Drawing the lines between romance, erotic romance, erotica, & porn

I read a post by L.E. May recently, Do books still get judged by their cover? which reflected some of what I’ve been thinking in the last month or so.

These past few weeks, I’ve been doing a fair bit of writing/editing/promotion. So much that I’ve hardly been out on my bike (oh, the shame!) My main focus has been split between the third in the Harford Scarlet series, Playing Away/With Fire (I know, I know; I call it ‘Playing Away’, the Publisher knows it as ‘Playing With Fire’ and we’ll have to sort it out soon) and a continuation of my BDSM story, Playing Power Games (Mum – if you’re reading this DO NOT click on that link. Please). I also did some rewriting of Playing Up, making it a prologue for the Harford Scarlet series, and added it to Amazon and Smashwords (Mum – please don’t click on those either, I’ll do a PG13 version for you).

I’ve noticed one thing: worryingly, the heat level in each piece of work is at a different level.

Adding in the second novel, Playing Around (coming in December 2014), and I generally cover each one of the categories in the title of this post, except ‘porn’ (too much character development apparently). I’d say most of my work varies between romance and erotica, but there is a lot of ground to cover there.

Why does this matter? I’d like to think you’ll know what you’re getting when you pick up a ‘Toria Lyons’ piece of work. The pedant in me would prefer consistency. The daughter in me would like to be writing something her mother could read. *blushes* The pragmatist in me is screaming that for the sake of my overdraft, I should be writing whatever will earn me a few pennies. And the writer in me just wants to write what she is inspired to write, at that moment in time.

Why has this happened? Because when I write, it depends what mood I’m in. Sometimes I like to do the emotional stuff, sometimes I like to move the plot on, and sometimes I love to write a naughty sex scene. Games was actually a deliberate challenge to write something waaaaaaay out of my comfort zone (it was a Literotica Valentine’s Day contest entry and I’m still chuffed to say it came third on the US-dominated site), and continuing the tale has included a lot of research that I never thought I would be doing. BDSM protocols can be rather complex, toys very varied and personal reactions vary.

What has this got to do with the lovely post by L.E. May? Well, I’m always surprised to open Playing For Keeps and see the under the title, ‘An erotic novel’!

I suppose it’s the bluntness, it rather slaps you in the face. THIS IS EROTIC, THIS IS! Has anyone said they wouldn’t read it due to the implication that it’s a bit saucy?  Not that I know of, although to be honest, I haven’t given them the chance!

I’m hoping I’ll be judged solely what’s inside the cover pages. *fingers firmly crossed*


(As a sidenote, I’m finding it weird to sign books on request. I’ve always believed that defacing a book was wrong, so writing in one is still really peculiar to me. Plus I never know what to write, and I’m terrified of making a mistake and spoiling the whole book! I’m getting better at it though, and buying me a drink first certainly helps.)



A Wheelie Good Time – free story!

A Wheelie Good Time

A ride in more than one sense of the word

Just a naughty little short as I take a break from writing my rugby series. I love cycling.

This has not been edited by another person, so please excuse any mistakes.


P.S. Don’t be worried if I’m on your wheel, I rarely letch at a man’s arse. Honest. Unless they’re an ex-rugby player. Hehe.


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Adara watched his taut buttocks moving, the muscles bunching and elongating, intimately revealing every line of his fit body through the thin black fabric, and prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself.

The saddle was rubbing against her and she could already feel herself swelling and getting wet, threatening to gush through the padding of the cycling shorts.  She consoled herself by reflecting that a damp-looking crotch at the cafe stop wouldn’t be anything new to the fellow Lycra-clad cyclists. After all, cycling fifty-odd miles in the blazing summer sun meant nobody was particularly fragrant or fresh-looking by cake and coffee time. And tottering like John Wayne due to the arousal between her legs would just be attributed to normal saddle-fatigue.

Besides, bringing herself off in the loo cubicles may be her only option for relief.

