By Alexandra Guy
An erotic tour-de-force...wherein is printed the intercourse schooling of a filthy rich Victorian woman.
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By way of best-selling erotica writer, Kim Acton, whose different novellas also are to be had on Kindle.
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When Mike Harrow's spouse Vicki discovers he fantasizes approximately male submission and feminine dominance, he will get greater than he ever fantasized. And it's not only Vicki's new felony strap and rattan cane, it's what she makes him do for her excitement and His Deep Submission.
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Hailed as "mesmerizing" via the perception Out Bookclub, the world's biggest LGBT interpreting team, Cleis' most sensible Lesbian Erotica is the normal bearer for the style. Kathleen Warnock has taken the sequence to new heights of ecstasy with the 2014 access that is sensational, sensual in addition to being fairly shrewdpermanent smut.
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But after a loopy Vegas weekend celebrating her university graduation—and fearful of the longer term direction she is aware is a cop-out—Mia Holland makes the wildest determination of her lifestyles: stick with Ansel Guillaume—her candy, filthy fling—to France for the summer time and just…play.
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http://www. goodreads. com/book/show/18775297-sweet-filthy-boy
In an historic time, in an historical land, their worlds collided. Can their love live on? Can they? Sara is the daughter of the emperor's legate in Caledonia, the Roman identify for Scotland. Annachie is a Pictish warrior captured by means of her father's squaddies and made a slave. Their friendship grows right into a love neither of them may recognize, less consummate.
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Additional info for A Maiden's Diary
Stop. Turn. " Gone. Jerk off? Why not? I did as he instructed. The sofa was as comfortable as it looked. I pulled off my underwear and shot it towards my other clothes. I took rny cock in hand. But I wanted a scotch. I stood and retrieved it from the shelf. Drank. It felt like burning syrup Timothy Archer — 57 down my throat. I went back to the couch. Lying there, I wondered how long this would be interesting. Already, with Bill gone, I felt not-exactlyturgid. Maybe he'd be flattered by the thought.
Christmastime is social time. Friends I've seen only twice during the year call up to demand a get-together. It's an excuse to drink, so why not? Forget that shopping; forget that half-finished book; forget that soiled laundry. Get drunk. Get festive. And this Christmas was ngdifferent, only more so. I wouldn't be flying 50 — Closure home to see my parents. I'd spent a good portion of my savings on a debauched holiday out west. It had left me with little other than sunny photographs, tan lines and a half-used bottle of Kwellada.
I opened the closet. Shirts, suits and pants hung from the rail. Shoes lined the floor. The clothing appeared so even and regular I assumed Bill had put a finger between each item to space them properly. The shelf above supported three cardboard boxes. I knew this was what I wanted. I took down the first one. Something shifted inside and I almost dropped it. I lowered it onto the floor without spilling the contents. I sat cross-legged beside the closet door and lifted the lid. Inside were two photo albums, one bulging, one thin.