IN TOO DEEP - NC17 mini taster...

For connoisseurs of the old UATW scene... Professor Hottie McHotstuff and Gwen the buxom librarian get busy in the mop cupboard...

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We step inside and the foyer is deserted and cool, smelling of floor polish. Again comes the thorny question of handshake, hug, kiss, or more, but suddenly there are voices from above and the sound of feet on the open staircase leading upwards.

Expecting him to step away from me and begin some kind of fabricated conversation, I catch my breath when Daniel glances quickly around, then grabs me by the hand and hauls me into the little maintenance alcove tucked away at the back of the foyer, beyond the staircase. It doubles back on itself, and contains assorted cleaning equipment – mops and buckets and watering cans for building’s ornamental potted plants.

The voices are in the hall now, and so I can’t cry out and protest when Daniel edges me backward, against the wall, moving deep into my personal space and owning it completely. His left hand shoots out, cupping the back of my neck as he pulls my face to his and presses his lips on mine. While his tongue possesses my mouth, that tricky right hand of his is back on my thigh, sliding, sliding, rubbing the fabric of my skirt against my skin.

His mouth is voracious, compelling me to open mine and accept his tongue. The taste of his tongue makes my pussy flutter and yearn for his cock. Its thrusting action is blatant, delicious, intoxicating. I try to give back as good as I’m getting but he’s a tyrant, he subdues me, he’s in control.

And it’s not just with his mouth.

He’s not an awesomely tall man, but he’s got power, and momentum, and a hunger to match my own. He drives me back against the wall, only just avoiding us cannoning into a galvanised mop bucket and making a huge commotion.

As I hit the plaster, his hand whips down, then up again, sliding my skirt right up my thighs and admitting his fingers between my legs in the space of a heartbeat.

I gasp, but the inhalation draws his breath into my mouth. I feel as if his spirit rushes in with it, another possession to match the invasion of his tongue.

And his fingers.

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WATCHING THE DETECTIVE - unedited NC17 excerpt

WATCHING THE DETECTIVE - Portia Da Costa

Published in the LOVE ON THE DARK SIDE collection of erotic paranormal short stories.

Vicky and her boyfriend Sam are in bed, watching an all night marathon of Vicky's favourite cop show...

As the Channel ident flashes, I steal a split second glance at Sam, but he’s fast asleep already, mouth open, mad, black, curly hair sticking up at all angles and a tea stain down the front of his muscle vest. What a contrast to the sartorial GQ treat that lies ahead of me.

The story preamble begins. Some nasty perp up to no good as usual, but I’m not yet paying full attention due to The Detective not appearing until after the credits. Then the credits begin… thunder rolls… and the room goes black!

‘Fucking, fuckety fuck!’ I shout, regardless of Sam’s slumbers, and like an idiot, I start stabbing buttons on the remote still in my hand. As if that’ll restore the electricity.

And yet, against the odds, it does do something. Thunder cracks again and the lights flicker faintly but only for a second. They go out again, but astonishingly, the television springs back to life. The screen looks slightly blue tinted, but not too badly. It’s still perfectly watchable.

And the credits of my beloved cop show are still a-rolling.

At least it seems to be my cop show. My heart leaps again with bubbling excitement. It must be a special episode or something - maybe recorded just for this marathon - because the sequence of images isn’t one I’ve ever seen before. The frames are sharp, ultra clear, almost 3D, and as they fade from one to the other, each one of the hairs on the back of my neck seem to prickle and rise individually. And even though it’s the same familiar music, and the same graphic styling, there’s only the one character featured in the montage.

It’s just The Detective with no sign whatsoever of the rest of the team.

And at the end, he seems to walk towards the camera, my guy, tall and intent, dressed in an immaculate thousand dollar suit of bluish grey. His long stride eats up the ground, and as he approaches, he just keeps on coming… and coming… and coming…

‘Vicky Sheridan?’ he enquires imperiously when he reaches me, flipping out his hand‑cuffs from the clip at his belt. But before I can answer, he grabs me by the shoulder, hauls me from the bed and snaps the cuffs on me while I’m still wondering what’s happening and trying to catch my breath.

What?

‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ He grips my shoulder again, and propels me forward, parroting out the Miranda as if I’m the lowest of low -life of scuzz-buckets he’s just apprehended. ‘You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?’

By now he’s manhandling me through a familiar door into a familiar room, and I’m so gob‑smacked I don’t have a breath of resistance in me.

It’s the interrogation room. We’re in a familiar chilly grey box with the mirror and the metal table and chairs that I’ve seen in scores of episodes. And it’s just as soulless and intimidating in real life as it is on the television.

Real life? What the hell am I talking about ‘real life’ for? My heart’s bouncing around as if it’s on a bungee and my skin is a pointillist fresco of painful goose-bumps. This isn’t real. How can I be here?

LOVE ON THE DARK SIDE is available from Amazon.co.uk now and from Amazon.com on 16th October 07

GOTHIC BLUE - manuscript excerpt NC17

'Who were you yelling at?' enquired Jonathan as she re-entered the folly. He was lying on the divan, and his hand was near his crotch, so Belinda guessed he had been caressing his penis. He snatched away his fingers as she approached him across the tiles, as if not wanting her to think he needed manual stimulation.

Belinda knew she didn't need it. Her climax in the forest had primed her erotic spirit, and her sex felt empty, and in need of male possession. Half throwing herself onto the divan beside Jonathan, she crawled up onto her hands and her knees, and offered him her body in the most enticing way she knew. Poised on all fours, she undulated her hips, her thighs wide apart... Her whole body was wet, but her female flesh was wetter still, and she knew that with the next bold of lightning, he would see that.

Right on cue, the sky opened and pealed, and with a hoarse cry, Jonathan hurled himself upon her.

He slid in with such speed, and to such a depth that Belinda was pushed forward and squashed under him. As he pounded her and pushed her, she gnawed the old velour beneath her, and gouged it into bunches with her fists.

Gentle Jonathan seemed possessed with the same storm demon that she was, and his thrusts were savage and unfocused. He was hurting her, but she was loving it. In seconds, she was soaring back to climax. Rotating her hips, she shoved her bottom hard against him, then reached in between her legs to rub her centre. As his belly slapped her buttocks, she felt a flash of inner lightning, and as she climaxed, she stifled her screams in the soft grey cover.

'Lindi!' she heard Jonathan sob, then felt him lunge, then lunge again as he jerked inside her. She was squashed like a star as he shuddered out his pleasure, but in her ecstasy there was no awareness of discomfort.

Floating in stillness and contentment, she felt Jonathan soften and slide out of her... then roll over to lay his body down beside her. Remotely, she perceived the brutal storm was over.

The sky was quiet and the air was dark, and she and Jonathan were alone in their round, white folly. The night was all peace, and half gone, but to her surprise, she still felt that she was being watched. Scrutinised in intense detail, by a pair of eyes that seemed to observe her from within. Brilliant blue eyes that were both hot and icy cold.

ISBN 0352330759

Originally published by Black Lace in 1996 - new reprint April 2007 [US]

Gothic Blue is available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com