If she had known, when she turned up for the regular Sunday club run, that she, as one of the slower riders, would be paired up with Gareth while the annoyingly fast youth riders tore off, she would have spent the previous night with her vibrator. Gareth, the dark-haired, dark-eyed ex-rugby player with the body better than most Greek Gods. Gareth with the ponytail, the stubble, the broad shoulders, narrow waist and, hell, what was that expression? Mouth-watering buns of steel. Oh yes.

She restrained a whimper as he came out of the saddle and she had another eyeful of those particularly sweet treats.

She was used to being dropped when the whippet-like lads upped the pace, but there were usually others fancying a more leisurely ride. That morning, at the car park meeting point, she had looked around the gathered cyclists and forlornly realised there wasn’t anyone of her pace there. When Gareth piped up and said he wasn’t up for a hard one, she had to restrain a snigger before her heart leapt in anticipation. When he also suggested cycling the lanes rather than the faster-but-busier main roads, she smiled in happiness. She’d temporarily forgotten that cycling together would mean having to watch his backside for at least fifty percent of the time.

Torture. Sheer, erotic torture.

Oh god, his thighs were wonderfully powerful, tanned with a light dusting of hair. She would love to feel him using that strength to thrust inside her. Taking her from behind, those wide shoulders covering her, dominating her.

She shifted in the saddle, pushing her clit into the leather, rubbing herself against it. So, so close. A tremor ran through her and she moaned, ‘Oh!’

‘You OK?’ Gareth glanced round briefly to check on her.

‘Fine,’ she confirmed throatily. ‘Just a little…bump in the road.’

He gave no sign of having heard her, and she decided that her aching loins would have to wait. Somehow.

At least the countryside was pretty, the rolling country lanes bordered by six foot hedges with vast expanses of lush green fields on the other side. Sporadic gateways gave glimpses of the field’s occupants, usually sheep or horses, although many were empty or contained crops.

It wasn’t safe for Adara to spend too much time looking anywhere but at Gareth, but she managed it for a while. Well, a few minutes, until she was transfixed by the rear view of him. So transfixed she nearly missed his next question.

‘Fancy winding the pace up for a sprint? Here to the next village sign?’

‘Why not?’ Anything to distract from his beautiful backside.

As Gareth increased the pace, Adara had to concentrate on keeping on his wheel, keeping that foot-length between his rear and her front to maximise drafting and conserve her energy for an attack. If she stayed within that limit, despite his greater strength, she may be able to surprise him and sprint past. If she was patient enough. Patience was key. Timing was everything. Like when a man thrust his hard cock inside her for the first time. That glorious feeling of fullness just when she wanted it.

Oh fuck! That moment of inattention meant she had dropped several feet off his wheel. She worked harder for a few moments to get back on as they swept around a corner. She could hear him beginning to breathe heavily, like a man who had just come.

As her imagination ran wild again, she almost missed Gareth signalling to pull over and let her take the lead for a while. Adara focussed on maintaining the speed he had set, pulling over herself a short while later as the burn in her legs set in. They took turns taking the wind, their only communication the twitching of arms and hands as they swapped over.

They flew around another corner and houses began to break up the hedgerows on either side. Once the village sign was in sight, Gareth really slammed the hammer down, and Adara had to hang on for dear life. Yards from the sign, with one final push with energy she didn’t know she had, she pulled out and shot past him just at the right time.

‘Woohoo!’ she yelled joyfully, punching the air with one fist and laughing as she slowed. The adrenalin rush that came with winning swept over her, in a feeling not far off an orgasm.

Gareth came up alongside her, grinning ruefully and gasping. ‘Well done,’ he congratulated.

‘Thanks,’ puffed Adara. ‘That was such a rush, better than sex!’

‘Depends on who you’re doing it with,’ corrected Gareth.

‘No one at the moment, I’m single.’

‘Me too.’

They looked at each other and Adara wished that they both weren’t wearing sunglasses and helmets, so they could see each other’s faces. Was he flirting with her?

She couldn’t think what to say in return, and they continued cycling through the village two-abreast, singling out for the odd car.

Gareth eventually broke the pregnant silence, ‘So, how long have you been cycling?’

‘Since last year, an ex got me into it.’

‘You’re pretty good at sprinting. Do you race?’

