#free #erotica Whatever happened to my teacher?

Another erotic quickie: 

'Whatever happened to my teacher - and other educational tales' is free from Amazon today and tomorrow! Xmas comes early! Go grab yourself a copy now! It's here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GW6936S

Have a great week!

Lots of love,

Alexandra xxxxx

'Sensual ghosts, a stunning collection of paranormal erotica' now available on Smashwords!

Around five or six years ago, one could only have found my naughty shorties on free story sites such as Literotica, Lush, Short Fiction, and an unholy host of similar others, most of which are now defunct. One day, out of the blue, I received an email from a publisher who, after much flattery (and who can resist that?) said he would like to publish my stories. Publish! My stories! Well, what would you do? I suggested an anthology, perhaps with a theme, perhaps a paranormal theme, and he gobbled it up, said what a spiffing idea. He then said that, as he is such a busy man, I would have have to compile, edit, proof-read etc. myself and send him the finished article. At that point I should have ducked out. As should you if something similar occurs. He was no publisher, simply someone looking to take a cut from my hard work - 50% I believe it was - simply for writing a bit of blurb and uploading it to Amazon and Lulu. Henri, his name was, and he spoke like a 1950's BBC announcer. Beware if such a creature crosses your literary - or otherwise - path. And I'll tell you why: he published as he said he would, collected around 6 months worth of cash and then vanished, stopped responding to emails, simply took my share (not a princely sum, but enough to rub between my sticky fingers) and buggered off.

He did eventually take down the Amazon listing and so I started myself, began the steep learning curve that is self-publishing. It didn't take me long before I was blurb-writing, cover-designing, story-compiling. I was all over Author Central and KDP like the proverbial rash, forever honing and fine-tuning.

'Sensual ghosts', the book he had stolen from me, was reissued as my very own, new cover, new layout, new navigable table of contents, the lot. Five or so years on and there are lots of my books out there, and not only on Amazon, but Smashwords too (you can still find me on Lush Stories, but that is another story). Most are, like 'Sensual Ghosts', erotic compilations. One, 'Literal Fantasies', is a rather naughty and heart-warming novella. Yet another is a pervy poetry compilation, replete with nifty illustrations. 'Alexandra's Naughty Nibbles', a selection of enticing naughty shorties from my compilations, are also on offer, for those who may not have the time or attention span for a more substantial reading/wanking experience. To complete my current cadre, please find the first five volumes of an intended six volume sexy scifi romp entitled 'The Inversion Chronicles', with part six well underway. What a journey it has been!

I should thank Henri, really. Till his intervention, I never knew the self-publishing side of Amazon even existed, would still be freely circulating my wanton wares to an audience of wank-weary wankers.

The point of all this? For there surely must be a point? Ah, yes. 'Sensual Ghosts' my self-proclaimed 'stunning collection of paranormal erotica' is now available from Smashwords. Completely revised, new and improved, and looking better than ever. Go take a look! The first 20% can be downloaded for free! How good is that, Henri, you wonderful thieving bastard!

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/761987

Have a great week!

Lots of love and soft, sexy hugs,

Alexandra xxx

 

'Xia and the Screenwriter': YOU set the price!

Just a quickie. I always love a quickie - as long as it's consensual, of course.

My Naughty Nibble, 'Xia and the screenwriter', is currently on sale st Smashwords. Nothing spectacular there, I here you say. Ah, but here's the rub: YOU set the price, pay whatever YOU feel is reasonable, be it zero pennies to a thousand pounds. How fair can I be? 

I can see where this is going, as probably can your dear self, but - as one Debyshire dweller recently declared to me - I live in hope.

The book is here:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/732989

Hope is here:

Do not confuse the two. Hope will most probably freeze your nuts off on this very cold of December days, whereas my book will warm your heart (and hopefully a few other parts of you).

Have a wonderful weekend!

Love,

Alexandra

A glorious #giveaway: Of Angels, Mice And Men

I found a pile of Playboys under my dad's bed. This wasn't yesterday, by the way; it was way back. After fully - and I mean fully in its every sense - exploring my bi-sexuality (which has faded somewhat with the years) with the aid of the undeniably beautiful graphic photographic images, I began to read. The letters page (What everyday people get up to! What sexually-charged events they stumble into!). Fiona Richmond (What a fucking dirty slag she was and how I fucking envied her). The problem page (The problems people have! My dick is too big. My pussy is too tight. There was even a guy who could fuck his own ass and wondered if he could give himself AIDS, for fuck's sake!) And the stories. The brilliantly penned pithy tales by the world's top erotic writers. Fuck, they were clever! Fuck, they were hot! Fuck, how they made me cum, and harder than all the porny pics put together! Fuck, how they haunted me. Some still do to this day. I was only young, inexperienced too, but those writers inspired me to write torrid tales of my own. With pen. On paper. Remember that? On completion, I hid the well-fingered pages amid a pile of girly mags of an entirely different genre: they don't make magazines for girly teens quite like they did back then. The problem page. The letters page. The story page. The centre-spread boy band photos. Those were the days...

Before I left for uni, I sorted through all my old stuff and sent the said mags (plus my secreted first naughty shorties) to a local charity shop. Only later did the penny drop. I called in to buy them back, but alas, they had gone to some collector, who had snapped up the whole pile for a couple of quid. Were they in for a surprise! All my wildest fantasies laid bare. And me, myself and I laid bare in a sordid collection of Polaroid selfies, most of which were (hopefully, probably) too blurry to identify as the brace-wearing geeky virgin from number fifty-seven.

All that is in the past and has not (yet) come back to haunt me. Perhaps if I ever get famous enough, someone will take out the (hopefully) cum spattered pics and similarly soiled A4 pages and say, 'Hang on a minute! Isn't this that bird on the telly? You know? That porn writer woman? That slag that's even dirtier than Fiona Richmond?' If I'm totally honest, the thought still hangs over me, though these days it's less a Sword of Damocles and more a Spoon of Damocles, and a teaspoon at that. I have, over the years, stopped giving no more than the slightest fuck.

'Of angels, mice and men' contains tales inspired by those Playboy writers. They wrote stories, proper stories, with a message beyond the masturbation, a purpose beyond the porn. I have tried to do that here. Sometimes the sex is tame, somewhat vanilla, when compared to my more graphic tales, but it is in keeping with the setting and characters and so, to my mind at least, it is perfectly apt and equally erotic. Remember when a glimpse of stocking was something shocking? No, neither do I... though I can perfectly imagine such a time, when the merest hint of sensuality set hormones pumping and organs inflating; as Hugh Hefner knew only too well, it's not only tits, cunts and cocks that arouse us. Indeed, they can be quite a turn off in the wrong circumstances (ever been flashed at? I have and it was the least arousing episode of my entire brief existence).

Nip over to Amazon (yes, I hate the capitalist bastards as much as anyone, but who does it better?) and grab yourself a free handful of my sordid psyche, and my more sensitive sordid psyche at that. Then wank yourself daft/set the vibrator to eleven, and take a personal moment away from your busy day. And, while you're at it, arouse your mind too. The book is here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GZZ9IF2

Take care and have a glorious weekend,

Alexandra xxxx

Post script to my projected 19th of October date

What am I like? I lead you up the the garden path, hide us behind a well-placed bush and tittilate you with my torrid tongue, then leave you before the climax, simply skip away and never mention it again. I am referring, of course, to the impending date which I mooted on the 19th of October. Fear not! I am not psychologically scarred, am not suffering from heart-stopping flashbacks and terrifying nightmares (to which some previous such encounters have come precariously close to producing). No. None of the above. It was excellently awesome. Bloody brilliant. Fucking fantastic.

