Today’s bit, around 5,000 words. This scene idea came directly from this photo.

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(Not sure what this is all about? Start here Leather Bound: The Making of an Erotic Novel.)

Project: Leather Bound, an erotic novel

Deadline: October 1st.

Words Written/Rewritten Today: Around 5,000, I believe. It’s hard to say because I’m doing some new scenes and some rewrites.

Excerpt:

I pushed the button along the front wall. As the shade began to slowly rise, I settled into the chair that smelled slightly of antiseptic, anticipating the view. L&L doesn’t advertise what shows are coming up or send out event listings, so you never know what you’re going to get. Sometimes, it’s a couple, clearly into exhibitionism, loving every second of being watched. Sometimes it’s famous porn stars, working a whole room full of bodies, orgy-style. Once Kyle came with me and we watched a threesome, two laughing, giggling women lovingly torture a man on his knees. It was fun to watch, but I realized something about my voyeuristic tendencies: I like it best alone.

Last time I was here, there was a gorgeous man lying on his back, bound in cream-colored ropes, his ebony skin a beautiful contrast inside the bonds, his cock beautiful and full. No one came in or out of the room while he was there, and he never moved or opened his eyes. He was like a statue, and it was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

This time the shade slipped up, giving a small clunk as it hit the top and I sucked in my breath at the view. In the larger room, silhouetted by a single lamp that showed off her body but hid her face in the shadows, a woman sat in a small folding chair. Her long brunette hair fell about her shoulders in waves, and her hands were held, possibly bound, behind the back of the chair. She wore a black button-down shirtdress that hugged every curve. It was open from her upper thighs down, showing off a pair of old-fashioned garter clips attached to seamless black stockings. Her chin was lowered, but her green eyes were raised, her gaze apparently resting on the man who stood off to her side.

He was mostly outside the halo of the light, but I could see he was fully dressed in an impeccably pressed pin-striped suit, the cut of it accentuating his wide shoulders. It was all very 1950s, right down to the hat the man wore.

He held a pair of long-handled scissors — the only shiny thing in the room — his hands already settled into the large black handles. As he brought the scissors closer to her, I realized that the reason her dress was open at the bottom was because he’d cut the buttons off; they lay littered about her feet on the floor. This time, he started from the top, aiming for the button that held the dress closed over the curve of her breasts.

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Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

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