‘Not yet, I’m not brave enough.’ Adara grinned ruefully.

‘But you plan to?’

‘Once I’m fitter, yeah…maybe. I’d need to lose some weight first, most of the girls are size six to ten, I’m verging on twelve.’ She looked down at her body wryly, at the curves the tight kit was covering.

‘Don’t lose any more, you’re perfectly proportioned as it is.’

She allowed herself a little smile, ‘Not great for racing though, or climbing hills, I usually get left behind. What about you?’

‘Had to give up the rugby a couple of years ago, too many injuries. Someone suggested getting a road bike and I’ve never looked back. Lost loads of bulk too, but in a good way. I still work out my upper body though, otherwise I’d look odd.’

‘You look perfectly proportioned to me.’ They looked at each other again, and Adara cursed the sunglasses again. ‘Why the slower pace today?’

Gareth laughed, ‘Hangover from last night. You still won that sprint fair and square.’

‘You did more work on the front than me though, so we can call it a draw.’

Going slower and chatting, the heat caught up with them and Adara partially unzipped her jersey, cursing that the overriding colours of that and the club shorts were black, black and more black. Nice in winter, didn’t show stains and looked smart, but attracted heat on the hottest of summer days.

Gareth glanced over at her a couple of times, ‘As much as I appreciate a bit of skin, better do that up once the pace increases.’

Adara blushed and laughed, ‘Yeah, I’d want the only occupant of my bra today to be me.’

‘Had insects down your jersey before?’

She nodded, ‘Yeah, I once cycled through a swarm of bees, eventually I had to strip off to get them all out. You should have seen me screaming and dancing around by the side of the road just in shorts. Had a few comments from strangers passing by.’

Gareth chuckled and said something about wishing under his breath before clearing his throat, ‘Were you stung much?’

‘A few times down my cleavage and on my…err, breasts.’ Adara traced a hand to where the painful lumps had been.

‘Oof!’ Gareth yelped as he went through a pothole he’d been too distracted to see. ‘Err, that must have hurt.’

‘What, the stings? Not too bad, they had almost gone by the time I got home and found some antihistamine cream to rub on.’

Once out of the village and recovered from their exertions, they started to pick the pace up again. They had an awkward moment when neither could decide who to go in front.

‘Since you beat me in the sprint, it’s your turn to lead,’ eventually nominated Gareth.

Adara was quite happy and relieved with that; even cycling alongside, she had been sneaking glances at him, his strong profile and temptingly firm lips. She pulled in front of him, put her head down and began working harder.

A few minutes later, she came out of the saddle for a sharp rise, efficiently pumping the pedals to keep momentum, her hips shifting smoothly. Halfway up, she couldn’t miss the groan from behind, ‘You ok?’

‘Yeah, just a bit of a twinge,’ he panted back.

Adara gave a sigh of contentment, now she was leading, she could almost forget her companion. Almost forget the electrifying effect he was having on her body, and the heat between her legs. Almost. She was having to work harder out of the draft, but there was no actual wind to speak of. Whenever they slowed, the heat of the day would catch up with them. The sultry smells of a summer in the country surrounded them, along with suntan lotion, sweat and tar from the roads. When in the open, the heat shimmered off the tarmac, creating temporary mirages ahead. Riding under sheltering trees, the sun dappled the ground and disguised possible hazards.

Adara squinted at the road, having particular trouble. She quickly signalled to warn of a particularly large pothole in the road, and cringed as her own tyres only just missed dropping into it.

Gareth wasn’t so lucky. She heard a bang and, ‘Fuck!’ from behind, closely followed by, ‘Shit! Flat! Ease Up!’

She coasted into a grassy gateway, out of the way of what little traffic there was and removed her helmet, shaking out her long brown hair. She was grateful for the little shade offered by the trees; once stopped, the heat really hit.

Gareth followed shortly, walking his wounded mount and frowning. Sure enough, his back tyre sagged to the ground, the rubber flat around the wheel. He lowered the bike onto its side on the soft grass and took off his helmet too, running fingers through his darkened, sweat-laden hair and retying it.

