lass of fresh eighteen", but also as "a little of a coquette". When I set about retelling the story as an erotic romance, but of course leaving all of the original text intact, it wasn't too difficult to develop the more erotic side of Katrina's character.

You see, Katrina is a tease. She knows that she is the most desirable young thing in the hollow. After all, she is "universally famed not only for her beauty, but her vast expectations", heiress to the richest farm in the area, and she would also show off "a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round". It's easy to understand why all the eligible young men in town were hot on her trail.

It is also inevitable that there would be a feud over Katrina's charms, and her hand in marriage. Of course, in order to give the reader a more explicit look into how her suitors hoped to win her favour, I needed to show just how far Katrina was willing to go to make her decision. It was pretty far. Very far in fact. Here's a little excerpt:

“Ichabod, how is it that you have taken so long to suitably woo me?” asked Katrina, once they had reached the other side of the barn, which was set upon a hill behind the Van Tassel residence, and out of sight of her father’s eye.

“Why, my dearest Katrina, I would never want you to believe of me that I should be hasty or uncouth in how I present myself to you. But you must know that your charms are the grandest I have ever encountered in my travels, and there could never be another one of the fairer sex that I could find more pleasing.”

“Those are wondrous words that you speak! How I long to believe them true. But when I am with Brom, his enthusiasm for me extends beyond dainties and doilies. He has manly talents that he shares with me, ones that I never knew existed until but recently, and I wish to be wooed in that manner going forward. Pray tell, do you judge me wicked for wanting such things?”

“Aah, my sweet Katrina, all of God’s creatures are filled with desires for His created pleasures. That you are able to revel in all of your senses indicates to me that you are even more worthy of my suit! I would never judge you or criticise your yearnings, as I hope you will not criticise mine.”

Katrina smiled at him with a most inviting gaze. “Then Ichabod, shall we go to my special hideaway in the barn? There is an area in the loft that I have claimed as my own, and as my father’s gout prevents him walking too far—or climbing ladders—and my mother is too occupied with her household duties, we shall be free to express our true feelings for one another without fear of annoying interruptions.”

Ichabod nodded his head in joyful acquiescence, and gestured for the comely lass to lead the way. He was secretly grateful that another man had broken down the hallowed gates of Katrina’s maidenhood, because in his experience the mere sight of his manhood elicited gasps of fear, and many times a changing of the mind in untried ladies and inexperienced men. Instead, he would have the advantage of comparison between he and Brom, for he was sure no cock in the county could measure up to his glorious offering.

---

To find out just how far the lass Katrina goes - pick up your copy HERE

Ichabod Crane - Stud or Dud?

Hi everyone - I was actually just over at Hitting the Hot Spot a few days ago discussing just how hot and sexy Ichabod Crane is. Okay - you can stop laughing now. No, really - stop!

As it turns out, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was originally only a 12,000 word short story that was part of a collection that also included the classic Rip Van Winkle. Uh - no - Rip Van Winkle is not sexy - trust me on this one. My joint venture with Washington Irving on Sleepy Hollow, however, eventually swelled to approximately 37,000 words. And - ahem - that wasn't the only thing that swelled!

I'll confess I was a little concerned at first about Irving's descriptions of Ichabod. Phrases such as "His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, and a long snipe nose..." was hardly going to get him nominations as hunk of the year. But his rabid courtship of Katrina, and her "coquettish" response to him - left the door open for both hanky and panky. There was also the denouement of the story that introduced a mysterious third character. Now just how did this man know so much detail about the two would-be lovers, Ichabod and Katrina? Was he perhaps a participant? ANd to help make up for his lack of studly good looks, it turns out that Ichabod's nose wasn't the only overly large appendage he featured.

So let's review: amply endowed hero, fresh young vixen, mystery man - oh - and a little BDSM, and what do we have? A very erotic classic offering. In keeping with Irving's voice, it also has the feel of a romp, so it's more on the light-hearted side. But don't worry, that despicable headless horseman still gets to come out and play.

To find out just how skilled Ichabod is with the ladies, and men, you'll have to pick up a copy of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow on May 3rd HERE

You'll also find a tasty little blurb there. Enjoy!

Motivation...and April Fool's Day.

Happy April 1^st...or Happy April Fool's Day!

Don't you think it's a bit of a double whammy to have April Fool's on a Monday? Me too.