He was crossing the hotel carpark when I first laid actual eyes on him. I was retrieving my laptop (more of that later) from the boot of my car. He was bang on time. A very good omen, I always think. He glanced up, caught my eye and grinned his recognition before quickly eyeing me up and down. What he saw he obviously liked and I fancied he even licked his lips at the prospect. He gallantly carried my bag and we sidled - as nonchalantly as two strangers who are about to fuck possibly can - past reception and into the lift. Small talk - traffic, weather, dinner or lack of it - filled the lift before the short walk, the clicking keycard and somewhat awkward ingress into my generic little room. An offer of tea, its acceptance and subsequent kettle filling, cup rattling followed, till he eschewed the tea, simply took me in his arms and kissed me. And how he kissed me. In mere moments, straps were off shoulders, dress was around my waist and my tits were out. Our mouths parted and suddenly his was around my second - or third depending on your tastes - most intimate sexual appendages. I remember thinking that if he sucks clit like he sucks nipple then I won't last for more than a moment.

He eased me back onto the bed and now we were kissing again. I manually tested his groin, hoping for a tangible sign of his arousal and lo! Fuck. He was rigid, ready to break and enter whatever hole I offered. And I intended to offer all three, hoped he would find the ultimate pleasure in each, for condoms come in packs of three, we had three hours, and I am a great believer in providence. 

His mouth was again sucking on my aching teats and now his hand crossed my belly, skirted my pubis and settled on my thigh where it proceeded to inch towards my now dripping lips. He suddenly sat up, peeled off his shirt and cast it aside. My mouth found his nipples and my gentle licks elicited many a moan from his lovely lips. Again our mouths locked and now our hands were free to roam. I undid his jeans, tugged open his button flies and delved inside. I had seen his cock on cam and it had looked impressive enough, but the beast now in my hand was of an altogether different species. I could barely close my hand around it. Forefinger and thumb formed the C of cunt and proceeded to act like one, squeezing his prodigious girth before rhythmically tugging back and forth, up and down, till his deepening groans warned me to cease. His jeans came off and so did my dress and we dived back into the fray, pants and knickers teasingly still in place. His hand was suddenly inside mine, delighting in the prepubescent smoothness it found there. Mine was inside his, slowly stroking his full length, measuring him up, considering the impending delicious pain it would soon administer to my privates.

'Fuck, you are so wet!'

Not an ounce of romance here and I was glad. I needed fucking, was perfectly primed, and he had the perfect equipment to do it.

'So are you!'

And he was, precum oozing onto my fingers with every stroke.

I lisped like a schoolgirl, a ploy that had brought him prematurely off on our first cam-fuck.

'I want to do something naughty, something weally, weally naughty.'

'Oh, fuck, yes, anything...'

A joint effort freed him from his tight black pants. I eased his legs off the bed and positioned myself on the floor between them. Words were unnecessary. A smile and a wink and my mouth was around him. He grabbed my hair and forced my face into his groin. I resisted just enough, just enough, then took him deep into my throat, skilfully suppressing a gag till he was all but completely in me. Fuck, he was big. My mouth was forced open almost as much as his disbelieving eyes. I slowly drew him out and proceeded to lick and stroke him right to the very edge, over and over till he could bear it no more.

'Fuck, you give amazing head, Alexandra!'

And I do.

And now it was my turn. I clambered onto the bed. He positioned himself between my legs then kissed me, while his dick prodded my panties between my thighs, pressed my wetness back up inside me, the skimpy sopping cloth all that kept us apart. Another kiss before his mouth began the long journey south. No eight lane superhighway here. He took the back roads, meandered, paused to admire the scenery - he undoubtedly loved the scenery - till at last his tongue teased my most intimate parts, tasting my juice-soaked knickers, nibbling on my cloth-covered lips till I too could bear it no more.

'Lick me!'

It was as much plea as order, as much whisper as squeal. My knickers hit the wall. I even fancy they might still be stuck there. His mouth hit the target. I even fancy it is there now, nuzzling, kissing, lapping, licking, lolling and penetrating. Much as I am now, I was pissing lubrication and he was swallowing, swallowing, sucking and swallowing. A finger entered, then two... three... He hit the spot, yes, that mythical spot that many scientists say does not actually exist. Well, it does. I have experimented, researched enough to know it does. And the gorgeous fucker hit it, full on, bulls-eye, then rubbed it, roughly massaged it, all the while tastefully tonguing my clit. It was too much. Way too much. A sledgehammer on an ant. A Ferrari racing a tortoise. An atom bomb on Cleethorpes. I came. As simple as that. If you were in a Yorkshire hotel that night and thought you heard a murder, a long protracted and painful murder, then that was me. Close the investigation. Call off the sniffer dogs. Fuck. Orgasm isn't a word I use lightly - and nor should you in my experience - but I will use it whole-heartedly here. I had an orgasm. A fucking incredible gut-wrenching orgasm that I am certain caused me self-inflicted internal damage. And still the fucker forced his hand up me, still the dirty bastard clamped his mouth around my cunty bits, and still I came. On and on and on and on.

'Tea?'

Now he was asking. And I was refusing. 

'No. Please just fuck me. I want your cum up me.'

Within that rather forward statement was an implicit, 'Well, up me, yes, inside me, of course, but encased in a condom, for fuck's sake, for this is the twenty-first century and all manner of ills can reside in uncontained bodily fluids'. And, though he was on my wavelength, he was sadly on another planet. Or even in another galaxy. He glanced around.

'Where are they?'

'They?'

He coughed, having perhaps already glimpsed the awful inescapable truth.

'Where are the condoms?'

His expectant look told me I had brought them, when I was absolutely fucking certain I had not. My incredulous gasp and zig-zag mouth told him that, sexual equality or not, that condom bringing was his fucking responsibility. His fucking job. He has the cock, after all. He is the sprayer of spunk.

If the plethora of fucks in the preceding paragraph hint somewhat at my disappointment, then good. They should. For I was terribly disappointed. Though not, I hasten to add, even minutely tempted to take his flesh directly into my cathedralesque body, nor his spunk into my pristine chapel of a womb. Fuck that. Or rather don't.

Suffice to say, I wanked him onto my tits. But not just any old wank onto tits. Surely you know me better than that? This was a Rolls Royce wank onto Real Madrid tits. To stave off my cock-starved frustration and his pussyless perturbation, I logged into Cam4 (hence the earlier carpark/laptop reference) and showed the whole fucking world (well, the seventy-nine who eventually tuned in) how a sexually-skilled young woman teases cum from a young man's very meaty cock. Tease describes my efforts and not the eventual outcome: he exploded, spouted, like some untimely geyser. It was incredible. It was everywhere. I tasted it (I know, cathedralesque blah-blah, pristine chapel doo-dah: it would have been rude, unbearably rude, not to do so... And it looked - and tasted - wholesome enough). It was an amazing experience and was probably more rewarding than any (considering the orgasm I had already achieved) cunt-stretching cervix-battering he could have dispensed me. The watching crowd expressed their satisfaction (Fuck, I'm cumming! Cumming! Me too! Fuck Alex your tits are amazing. Wank it baby! Fantastic tit wank Alex! Lucky guy! Yeah, lucky fucking guy! Cummmmmmmmingggggg!!!!!!) and, as his cock finally deflated and oozed its last, we waved the assembled throng a synchronised, anonymous and very satisfied goodbye.