‘That was a nasty hole, did you see my signal? It was a bit difficult to see until the last minute,’ babbled Adara, afraid she had done something wrong. It wasn’t always possible to avoid potholes but it was wise to. You really couldn’t know how deep they were or what they contained.

‘Yeah, I was a bit distracted though,’ confessed Gareth. ‘All my fault for choosing the wrong time to…swig some water.’ After partially unzipping his jersey, he crouched down to undo the quick-release skewer.

‘Need anything?’ she asked, trying not to gape at his strong forearms and thinking of the flash of solid, hair-dusted chest he’d just exposed. She breathed deeply, taking in the tempting scent of fresh male sweat and was grateful for the glasses covering her eyes. There was just so much masculinity. His shoulder muscles rippled under the formfitting jersey as he carefully pulled the wheel away from the bike frame.

He glanced up at her and smiled, ‘Nope, got it all in my second bidon, thanks.’ He gestured towards the cage holding a clear bottle containing an inner tube and some tools.

The smile just did it for her, her female parts clenched once again. ‘I’m just going…for a comfort break,’ she squeaked.

Strictly speaking, a comfort break meant the loo, but Adara justified the little white lie to herself. She couldn’t be in comfort until she’d done something to dissipate the heat gathered in her body.

The five bar gate into the field was easy to scale and she headed for a copse of trees, her body burning. Once out of sight, she knelt down in a grassy hollow, dropping her glasses, frantically unzipping her jersey and stripping it off, pulling the straps of her bib shorts down so she could shift the shorts down to her knees. No knickers to remove, her fingers dipped straight in and she moaned with relief from the direct touch.

After a hard squeeze of her breasts through the thick elastic sports bra, she settled with a forearm on the ground, her head resting against it so any noise would be muffled by the grass. Her other hand was busy between her legs, she was so wet she was squelching.

She usually lay on her back to masturbate, this position was less usual for her but she needed to muffle her gasps of pleasure. Already she could feel the coils of pleasure tightening in her belly. She could smell sweat, sunscreen, grass and herself, only missing the scent of a male. Him. Those thighs. That arse. What did he have between those muscular thighs? Would it be long? Thick? Veined or smooth?

Her fingers swirled around her swollen nub, her rhythm quickening and sighs increasing. The frustration that had been building up all morning was coming to a peak.  She was so, so close but still couldn’t come. She needed something more, something…

Her frustrated gaze fell on the small hand pump in the back pocket of her jersey. Could she? It was smooth enough, long enough, and maybe just about wide enough to feel.

Sod it; she needed something cock-like inside her. She grabbed the slim aluminium tube, shook it loose from the pocket and touched it to her. It was warm, heated by the close proximity to her body and the sun. She moved it around her swollen lips, stretching the tension out before brutally thrusting it inside her.

‘Ahhh,’ a sigh escaped her. She thrust again, and again, moaning constantly, forgetting to keep quiet. In and out, a quick twist, squeezing it tightly with her inner muscles. It wasn’t quite thick enough but was enough.

Just as her body wound up to coming, she heard something close to her, felt footsteps.

She lifted her head. Gareth was stood frozen a couple of metres away. The zip of his jersey was even further down his chest, and from one hand dangled his saddle bag.

‘I…I called but you didn’t answer…you’ve been some time…I heard noises, I thought…’ The sunglasses ensured his gaze was inscrutable but he didn’t look away. ‘I forgot my pump. Can I borrow yours?’

She groaned with embarrassment, her head falling back onto her arm. Her body was screaming for completion, she was just so near to coming. ‘Oh fuck,’ she muttered.’

The pump took that inauspicious moment to slide out of her and drop to the ground. Her embarrassment was total, but that sudden empty feeling was nearly as bad. A shiver ran through her. She had been so close.

She had to take her hand from between her legs to pick up the pump. Her fingers slipped on the juice-covered, narrow tube, and she looked down at it, wondering how she could give it to him. Should she be covering herself up instead? Forgetting the pump for the moment, she began tugging awkwardly at the bib shorts caught around her calves, her backside wiggling.