With that, I find myself lacking in the motivation department...especially when I am staring at two projects (one contemporary and another CC project), both of which are due very, very soon. So like all good writers, I found my little mouse roaming the internet 'researching' (known to everyone else as procrastination).

And found this little tidbit when browsing comments on Amazon:

"The biggest thing for you to do is get rid of your motivation. That's right. Throw motivation out the window because that idea will dry up fast. You must have a strong work ethic and drive. Believe in yourself and have fun!"

Omigosh. Was this guy talking to me?? Nope. But were the cosmos? Yep. That was a great big smack on the back of the head by greater powers. At least for me.

As a person, if I don't buckle down...nothing gets accomplished, good or bad.

As a writer, if I don't sit down and put fingers to keys...nothing gets written, good or bad.

Another favorite quote of mine - from a Chinese fortune cookie of all places - is: Begin...the rest is easy. I find that to be true. If I never start...I never have the opportunity to finish.

So, I'm off to write. Good or bad. J

Before you go...do you have a favorite quote you'd like to share?

Are you clubbable?

The club became a Georgian institution, and it grew from the other great institution, the coffee house. Originally introduced into Britain during the Restoration period, the coffee house was a place for gentlemen to enjoy coffee or tea, gossip and do business.

Something it’s easy for us to overlook is that it wasn’t safe to drink the water. Not until modern times could we pour a glass of water and drink it. Water had to be boiled or otherwise treated before people could be sure it was safe. And boiled water tastes awful. Truly nasty. Unless it’s turned into something tasty like tea, coffee or chocolate.

Before the advent of a comforting hot drink, everybody drank a form of alcohol, because the process rendered the water safe. Not because everybody was a lush! Even children drank small beer with their meals, because there wasn’t much else for them.

But the growing popularity of tea and coffee led to the institutions that spawned a thousand romance novels. The coffee houses clustered around the City of London, although most provincial towns of a reasonable size had them, too. But as Johnson often claimed, there was nowhere quite like London.

Covent Garden had coffee houses in the day time, and at night, when they were closed, the whorehouses plied their trade, together with the theaters. Close by was the magistrate’s court and prison in Bow Street. It’s not until you visit London and walk those streets do you realise how snug they actually were. The first accredited coffee house in London, Tom’s, was recently demolished to make way for an extension for Covent Garden Opera House, which is now a gargantuan enterprise. Vandalism, if you ask me.

However, there are still some sites left, if you know where to look for them. A cluster existed in the City, like Lloyds Coffee House, which became the Stock Exchange, where men met to exchange information and business deals. Every man carried a small book with him at all times, and he recorded all the deals in the book, transcribing them and giving them to his legal people later. But a man’s word was his bond, and thousands (millions in today’s money) could be exchanged in a handshake. That was why it was so important to be able to trust the person you were doing business with. So if the man did something doubtful, like marrying an unsuitable partner, it affected his credibility. And unlike France, where the nobility were forbidden to engage in commerce, many an aristocrat had substantial investments in City institutions. Even more in the merchant ships that left the Pool of London every day.

Slowly the coffee houses became places where the people gathered there specialised in one thing or another. Lloyds became an insurance house. The Cocoa-Tree was a political one, particularly for Whigs, the aristocratic party, more sympathetic to the French and to international concerns. The county, the Tory party, didn’t trust tea or coffee for a long time, claiming that small beer and ale was good enough for an Englishman, but eventually they came around, too.

Note that I keep saying “men,” for the coffeehouse was a male preserve. The pictures show exclusively men, with women serving them the drinks and taking the money at a desk at the end of the house. They had no part in the social interaction.

However women had their own equivalent – the tea-drinking in the afternoon. As the interval between breakfast and dinner lengthened, it became necessary for another ritual, and that became tea. The ladies held salons of various kinds, but these were always necessarily more exclusive, being held in their homes.

Since the literary salons were fascinating places, I’ll probably come back to them in a different entry.

However, as the eighteenth century progressed, the coffeehouse became something more exclusive, to which membership was required—the gentleman’s club. The eighteenth century gentleman was extremely clubbable, and a fashionable man might belong to several, but frequent one. White’s is the best known one these days, but there were many more, and they continue to be. I’m a member of a London club, since the institution has long been used by women as well.

However, the hustle and busyness of the London coffeehouse was the first point at which I fell in love with the eighteenth century. And I’ve never fallen out of love with it.

You can buy the naughty "Tom Jones" here: