I think it’s true to say I get my ideas and inspiration from anywhere and everywhere. In the case of The Collector, my very first solo work, the initial idea came to me while sat in the departures lounge of Heathrow airport awaiting a flight to Aberdeen. One of my oldest friends had just phoned me to tell me about an article in The Observer newspaper all about erotic writers. He was adamant the time was right for me to branch out from short stories and to try a book all of my own.
Gathering salaciously erotic stories against an everyday backdrop of coffee shops, restaurants and bus trips, The Collector documents a wide variety of sexual encounters as she travels across Great Britain.
The Collector’s research takes her into every arena of the erotic experience, from lust, submission and dominance, to voyeurism and beyond.
Are you brave enough to see if it was your supposedly private conversation she overheard—and then wrote down?
I admit the idea of writing a novel about one set of characters was rather daunting in those early days of my erotica career, and as I sat in the airport that day, watching people rush around, I began to think about what stories they would all have to tell if I was brave enough to ask them…
Then I began to listen to what people were talking about on the chairs around me. I watched how people behaved, and then I started to write it all down… The Collector was born.
I kept right on listening and observing- everywhere- even in the local sweetshop…
Here’s little snippet for you- Do you like liquorice?
‘Perhaps I should explain that we work in a sweet shop. We sell the old fashioned kind of sweets in jars; lemon sherbets, kola-kubes, cherry lips, dolly mixtures, alongside all the new stuff and posh boxes of chocolates.
It all happened quite quickly I guess. It was obvious from the moment I took the job that we wanted each other, but initially we held back. Work isn’t the best place after all, especially if there are only two members of staff. Anyway, as I said, it was sort of inevitable really.
So, last Thursday evening, there I was, starkers on the bed, watching at my boss who was naked, commanding, and utterly gorgeous.
I was not tied to the bed, but I wish I had been. He’d ordered me to stay still, but it was unbelievably difficult to obey as my body desperately wanted to move towards him.
My arms were folded with my hands sat beneath my head, and my legs were pushed up so that my knees pointed into the air. It was as if I was about to undergo some unpleasant medical intrusion. He’d placed a soft silk cushion under my arse to give him, as he put it, “Better visual.”
He flashed a little bag in front of my eyes, but made sure I couldn’t actually see what it contained. I frowned at his long delicate fingers, unsure of what was coming next. He just smiled.
I tried to concentrate on what he was holding, but the heat surging through my breasts from the whipping they had just received was taking most of my attention. My nipples burnt and longed for a cooling tongue to kiss them better. I had to push my head back harder into my hands to prevent myself from moving them and rubbing myself off.
At last he showed me the packet. It was a Dib-Dab; a packet of loose sherbet with a cherry flavoured lolly conveniently included. When I was a kid I loved to suck all the sherbet off the sticky lolly.
I flinched as he ripped it open. There was something about the way he was looking at me that confirmed that the agony he’d previously inflicted was simply the first course, and that seconds’ was coming up. I longed to scream out ‘Just get on with it!’, but the ball gag which he’d lodged in my mouth prevented the luxury of speech, so I just had to content myself with biting down hard onto the black rubber intrusion.
My thighs felt slick with my own juices. I tried hard not to think about the picture I must have presented. As I’ve said, I wasn’t bound, but I was gagged, and my breasts were pressed through a tight black harness, pushing them up and exposing them as an easy target for the short riding crop I had discovered he kept in the corner of his bedroom.
He pulled the lolly out of the packet and put it in his mouth. As he sucked I could feel my nipples tremble. That was what they needed. I felt unbelievably jealous of a bloody sweet!
After what felt like an eternity he pulled the damp lolly from between his lips and advanced towards me. There was no hanging about, he stuffed its red oval head into my cunt and pushed it until all but the very end of the stick had been swallowed up into my starving hole.
The width of the lolly felt amazing as it stretched me open. I could feel the air rushing in around the thin stick, making me feel empty but full at the same time. I began to shudder in response to the contradiction of sensation, but he slapped my breasts hard and I silently cried out into my rubber guardian.
‘You will not come yet.’ His voice was like gravel, and for a second I had to remind myself that I had wanted this too. He began to slide the lollypop up and down and I closed my eyes, trying for all I was worth not to climax. A task made even harder when he knelt and began to lick the mixture of pussy juice and sweet syrup from around my hole.
I was shaking, I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t going to take much to push me over the edge, even though it had been forbidden. Then he did it. He climbed astride me and sprinkled the sherbet from the Dib-Dab packet all over my tits. The cold sweetie dust tickled as it landed on my sweating skin. My hips twitched as I began to fight a losing battle with myself. As his mouth enclosed my right tit, licking up the sherbet, I groaned into silence as the sweet fizzed against his tongue and my chest. By the time he began to feast on my left side I was shaking and bucking so hard I’m surprised he wasn’t knocked off.
He took very little notice of the fact that I had disobeyed him until every single drop of the tingling dust had been consumed. Only then did his face become a picture of disgust and lust in glorious combination. I began to shiver, no longer with desire, but in response to the look in his eyes. He picked up a liquorice boot lace from the pile of supplies he’d lifted from the shop. Licking the end to dampen it a little he lashed my right nipple hard. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes as he stung me again and again.
Then, taking a handful of the laces, he began to coil them around my harnessed breasts. The black strings were cool against my hot flesh and felt heavy against my need to be sucked, caressed and kissed. The ever growing pyramids of sweets created a sticky barrier against the attention I craved. Soon only my two swollen nipples were visible, poking out from the encircled breasts…
You can find out what happens next by buying The Collector from-
(Paperback coming soon)