Gareth’s breathing becoming louder and she risked a brief glance up. All that caught her eyes was a massive bulge between his legs. He was aroused, and big at that.

‘Oh my fucking god.’ She shuddered, her body clenching around thin air, wanting that flesh and blood tool inside her.

‘Adara, look up.’ She lifted her head further as he shucked off his glasses and met his hot eyes. ‘I can help you with that.’ Gareth nodded towards her and started removing his jersey, ‘If you want, of course.’

The rasp of the zip seemed as loud as her breathing, she frantically nodded back at him and he pulled down his bib shorts. He was fully aroused, his hard cock sticking straight out. He knelt in front of her prostrate form, undoing her bra fastening and stripping the thick black fabric off.

‘Let’s have a look at you.’He coaxed her into a kneeling position facing him. ‘Shit, you’re hot.’ He fondled himself and groaned.  Hesitatingly, almost as if he was waiting for her to object, he cupped her breasts and pinched the nipples.

Her eyes temporarily lost focus with the pleasure, ‘Need cock,’ she muttered. ‘Gimme.’

He was hard, so hard, with pre-come already welling up on his damp skin. Her hands were small on him, he would stretch her a fair bit more than the pump had.

She groaned suddenly, ‘No way you have a condom?’

‘Bag, here.’ He fumbled with the small black bag, bringing out a square of foil. ‘I was a boy scout and the wrappers make good tyre wall reinforce…fuck,’ he swore as she roughly stripped off her bib shorts and attacked him, her legs straddling his and rubbing her wetness on him.

‘I’ve been thinking about this all morning, I won’t be able to last long,’ gasped Adara as her hips undulated. Her hands moved up and down his back, barely giving him a chance to pull open the packet and smooth the rubber over himself.

‘Doesn’t the man usually say that?’ panted Gareth as he sat back on his heels, his arms full of mostly naked writhing female. He took control of her hips, lifting up and rubbing her against him but not inside.

Without realising, Adara began pleading with him, he lifted her up slowly and at a frustratingly cautious pace, he began slipping inside

The real thing was soooooooo much better than the inanimate pump, thought Adara, ‘Oh yesssssss!’ she hissed.

She tightened around him as he slowly stretched her until he was completely seated within her. He wasn’t small at all, his cock was a good, thick size, and she hadn’t had anything in her for a long time. She tried to catch her breath, the erotic shudders making her arch her back and rubbing her breasts against his solid, sweat-dampened chest. Her eyes glazed over, instinct taking precedence. Her hands moved to squeeze her breasts roughly, to pull the nipples, and her hips thrust at him as hard as she could.

Somehow, he lay back, letting her ride him. It was even better for her. Her hands darted from her lips to her breasts, running down her body to the thrumming, swollen, slippery heat between her legs. She was so close, she didn’t have enough hands, she growled in frustration.

He heard her appeal, his hands moving to cover her swollen breasts, copying her actions and squeezing them harshly, tugging on the engorged nipples and bringing her upper body closer to his.

The change in angle as he pressed against her swollen clit spurred the tsunami of sensation to break within her. She shrieked as a glorious crescendo was reached, the combination of the pleasure and pain of his hands on her breasts and the delicious pressure and hardness between her squeezing thighs. The pleasure was nearly unbearable, waves of heat rebounding through her.

The world spun as he turned her over, stretching one leg up to hammer inside her, his head thrown back and teeth gritted. As the ripples of shock quaked her, the thrusting increased the satisfaction, until it felt like she was going to come again. Her hands smoothed down his back, her nails dug into his firm buttocks and her hips circled his.

His hips jolted harder and she squeezed him as tight as she could. He yelped as he began to spurt inside her, his groans unstoppable. His upper body collapsed on her as tremors of bliss continued to run through them both.

It was quiet while they caught their breath. Gareth reflexively kept pushing inside her as he shrunk a little, they both enjoyed the aftershocks.

Eventually, he slipped out of her and she could feel the condom loosening, ‘We … we’d better … the condom.’