He quickly - almost too quickly, to be honest - dressed, eschewed my offer of a shower, even turned down a last plea for tea, kissed my lips (my facial lips) and he was away.

So there you have it. Bet you wish you had never asked! Oh, you didn't ask. So it's my fault is it? My fault you are forever plagued by those rather sordid images. Well - and here's a solution-producing solution - have a quick wank on me and exorcise them for good! :)

You'll be pleased to know I now constantly carry condons. And I would urge you to do the same.

Now be good a good boy/girl/other and have a great weekend. And read some porn. My porn. And cum. Cum loads. I intend to.

Take care and lots of love,

Alexandra xxxxxxx

Baby, you can buy my car: an erotic short story from the impeccably pervy pen of Alexandra Amalova

Hi

No blurby intro today, just a get your bits out and stroke/finger till the inevitable. And while you're at it, spice up the moment by simultaneously imbibing the following pithy piece that Webuyanycar.com should surely use instead of its pathetic car-shaped sofa ads, telling us how honest they are for saying 'you could get more for your car if you sold it privately' then showing a little girl being grateful that her daddy spent time with her rather than the streams of gorgeous girls who might turn up at their door, offer several thousand pounds more than webuyanycar.com ever would and then piston his pole while sucking him off as an added bonus. No wonder romance - along with punctuation - is dying. Anyway, here's a proper car-buying story - containing everything but the car shaped sofa and the grateful little girl - and it won't cost you a penny.

Baby you can buy my car

As his front wheel grazed the kerb and came to a halt, I was kissing him. Upon opening the door and sliding from his seat, I was stripping him. By the time he had pulled himself fully upright, I was fucking him, riding him, bouncing up and down on his firm, bulging body, his phallus embedded deep in my clenching innards, the thick, stiff shaft splitting my dripping lips.
'Hi,' the voice so deep my slender chest resonated with it, my tiny tits vibrated with it. Tingling nipples grated gently against my crisp white cotton blouse. Could he tell I was braless? Could he see the shadowy areolae and their ripe rising teats? I sincerely hoped so.
'Hi. You've come about the car?'
I batted heavy lashes towards the little red Fiat, a hint of an incredulous smile on my similarly tinted lips: his impressive frame would surely destroy my tiny machine. A sudden smile dazzled me, momentarily eclipsed the personalised porn movie spooling behind my eyes, in which I was now sitting on his face, his tongue lapping at my clitoris, while I shaved his well-gelled groin with a gleaming cut-throat razor.
'It's not for me. It's for my...'
Frames flickered and froze the blade's glinting edge to his dangling scrotum. His next word was fatal to my fantasy, poison to the probable possibilities. I simply could not allow it. Whetted words cut him off in his prime.
'Hope you're not another time-waster! Look, she's perfect for you. For anyone...'
He was already beside her, testing her cute waxed curves with a huge hand. I was jealous as fuck. Again the voice; again my quivering tits.
'A few scratches...'
On buttocks and between shoulder blades, the scabbed-over evidence of my most recent sexual seeing-to were a single body scrub away from total erasure. I objected.
'Nah. Bodywork's virtually perfect.'
He licked his thumb, massaged away a stubborn mote and tilted his head.
'Why are you selling?'
Because I need the money, for food, warmth, and a roof over my head.
'Going abroad.'
'Oh. Okay.'
With nonchalant incredulity, he kicked a tyre.
'Plenty of tread.'
My hip-hugging hand eased a pound of flesh under my denim skirt's waistband.
'Exactly as advertised.'
'Serviced regularly?'
The film rolled on. I towelled off his pristine privates then took his full length down my throat. Writhing beneath my sleek, throbbing, well-tuned bodywork, my mechanic groaned his intense approval into my sumptuous sump. In total contrast to the movie mayhem, my response remained calm and detached.
'Of course. I'm very... pedantic about regularity.'
He nodded knowingly.
'Enough room in the back?'
After tickling my sphincter, his tongue slipped up my arse.
'Depends what you're putting up there.' I believe I actually blushed. 'Er, in there. No room for golf clubs, obviously.'
Was he smirking? And was the bulge in his jeans really growing? Or was it my fuel-injected imagination?
'How many...'
I immediately clocked his meaning.
'Twenty K, give or take a mile.'
'Cool. I like 'em well run-in, all those niggly little faults ironed out. Still under warranty?'
I should think so: I'm only twenty-three.
'I should think so: I've only had her two or three years.'
He circled her.
'I'd like a test-drive, if that's okay?'
'Er, yes, of course. I'd expect nothing less.'
'Great.'
Never mind driving, these boots weren't even made for walking. I tossed him the keys.
'Ease yourself into the cockpit and fire her up.'
His look was classically quizzical, like I'd lost my marbles. And I actually had, though knew exactly where they were: clacking around within the well-lubricated cylinder that was my 10cc pussy.
The seat slid back. He adjusted the wheel then actually eased himself into the cockpit and fired her up. No words could have described it better. He glanced at me and smiled, as though he had independently reached the same conclusion. I crossed my legs and let the short skirt ride even further up my bare thighs. The seatbelt pressed blouse to breasts till my poking teats could have made eyes water. And lo! Indeed they had, though he chose a more prosaic explanation.
'Touch of hay fever. Pollen count high today.'
The nipple count too was high, an observation that transcended verbalisation.
'I also suffer, so have special filters in the A/C.'
He confirmed my belief that approving nods are excellent silent retorts.
His handling was masterful. He drove her to the limit, to the edge of space and back again, taking his time, milking the moment, reviewing her responses, masterfully manipulating her mechanics. Decisive yet thoughtful. Aggressive yet careful. Senses flaring. Body responding. As much as a car is capable of cumming, she was continually on the brink, roaring and purring, twisting and turning. When he finally opened her up on the M69, both myself and my car were at the point of no return. I ran my index finger across the central console, searching for the off-switch for the heated seat, then remembered she wasn't blessed with such luxuries. Oh, dear. Note to self: on egress, remain facing him at all times.
She sat at the kerb-side looking as winsomely innocent as she ever had, though I knew she was forever tainted, spoiled, subverted, by his buff rough handling. My vanilla clit-tickling antics would no longer be enough for her. He'd broken her in; bled her; desecrated her. She was already lost to me, whether I sold her today or not.
'So,' we were walking up the drive to my door, 'you are having her?'
I am nothing if not blunt. He twisted his lovely mouth into an expression of thoughtful doubt.
'The ride was a little soft and she lacks a bit of poke...'
My sexual fantasy had long since reached its inevitable conclusion, his mouth-filling, cum-squirting cock having erupted at the exact moment his arse-tonguing, pussy-fingering, clit-thumbing antics had pushed me over ecstasy's precipitous edge, so I was perfectly primed for any impending action, yet subdued my body's cravings just long enough for cold economics to spill past my pouted lips.
'At that price she's a gift and well you know it.'
He rubbed his stubbly chin.
'Would you take...?'
'Look,' a slow breath and my two front steps raised my nubile nipples into his eye line, 'I'm throwing her at you and you're turning me down.' Again I pouted. 'I'm offended.' I somehow pouted even more. 'Almost as much as if I'd thrown myself at you.'
The gleam in his eye said try me. I opened my front door, bade him enter then followed him inside and turned the key.

*****

This finely-wrought piece plus nine further precision-engineered components comprise the surprisingly affordable 'Measuring up: an indispensable compendium of eclectic erotica' that, were it a car, would undoubtedly win What Car's 'Sexiest vehicle of the year' award.

Copyright: Alexandra Amalova 2017. This work may not be used, either in part or in full, without the author's express permission.

Morpheus in the underground: new Naughty Nibble free today on Amazon!

Hi!

I've been too busy, reading, rereading, editing and finally publishing to post anything here for a while. Apologies again xxx It's been a while in the coming as real life has called, stomped over my doormat and ensconced itself on my sofa, demanding cups of tea and deep meaningful conversation for which I simply do not have the time. So yesterday, while it was sleeping, I quickly engaged my computer and, after logging into KDP, I posted a new Naughty Nibble, the twelfth in the series and one of my favourites. It is taken from the sexy compendium 'Sensual Ghosts' and, while not a ghost story, it contains dark paranormal themes that more than justify its inclusion in that seminal tome. Seminal because it was my first foray into publishing and not because of the gallons of semen and other, more feminine bodily fluids, its readers have undoubtedly produced. I have, I blushingly admit, contributed several pints myself, all deliciously delectable and luxuriously lubricious as I, and several of my closest admirers, can surely attest.

So, before the clock strikes midnight in California, head over to Amazon and download a free copy of 'Morpheus in the underground'. The title alone should surely entice you, never mind the titty-lating sexy young Russian (a not so distant relative) featured on the cover. The book is here:

'Morpheus in the underground' free today on Amazon!

Take care and have a delightfully debauched weekend,

Lots of love,

Alexandra xxxxx

Here's the link I promised you!

Hi

The boffins at kdp finally did their stuff and Book V of the Inversion Chronicles is now live. I really do think it is my best work to date and would love to hear your opinion too. It is best if you've read the first 4 volumes, I have to be honest, but even if you have not, I think it may well stand on its own to a large degree. Best not risk it though. Get the other 4 first. Yes, that's a better idea. Pour a little cash into my criminally sparse coffers. I am running out of tea bags and Marmite and could really do with a financial boost :)

The book is here:

Everywhere in chains on Amazon

Have a wonderful week and see you soon,

Lots of love,

Alexandra xxxxxx

There's life in the old girl yet! Three books published today!

No, I am not dead. Not even close to it. My skin is flawless, my organs frighteningly efficient, my muscles toned and taut, while my skeleton adds sufficient framework for me to accomplish virtually any humanly possible feat. In short, I am doing okay, thank you very much.

I'm trying to quash the rumour, started no doubt by people who have not seen me for a while, that I have gone to meet my maker. I am in the best of health and not in the least bit deceased. Not in the slightest. And to prove it, I have unpostumously published three books this morning. Yes, three. Could a corpse accomplish that? A cadaver endeavour to do better?

Two of them, Books II and III of the Inversion Chronicles, were previously only available from Amazon, but I have added them to my Smashwords profile for your immediate delectation. You can take a look at the burgeoning series here:

The Inversion Chronicles on Smashwords

The third newly-published book, and one that gives me even greater pleasure (some of the sex scenes came right from my most delicious organ) is Book V in that same series, which has seen light of day for the first time only this morning. It is entitled 'Everywhere in chains' and will be available once the boffins at kdp have sprinkled their magic on it - if they do actually read it, that might not be all they sprinkle on it.

Once it is live, I'll give you the link. In the meantime, you have enough to get your teeth into. So get stuck in! Here's the cover both to whet and wet your appetite!

On a lighter, more personal note, I have a date tonight. Yes, I do sometimes secure one, before you start. It's not yer usual date, though (as, if you know me at all, you might have guessed), not someone from work of a friend of a friend. Oh, no! It will not be at all romantic. No dinner, no flowers, no candles (there might be candles, though will remain hopefully unlit). It will be a totally physical event: I'm meeting a guy I have so far only cammed with, a guy who, though up to now only virtually, has given me more sexual pleasure than anyone I have yet to meet. And now, tonight, in a hotel room not far from you, we are going to do it. Yes. It. And possibly on cam if he is willing, though we will of course sport masks to hide our identities (though will be wearing little else - possibly only a condom. Well, certainly a condom. The 'possibly' referred to the fact that I might keep my skirt on - I do love a little up-skirt action - or he might keep his socks on). Cam4 is where we met. Cam4 is where we shall show the world how passion can spring forth from hopeful furtive fumblings. I cannot wait, can feel the necessary processes for such a coupling constantly ebbing and flowing both within and without me. I am, in short, all on to stop myself from going too far too soon, from shooting my female bolt, as it were (if females do indeed have a bolt). Wish me luck! 

Hope to see you soon,

Alexandra xxxxx

Free sexy scifi! 'Only who is left', book I of The Inversion Chronicles at Smashwords!

Hi

'Everywhere in chains', Book V of the Inversion Chronicles, is ready, raring to go, and teetering on the verge of publication. A tiny bit of last-minute tweaking and it's out there! Tweaking. I love that word. I'm tweaking right now. And now the other one. Wish you could see them. Wet t-shirt competition or dry t-shirt competition, I would win them all. I can cum simply by having them sucked (well, one sucked and nimbly nibbled while the other is tweaked to the very edge of discomfort... and then beyond). There. Fuck. Lucky I can just suck my own. I hardly ever need to go out.

To celebrate the new book's release, I'm offering Book I, 'Only who is left', for free and for the forseeable future. So what do I offer as a teaser? Something from book I? Or something from book V? Or one inbetween? I'll simply offer you something... and let you make up your own mind. And when you have, get over to Smashwords and download book I for free!

'Only who is left' at Smashwords

Excerpt from The Inversion Chronicles

At the end of a particularly long corridor, the one called Jenna opened a door and motioned for me to enter. With a wave, she dismissed the other three then leaned close to me as her colleagues retreated.

'There are clothes in the locker. Help yourself. I think we're about the same size. The shower's a bit temperamental, but it's okay. I'll wait outside. If there's anything you need, just...'

I took her hand, stepped through the door and pulled her into the room after me.

The kiss was unexpected; the hand on my left tit was even more so. Both were unimaginably subtle, yet simultaneously intensely powerful. The two-pronged attack saved her life. Another moment and she would have been an inanimate mess. The stark contrast between the two outcomes momentarily immobilised me and two ineluctable truths became apparent:

1.   Life and death are arbitrary.

2.   Today I am the arbiter.

It was a role I had barely considered and for which I was totally ill-prepared. The responsibility was crushing.

As the tit hand was going about its work and her other was roughly ruffling my hair, her pointy tongue was probing my mouth. Though slightly less alkaline, her saliva was almost indistinguishable from my own, a minor detail that gave me major confidence in my creative abilities. My left hand fingers combed through her long dark hair then twisted into a clump and forced our mouths into a more passionate contact. An insistent knee parted her thighs and I pressed her against the wall. As our bodies eased together, tits clashed, parted and tessellated. My right hand followed her spine, sliding beneath the waist band of her pants, over her coccyx and into her knickers, forcefully separating her arse cheeks before stabbing unsuccessfully at her tight, dry sphincter. She was gasping noisily, frantically sucking air into her depths. In response, I engaged my hitherto unused respiratory simulator and pumped hot, moist and realistically stale breath onto her face. A thud, an accompanying clatter and her gun was on the floor. Easing me back a pace, she untied the cord at my waist, peeled the gown from my shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Tits sprung free as I peeled off my vest. The gasp of raw pleasure that passed her moist lips was indescribably stimulating.

'Oh, my god.' Her open palm clasped her forehead. 'Sorry, I'm a little dizzy. You're making me...'

I kissed her nose.

'You okay?'

'Yes. You're just so fucking gorgeous. I can't believe we're going to... to...'

Arousal slurred my expletive.

'Fuck?' Open mouthed, she nodded. I raised an eyebrow. 'As much as two women can fuck, yes, we are.'

There were many ways in which this was a new experience for me and, as they were becoming increasingly wont, secondary systems began to busily enumerate them.

1.   I am on an Executive battleship.

2.   My lover is human.

3.   My lover is female.

4.   I have hair.

5.   She has hair.

6.   I don't know what she is thinking.

7.   I am wearing an article of clothing.

Invading one's personal space can have many motives; invading one's clothing has but one, and her hand was now inside my knickers, her alien finger parting my virgin lips, its soft, twirling tip preparing to take the plunge. She paused and whispered.

'I... I never even asked your name. I'm sorry.'

'It's Nina.'

'Nina. That's beautiful. I'm Jenna.'

'I know.'

'So tell me, Nina, what is it you... need?'

Again her fingertip twirled and stirred my copious wetness.

'Pussy juice. And lots of it. I'm going to eat you out, Jenna.'

Her eyes rolled and closed and she fainted into my arms.

I lifted her up and cradled her. The softness of her inert flesh surprised me, as did the lightness of her frame. She was so young, so incredibly vulnerable. Breathing in her delicate aroma, a subtle mix of scent and sweat, I traced my tongue across her lips and chin, her nose and eyes, and noted the microscopic down on her flushed cheeks. I held her till she opened her eyes, her big, brown, trusting eyes, then gently kissed her lips. Sighing, she forcibly reciprocated, wetting my face with her drooling mouth.

She gasped as I playfully tossed her onto the bed. Sighed as I pulled off her knee-high boots. Moaned as I tugged at her pants. Squealed as my teeth tore away her flimsy knickers. Meanwhile, she helped herself from her t-shirt and freed her not unimpressive tits from a cleverly cantilevered bra.

Diving straight in, I slurped on her cunt. It was saltier than I expected, with more than a hint of ammonia, plus traces of mild toxins associated with bacterial excretions. However, a second slurp was almost pure lubrication. As was a third. It was clear and sticky, musky and heady and very, very moreish. She came almost immediately, yet begged me to continue, my fingers and tongue moving quickly, lightly and untiringly, both on and within the hot raw gash that gaped between her deceptively muscular thighs. The more I ate, the more I loved her taste, recognising immediately the combination of chemicals required and determining to add them to my own intimate signature at the earliest opportunity.

Every contact made her eyes roll and again she came, her cries ringing around the hard, bare, cuboid space.

'Oh, fuck, oh, fuck... oh fuck oh fuck! Oh, Nina! What in the name of heaven are you?'

Her voice was ragged, her breath torn. I slid my tongue from her anus, reclaimed my fingers from her squelching cunt and told her the unlikely truth.

'I'm a Resistance robot, come to kill you all. To steal your ship then travel to Inversion 1 and slaughter the whole goddamn Executive.'

She laughed heartily, the convulsions pumping foaming juice from her slit. I lapped it up as she verbally expressed her incredulity.

'On your own?'

'No, of course not.' I echoed her laugh. 'With my brother.'

Three further orgasms and she was bordering on insensible. One more and she was again unconscious. If this female specimen were at all representative, humans were decidedly delicate creatures.

I gently slapped her cheek. 

'Jenna?'

Her lovely head lolled to one side and I noted the tiny bar code imprinted just below her cute, crystal-studded earlobe.

Unit 5537689211. Jenna713. Born: 138, 1422. Red Dome 26. Inversion3. Inception date 207, 1435.

Though many of my parts are numbered, I never imagined humans would carry such markings. Alongside the bewilderment, I felt somehow cheated. The numbers cheapened her. Demystified her magic. De-magicked her mystery. They capped my previously unbounded wonder. The code made her less human and more 'thing'. This thing could have a specific value. A quantifiable cost. It was expendable. Replaceable. In trying to comprehend a regime that would impose such mundane markings on something so unique, I broke the code's underlying purpose, and immediately chose to ignore it. I turned my lover's head, kissed her warm, soft mouth and both my wonder and her magic returned.

While again tapping her cheek, I blew a playful stream of air onto her eyelids. Nose twitched. Eyes cracked open. Pupils reacted, slowly adjusted to the glaring light.

'What happened?'

'You passed out again.'

'Fuck!'

'You okay?'

'Never better.'

'Good.' I slipped from my knickers, straddled her head and lowered my glistening lips onto her face. 'Now it's your turn.'

Come sample my ample wares! For free! Have me for nothing! And forever!

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

#free #erotica Of angels, mice and men

Hi

My sci-fi/paranormal erotic short story collection 'Of angels, mice and men' is free for a couple of days.

'Of angels, mice and men' on Amazon

Grab a copy, get stuck in, and let me know what you think if you do :) Have a great weekend,

Alexandra xxxx

Hurry! While stocks last! Grab your free 'Big Bag of Sexy Allsorts'!

Hi,

I hope you are both happy and healthy. And when I say both, I don't mean both of you, the two people who read this blog, as I am pretty certain only one person reads it. Thanks Mum. I mean ... Well, you know what I mean. Happy and healthy I hope you are, how ever many of you are out there. Not the best of starts, I know. This language of ours, the one that enriches the world and enables vast tracts of people from various races and cultures to communicate (or not, as the case may be), is both vague and precise in almost equal measure. English. I love it!

I wrote a story. I wrote another. This went on for a while until I had a few. I then filtered them, binned several, edited the remainder and stuck them together into a little book, a book so small it can fit onto a chip smaller than a full stop, yet can fill your head till your brain explodes. That's progress for you! I called it 'The big bag of sexy allsorts', as it is just that. There are stories that defy genre stereotypes and others that simply defy belief. There is one that is straight from the heart, that exposes me so ghastily/gloriously that I can barely stand to look at it at all. One arouses me (yes, still, after all this time) instantly, has me reaching into unspeakable parts with unspeakable ferocity to do even more unspeakable things. One is sweet. One is sour. And one - probably - tastes of earwax. And then there are others that simply make me smile. Anyway. Either way. It is free. For a couple of days it is free. And it's here:

'The big bag of sexy allsorts: a tempting selection of treat-sized erotica' on Amazon.

I love liquorice allsorts almost as much as sex itself and so would love Bertie Bassett to do me with his big, fat and deliciously-ribbed liquorice dick. Just like on the cover. Come on, Bertie, give it to me. Oh, yes. Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Mmmmmmm. More pages stuck together... 

Till next time,

Alexandra xxxxxx

Stunning, sexy scifi on Smashwords!

Hi,

At last. And not before time! Part I of my sexy scifi series, The Inversion Chronicles, is now available on Smashwords. Before further ado, it's here:

'Only who is left' on Smashwords.

You can read 20% of it - yes, a whole fifth of it, around 4,000 words - for free. It's scifi, it's sexy, it's moreish. People travel in rockets, fuck in rockets, land on planets, fuck on planets. But there's more to it than that! That wouldn't take forty words, never mind forty thousand. Please go and take a look. I simply cannot do it justice! Oh, Part II will be appearing there soon too.

Take care till next time,

Alexandra xxxx

Smashwords - strange name: nice place

'Aren't you on Smashwords?'

To be honest, till one of my online acquaintances mentioned it, I'd never heard of it.

'Smash what?' I countered, though the word was there in black and white in front of me. 'What the fuck is that?'

I am wont to swear when left feeling stupid. I swear quite a lot. 

'It's somewhere else to sell your books, an online site, somewhat like Amazon, but without the megalomaniacal streak.' I wasn't impressed. She pressed on. 'And it pays more.'

I was there in a flash, writing profiles, ticking boxes, uploading photos, generally stumbling around in the dark, banging my head and stubbing my toe. However, it didn't take me long to find the light switch, even less time to publish my first short story. And there it was - there it still is - instantly for sale. Very nice. Very easy.

To be honest, they are more particular than Amazon about the formatting - Amazon is only concerned with a variety of similar Kindles, whereas Smashwords provides multiple platforms (hark at me, sounding like I know what I'm on about!), each of which needs to be satisfied in its own particular way. It's no big deal though. If there's something wrong, they tell you, and in a way that even a simpleton like me can understand. I love them!

Up to the other day, I had three books available. Today, I have six! Yes! That's (6-3= give me a moment, or two... Nearly there...) four more than the other day. Or is it three? Whatever. The new books are all concise enough to read in a lunch break and cheap enough to replace that fattening donut you insist on having every day, even though you know it's not good for you! Well these stories are good for you:

Girl next door

The car park

Xia and the screenwriter

All are from the compilation 'Coffee with Cock', which, at $2.99 and containing ten such torrid tales, is an amazing bargain! I suppose I should say at this point that all my published stories contain some degree of adult content. That's fucking, sucking, licking, fingering, stripping, buggering, grunting, pumping, squirting, shooting, swallowing, tit-fucking, et al. But always a story. Always something to ponder once your cock has been serviced, your pussy has been sated. So if such a combination tickles your fancy, head over to Smashwords and take a look.

Alexandra Amalova on Smashwords

If you are more of a traditionalist and prefer the well-documented Amazon experience then please visit my page here:

Alexandra Amalova on Amazon

Take care and I hope to see you soon,

Alexandra

'The flower of life': Alexandra's Naughty Nibbles Book 13

Hi,

Sorry again for the blogging hiatus, but I do have a life of my own, you know. So don't be so possessive, so demanding, or you'll push me away altogether! And then where would you be? Yes, where would you be then? 

Look, I have a confession. I should have told you, I know, but don't read anything into it that simply isn't there. I published a book. I published a book and forgot to tell you. When? Weeks ago! Yes, weeks. It's no big deal, surely? So why are you looking at me like that? Yes, like that! Look, this isn't all about you, yer know! I thought we knew each other well enough to trust each other. No, I'm not seeing someone else. I don't know why I forgot to tell you. It just slipped by somehow. I just published it. No big deal. And before you say it is, it isn't. It's just another fucking book. So either accept it for what it is or just leave me alone. I can't take any more of this. You are doing my head in...

Sorry about that. It's why I live alone most of the time. Even my two and a half cats (all stuffed, and all a bit threadbare) are generally on the edge of walking out. But it's okay. If I need someone to talk to, I know you'll always be here, no matter how incredulous your expression is right now. And if I need more than that, then I have the money, clothes, car, shoes, handbags, scatter cushions, physical attributes and wherewithal to get the other too. And generally at the drop of a hat. So there! 

This book (the one mentioned in the blog's title if you're wondering what I'm on about) concerns a design, an esoteric design of interlocking circles, that some say has an incredible ancient power. I first saw it tattooed on a tit, the nipple and areola acting as the pattern's centre. And a very pretty tit it was too; it demanded to be licked, sucked, fondled... Mmm, what a night that was. As the owner nippled my slippery clit to orgasm (that was a first, but not a last: I am very partial to nipple/clit intimacy. There's probably a word for that, a word I'm too vanilla to know. Fill me in please if you know what it is. Thank you x), I glanced down at that pattern and thought, 'There's a story in this'. And so it proved. It's a bit dark in places, a bit paranormal too, but the sex is well worth waiting for. I think so, anyway - it's made me cum a few times, if that's anything to go by.

Back to the story. It took me a while to gain the experience that triggered it, a little longer to research the symbol further, and several tortured hours, days, weeks, of writing and rewriting, but I got there in the end. All you have to do is pay 99p and read it. How hard can that be? It can be found here:

'The flower of life' on Amazon

This little book is number thirteen in my Naughty Nibbles series. And before you say, 'What happened to number twelve', I'll tell you what happened. Twelve is my unlucky number, so I left it out. A dozen doesn't do it for me. It never has. If I buy a dozen eggs, one is always broken by the time I get them home. 'The Dirty Dozen' was my most disappointing film ever. Jesus had the same problem, so I'm in good company - not sure about the eggs or film, but his twelve disciples were a disastrous bunch, brought him (and subsequently the world) nothing but trouble... Thirteen, meanwhile has brought me nothing but joy. Did I ever tell you about that rugby team? At one in the afternoon? Friday the thirteenth? Thirteen tongues? A baker's dozen of dicks? And one of them a prodigious inch over a foot long? Remind me one day, and I'll relate that one. I still haven't found that rugby ball...

Right. I'm off. And so are my knickers. I need a naked nub of nipple between my legs and fast. See you soon,

Lots of love,

Alexandra

Brief extract from 'The flower of life':

Green shoots coil around my naked limbs, cutting into my flesh like wires. I struggle, but know it is futile. It always is. But though I am never strong enough to escape, I fight on, regardless. Side stems sprout, buds form, and the familiar flowers quickly bloom. They rear their huge white heads and release a perfume that intoxicates me, eroding my will until I simply do not want to escape. Two prehensile stalks snake silently into the air. Their flowers hover above me. They sway menacingly, hypnotically, then strike like cobras. One monstrous flower snaps closed over my face and immediately begins to suck the life from me. I lie rigid in the velvet darkness, unable to breathe. With accustomed horror, I feel the second bloom close like a vice around my naked groin. It pulses rhythmically, drawing me into hardness as the pressure and frequency of its efforts increase. Sticky-sweet stamens invade my mouth and nose, the tendrils forcing their way into every orifice, choking me, as the pain in my groin melts into pleasure and intensifies.

‘Oh, God! I’m… I’m…’

I panic then gasp for air and thrash my arms. Trembling hands tear the nightmare from my face and crotch and I sit up in the darkness of my room, drenched in sweat, fighting for breath, heart hammering in its bony cage. I reach beneath the sheets. Reassuringly firm and painfully hard, my erection throbs in my palm, my abstinence still intact.

*

#free concise #erotica: 'Single again'

Hi

I went to the doctor's the other day. He looked surprised though pleased to see me.

'Hi, Alexandra! I haven't seen you for ages!'

'No,' I speedily replied, 'I haven't been well.'

And that's how it is. I haven't been here for a while either, but not because I've been ill. It's because I've been too well. I play tennis and it's that time of year again - Paris, quickly followed by Wimbledon. Not that I play in such hallowed arenas, you understand. I'm not quite good enough for that. But I do grace my local courts, looking hot in my skimpy gear, overworked sports bra tussling with my taut titties. And I love those short skirts that show off my tanned thighs and tight bum. I use - naturally - Head rackets and grip their grips with the same careful precision and artistry with which I grasp a pulsing dick. Bugger! I've turned myself on now! And once turned on I simply have to take it to a breathless conclusion. Though I love to fuck all manner of males, I do love to masturbate over a woman. And who better to foam my inner thighs than Garbiñe Muguruza, currently on show on Eurosport. Mmm, just look at that! Tall, long-legged and deliciously elegant! A 'Spaniard in my wanking works', to paraphrase John Lennon. You can even see her nipples prodding through her Adidas dress. Oh, yes. Oh, ffffffucking yes! Game, set, and fucking match.

So to the point of this post. Free erotica. A free wank on me. Mmm, I love being wanked on. The tome in question is 'Single again', a tale of cheating, contrition, and wanking on cam. Something else I am wont to do. Bear with me a moment while I just get my body out for the porno populace. There. Second orgasm today! God, I love it, love to watch the cams of those I have made hard and imagine the resulting spunk filling my every orifice... Yes, I'm horny. Can you tell?

Here's the book:

'Single again' free on Amazon.

Grab yourself a copy. I'd simply love you to. All the best till next time,

Alexandra xxx

Free #erotic Nibbles: Truth will always out

Perk up your journey into work. Enliven your coffee break. Or simply relax, put your feet up, and nibble on my naughty bits. And all for free! Who could possibly resist?

'Truth will always out', an erotic short story and Book 6 of my Naughty Nibbles series, is free for the day. Please, please, please, take advantage of my willing wantonness and get stuck in:

'Truth will always out' on Amazon.

It's the story of Jimmy and Steve, lifelong best friends, who marry twin sisters. Told from a rather selfish Jimmy's perspective, it is a heady hedonistic tale examining the limits of human moral, emotional and sexual frailty. Here's a brief X-rated extract:

Then Abigail popped in unexpectedly on some spurious pretext one morning while Steve and Andrea were both at work, and that's when it all started to go wrong. Either by design or by some mutually subconscious agreement, we'd never been alone together in all the intervening years - and we were about to discover why that had been such a good idea. I answered the door and... Bam! There she stood: one hundred per cent concentrated sex on long, slender legs. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to look good and, despite having just spattered a porn mag's double-page spread, I was instantly hard. Leaning seductively against the doorframe, she hungrily looked me up and down. When her bulging eyes encountered the bulge in my jeans, she exhaled a long, satisfied breath through her perfect nose. Her pupils instantly dilated, her cheeks flushed pink, and she ran her tongue around her full lips and suggestively swallowed. If her short black skirt, exposed cleavage and saucy smile weren't enough of a come-on, her hoarsely whispered, ‘Fuck me with that big cock of yours, Jimmy, just like you used to,' left me in no doubt and had me pushing her against the stairs, pulling down her flimsy knickers and entering her primed cunt from behind almost before the door had slammed shut. Her fabulous tits were soon out and I pawed them, used them as handles to pull her back onto me. The hallway echoed to the sounds of slapping flesh and our animal grunts. I knew straight away this wasn't going to be a one-off; it was definitely a curtain raiser. Certain there'd be lots of future occasions for all the clever, kinky stuff, I just rammed it in. It was simply urgent fucking, like two frantic randy dogs in the street. I was staking a claim, making my mark, notching my belt. And so was she. I gloried in the tight, pulsing vaginal muscles that squeezed me, and the handfuls of exquisitely soft titty flesh that gave me purchase on her gorgeous body. I simply emptied my balls inside her squelching hole, never thinking of anyone or anything but myself. When I was done, she drew away, pulled up her knickers and, while pouring her tits back into the cups of her lacy black bra, slowly turned to face me. She knowingly nodded her head, a smug and satisfied look on her face. Suddenly dropping to her knees, she noisily sucked me clean then stood and kissed me full on the lips, penetrating my mouth with her tongue almost as violently as my cock had penetrated her. I closed my eyes and breathed in her aroma, tasted then swallowed our mixed juices and knew this was what I wanted more than anything. After drawing a long, red fingernail across my chest, up my neck and to the tip of my stubbly chin, she questioningly tilted her lovely head.

‘Same time tomorrow?'

‘Yes, please.'

*****

'Coffee with Cock': an erotic compendium available in several guises

Hi

How are you? Okay, I hope X For my part, I'm doing okay too, reading a lot, writing a little, but mostly editing and rejigging my stories for publication.

One book I am relatively (I'm my own worst critic) pleased with is 'Coffee with Cock', a book I originally published as an ebook around 4 years ago. It was my second foray into self-publication, my first being a compilation of paranormal erotic entitled 'Sensual Ghosts'. I must admit, when I first strayed writing erotica, I never imagined anyone else would read what I had written, was simply writing for my own purposes, namely catharsis: a relationship had gone terribly wrong and I was writing it down to clear my constantly spinning head. I recorded it all: the love, the heartache, the lust and frustration, and all of the frantic fucking that interspersed them. It was a traumatic time, but writing it all down helped enormously. And writing about the sex gave me almost as much (and sometimes more!) pleasure than actually doing it. 

At first, I wrote on paper with a pen (remember them?). It quickly became addictive and I was often up all night, scribbling away, fiddling away (I must be honest and say that I was often so turned on while writing that I simply could not resist a bit of personal fiddling). Then, to avoid the risk of my memoires being read by others, I put the paper away and turned electronic. Wherever I was, I was feverishly tapping away on my phone or iPad. Fact quickly turned to fiction. Stories poured from me. It was exhilarating. 

I tentatively showed one to a friend, an experienced writer of short stories and poetry, and she (rather blushingly but very enthusiastically) pointed me to a story site she used, saying it had a thriving erotic section. So I did. And, to my surprise, they loved whatever I posted. Several of the writers there advised me to self-publish on Amazon, which I eventually did. What a buzz that was, seeing my words 'in print'! More books followed. Then more. I bloody loved it!

Anyway. Back to the point of this post. That book I mentioned, 'Coffee with Cock, is now also available as a paperback! Yes! A real bloody paperback. In print, without the ' and the '. But that's not all! Not only is it on Amazon but, after lengthy and heart-rending editing, it is also on Smashwords. I can't believe it took me so long to acquaint myself with that ubiquitous site, yet there I am at last. 