He took the hint, pulling himself to one side, taking it off and tying a knot. She missed his weight, the fullness inside her straightaway. Her hands ran up and down her sides, to the mire between her legs and she rubbed her tender, swollen knot as she kicked her legs out.

‘Any more of that and I’ll be ready to go again,’ he commented, bemused at her actions.

Adara barked with laughter, ‘I wouldn’t say no, I feel great.’

‘Me too.’

She turned her head to meet his smiling, hot eyes, ‘Good.’

Minutes passed as their heartbeats slowed and perspiration dried. The wind picked up slightly, the cooler breeze leading to Adara eventually stirring. She sat up, looked around for her jersey and pulled some tissues out of a pocket. ‘Here,’ she chucked a couple over to him as she tried to dry herself off.

Adara strapped her bra back on, awkwardly located her socks and yanked her bib shorts back into place. He started dressing too, sitting back down to pull on his socks on as she rooted around the grass, picking up items that had fallen from her jersey pockets. She was kneeling, wiping down the pump when she felt him pushing behind her. She gasped, her body ready in seconds, ‘We can’t, no more condoms.’

‘Don’t worry, I was just tempted by your wiggling arse.’ He thrust against her a couple more times, the layers of Lycra and shorts padding frustratingly dulling the sensations before moving away and standing.

Somehow she managed to pull herself together, straightening the rest of her kit.

‘We stink of sex,’ observed Gareth as he zipped up his jersey.

Adara sniffed and barked with laughter, ‘Straight home for a shower then? If that pump still works.’

‘We’ll call a taxi if needed. Which is closer, yours or mine?’ His dark eyes burned.

Before she could answer, they heard a call from the direction of the gate, ‘Hello, cyclists? Having trouble?’

They both giggled at the timely interruption and made their way out of the hollow, to greet the helpful driver who fortunately had a track pump in his car. After they waved goodbye to their rescuer, Gareth and Adara mounted their steeds and headed back towards town at top speed.

It was a nice day for a ride.

*The End*

Or do you want more? Please comment!

Knickers to a VPL

Why I won’t be waving the white flag and giving up my skimpy knickers.

SAM_0951This is what you need.

I recently read a blog post by Tabitha Rayne about giving up skimpy and returning to the big knicker. Tabitha does say she finds the VPL sexy, but the gist of the comments below was that the ‘Bridget Jones’ was more comfy. I’ve had friends saying similar for a while, that they don’t wear skimpy underwear because it’s not comfortable.

Pants to that!

I contend that the problem is with design of the knicker in question. Or simply, a basic string versus a thick elastic thong.

Look at the lovely item above! There’s nothing to it, and it’s as comfy as comfy gets. (Admittedly, it’s white which is the most impractical colour for underwear ever.  I learnt the perils of white underwear when young; my mother used to always boil-wash anything white into an attractive dingy grey. The reason it’s still brilliant white is because I buy multipacks and only wear the black or nude ones, so the white are left over.)

The trouble with a lot of thongs is that they’re only designed to be worn for a short time. If the bit between your legs is wider than the gap between your arse cheeks, of course it’s going to be uncomfortable. If the elastic is thick and unwieldy, it’s going to be uncomfortable. Plus if it’s not cotton or another natural fibre, and washed well, you run the risk of a visit from the tweety bird.

Here’s the case in point. (There’s not much which gets me taking photos of knickers on a line, but here we go.)

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Observe from left to right the comfiness factor decreasing rapidly. I think I wore the one on the left once (and never again), the one in the middle is for special (short) occasions, and the black lacy one (the rear piece is one of the thin vertical black pieces)  I’m happy in for whole days out.

SAM_0954 (1024x768)

These are both optimum widths, however, the elastic of the black pair is stiffer, therefore less forgiving .

I’ve been wearing cotton strings for sixteen years now, and my only problem has been sourcing the ones I like – unfortunately they’re not easy to find. I even wear them comfortably when cycling, which is the one activity where I’m always lectured that I should be knickerless.

So you see, there is no need to accept the ugly VPL (IMO) of big knickers (and possibly upset your other halves), there are other options open to you.

P.S. if anyone wants to try a nice string, I can send you a nice white one. *winky thing*