The links to 'Coffee with Cock' are here:

ebook on Amazon.com

ebook on Amazon.co.uk

Paperback on Amazon.com

Paperback on Amazon,co.uk

ebook on Smashwords

I hope you can find the time to take a look. Here's a brief synopsis of all the included stories - many of which are also published separately in my Naughty Nibbles series - to whet your appetite:

Steve, Abigail, Andrea, Rae and me (published separately as 'Truth will always out')

Jimmy's affair with his wife's twin sister - the wife of his best friend, Steve - is wild, but it pales beside his online fling with the mysterious American beauty he knows simply as Rae.

Home is the sailor

A cruise ship steams into the night. Overwhelmed by the vast ocean and her uncertain future, a lone girl stands at the prow and casts her childhood into the vessel's churning wake.

Like mother, like daughter

In the middle of the night, Robbie is woken by a snarling, finger-pointing woman who claims to be the mother of the girl who has just left his flat, the girl whose damp, dirty knickers still dangle from the head of his bed.

The girl next door

In a frenzy of lust and confusion, Eliot steals the clothes of Bianca, the beautiful girl next door, and uses them to enact intimate scenes in the privacy of his bedroom. As the summer holidays progress, the teenage neighbours develop a flirty friendship which leads to even more confusion in the young man's mind.

Single again

Recently separated after a brief but sordid affair, Karen decides a new start in a new home would be beneficial. Incredibly, she finds she is already intimately acquainted with the rude and arrogant owner of the cottage she has set her heart on, and shamelessly decides to use this fact to her advantage.

Xia and the screenwriter

An inexperienced but eager screenwriter has a porn movie script accepted and filming is quickly scheduled. After an on-set accident involving the leading man, our hero is press-ganged into a scene with Xia, his ultimate sexual fantasy and the most famous porn star of her generation.

Coffee with Cock

A young man muses over the female clientele in a bustling coffee shop, with candid commentary from his willing, eager and constantly throbbing companion.

The car park

Finding instant affinity in a late-night chat room, two daring and fortuitously local lovers are inspired to brave the drifting snow and share a stunning hour of backseat passion.

Thanks for calling in and thanks for your continued support. Take care! I hope to see you again soon xxxx

Alexandra xxxxxxxx

Another new Naughty Nibble! 'A little death'

A little death never did anyone any harm. Not in my experience, at least (though Goldie Hawn's husband in that classic comedy 'Private Benjamin' might disagree). And though it sounds like the title of the next James Bond film, it is actually the title of the latest addition to my Naughty Nibbles series, the eleventh in that series, believe it or not! It's a ghostly - though not ghoulish - tale of love and loss and the hereafter featuring a spirit's rather selfish intrusion into his beloved's new relationship. It's available from here:

'A little death' on Amazon

And also from here!

'A little death' on Smashwords

So no excuses then. I'm not having the old, 'I don't like Amazon, that bunch of multi-national neo-Nazis', I'm just not having it. Get it from Smashwords, those most pleasant author-and reader-and-planet-friendly purveyors of everything literal. 

Take care till next time,

Alexandra xxxx

'First time: last time' - #free #ghostly #erotica from the spooky pen of Alexandra Amalova

For today and tomorrow (Tuesday 11th and Wednesday 12th April 2017), I am giving away - yes! Giving away! - an eery erotic short story. If you like sex and you like death (though not at the same time, I hasten to add), then you'll love this. On second thoughts, scrub the 'like death'. That's weird. And though the story is weird, it's not weird in that way. It's spooky. And sexy. And uplifting. And tragic. And haunting. And in several senses of the above terms.

'First time: last time' on Amazon.com

'First time: last time' on Amazon.co.uk

Have you ever made love to a ghost? I remember a story about a preacher who asks his congregation that very question. A wiry, unshaven old man at the back timidly puts up his hand. The preacher is incredulous.

'What? You've made love to a ghost?'

'Oh,' the old man sheepishly replies, 'I thought you said a goat.'

So get your free copy now and read till you stop. Then read it again. And, if you feel the inclination, let me know what you thought. I will sit here holding my breath until you do. No, stenographer, I said holding my breasts. Breasts. Yes, that's right. Can I go back to my cell now, please? Thank you.

Take care till next time,

Alexandra xxx

The Snowgirl - #free #erotica with icy blood in its paranormal veins!

The Snowgirl, an erotic short story of mine, is free on Amazon today and tomorrow (7th and 8th April 2017):

Get your free copy here!

Number 9 in my Naughty Nibbles series, it's a touching tale with steamy sex and an icy twist. It's free. It's concise - read it over a coffee and still have time to gaze into the distance and randomly ruminate. What more could you ask?

Take care till next time,

Alexandra

'Presence' - individually-wrapped paranormal erotica

Is it ten? Really ten? Yes it is! With number eleven well on its way. Presence - book ten of Alexandra's Naughty Nibbles - is now available from Amazon:

'Presence' on Amazon

This is paranormal erotica with the tag line, 'A new car, a sunny day and an open road propel a young man on a dark, deadly, and erotic journey'. Here's the cover, featuring a beautiful and apposite photo, one of those things you see and think, wow, that's exactly how I imagined it to be...

Have a lovely weekend and I'll see you all soon. Take care,

Alexandra xxx

Before I go, here's a brief extract from 'Presence':

As I'd imagined, the sat nav has a woman's voice, and a very nice voice it is too. For some reason - perhaps it's the perfume - I christen her Rose.

'At the next roundabout take the second exit.'

'What, you mean straight on, Rose?' 

'Take the second exit.'

'Like I said, straight on!'

That's me, I'll even argue with one of these. No wonder I'm single at the moment. If it were a bloke directing me, I'd keep quiet, merely nod my head in silent, knowing, masculine gratitude, but her tone of voice has just a hint of 'I told so' about it which winds me up. Still, I need her now, so I'm not going to upset her.

'In two hundred yards, turn left.'

'Are you sure, Rose?'

'To be honest, I have no idea... never been this way before. But who cares? Let's just drive!' 

'Yeah, why not?' 

As the daydream wraps me in its soothing, swirling coils. I sing a song I didn't know I knew:

'Life is an open road,

Fill her up and foot to the floor;

Life is a one-way street,

There's no going back for more...'

It's somehow playing on the CD player. I allow myself to be carried away by my subconscious meanderings, though deep inside I am anchored to reality, know I am on my own and this is just a fantasy, a rapture.

The shadow beside me solidifies and I can see her now if I don't look directly at her. She's blonde, about seventeen or eighteen. Really not much more than a child. Her eyes are big and heavily made-up and she's wearing blue, but exactly what I can't tell. Then she speaks. She has a broad local accent and her voice is hoarse in a very sexy way.

'This is great... what a gorgeous car she is. I love her already. Music blasting, air con, heated leather seats... mmm, I like the feel of that.' 

My words flow naturally, like I'm reading from a script.

'It's warm; you don't need heated seats today! Anyway, you're hot enough!' 

Giggling, she wriggles deeper into the black leather. I can see her legs are bare and her short blue denim skirt has ridden up.