Thursday, 12 December 2013

My latest title: Intrusions

Hello again!

My latest title, Intrusions, came out on Amazon Kindle and Smashwords yesterday.  This story was inspired by a picture I acquired from Shutterstock, which I use for the cover.  Here's the outline of the plot:

When Sophie catches her boss in a compromising situation with a client, a succession of events change her life bringing some exciting new opportunities.  But a co-worker bursts into her home and threatens to destroy all that she is working for; then a strange thug enters her room with his friends, demanding the use of her body for bestial acts.  Can she escape these awful situations?  Or will her wonderful new world come crashing down?

Two men who feature in this work (both of them are nasty guys) are drawn from people I've known in real life - although I never experienced the kind of rough treatment endured by the heroine here! 

And here's an extract, taken from somewhere in the middle of the book:


       One evening, after I’d finished my session with Frank and was packing up, ready to go to bed, the doorbell sounded.  I wore only my dressing gown (or housecoat, as some people call it), so I put on the security chain - I wasn’t going to get caught out by someone like Mulford again - and spoke on the intercom. 
       “I have a box of documents for Mr. Spires,” the voice announced.
       I wasn’t expecting any shipment of documents, but assumed Frank had omitted to mention them to me.  I opened the door.
       A guy in a baseball hat stood on the doorstep, his face obscured by the large box he carried.  His peak was drawn down low across his eyes.  I realised I’d have to undo the security chain to take the box; not thinking about the risk, I quickly unhooked it and opened the door.
       “It’s heavy, so I’ll leave it in your hall,” he said.
       “No, it’s O.K.  I’ll take it.”  I reached out and he placed it in my arms; it was very heavy and I nearly dropped it.  My body bent forward as I tried to rescue the box.
       He caught it, and pushed forward into the house.  I moved back to let him in.
       “Just leave it there,” I said, pointing to the floor.  “Do I need to sign for it?”
       “No, Sophie.  It’s all right.”  He took off the baseball hat and revealed himself.  It was Mulford.  He shut the door behind him, and grinned.  We were alone in the house together, and I was vulnerable.
        “What do you want?” I shivered.
       “I told you I’d come back.  I think you know what I want.  Don’t bother opening the box.  It’s only some heavy junk.  It's a clever ruse, though, don’t you think?”
       “I’ll call the police.”
       “But you invited me in, remember?  We work together.  I came round to discuss a business deal we’re working on.”
       “A business deal?”
       “Yeah.  You give me what I want, and I won’t pester you again.”
       “What do you want, exactly?”
       “Oh, thirty minutes with your body should be enough.”
       “No deal.  Forget it.  Now get out of my life before I call the police.”
       “Not so fast.  I’m a paralegal.  What do I do?  I do legal research.  And I’m good at it.  Give me a ton of due diligence projects and I’m as happy as Larry.  And I’ve been doing some research on your friend Frank Spires.  He’s not all that he appears to be.”
       “What do you mean?”  I wanted to keep him talking while I tried hard to think what to do next.  Did I have anything within reach that I could use as a weapon to drive him away?  There was nothing in the hall, and I didn’t want to draw him further into the house.
       “I have enough on him to do him serious professional harm.”
       “But he’s one of our firm’s clients.  That’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it?”
        “It would look bad for the firm if it became known that we had a criminal for a client.  I’m only looking after the firm’s interests.”
       “So what is he alleged to have done?”
       “Not so fast.  You do as I ask first, then I’ll tell you.”
       “What do you want?”
       “Let’s go through to your living room.  Are you making coffee?  Then we can relax and I’ll explain what I want.”
       Against my better judgement, I led him into the living room and gestured a seat to him while I went to the kitchen to pour him a coffee.
       “Thanks,” he smiled when I passed him a mug.  I braced myself to listen to his demands.
       “This is perfectly simple, really.  I’m a guy with basic urges...."


I have several other stories in the pipeline - and I'm not sure which one will get finished first.  If I don't write any more here until January, may I take this opportunity to wish you and yours all the very best of happiness during the festive season and for 2014.

Keep smiling!

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

"Deception and Denial" has been published

Hello again!

I’m pleased to announce (finally) that my editor has cleared Deception and Denial for publication.  It’s based on an amalgam of three real-life events that have appeared in newspapers over the years - I brought the stories together into a single plot.  I don’t want to give too much away here, but this is the outline and a short extract to whet your appetite:

Adults only: some explicit sex scenes render this story unsuitable for people under 18 years of age.
When Mike and Ruth suddenly find their nest empty, with their sons at college, their life changes. Ruth has a secret that she's keeping from Mike; if he finds out, it could ruin their marriage.  He has a well-paid position in a local firm but, when his boss decides to retire, a string of events lead to Mike having to keep a secret from his wife.  Ruth knows she has to confess her secret to Mike... but how will he react?  Is there a way to save their relationship?  Will the cost be too high if Ruth were to know about his secret?


Mike cast his mind back to the days when he and Polly were in the first throes of young love.  Although they had lacked the maturity that would come with the passing of time, they had felt truly committed to their relationship and – although they had never discussed getting engaged or considered the enormity of a lifetime together – everyone in their circle of friends had assumed that they were going to get married.  They were so natural together, they had said.

He had felt terrible when he lost Polly.  But, as soon as Ruth’s pregnancy had been confirmed, his family – and Ruth’s parents – had agreed that it was the right thing to do.  Mike had always been brought up ‘to do the right thing’ and he felt that he didn’t have any choice in the matter; fate had cruelly intervened and an alternative future had been decided for him.

Ruth and Mike had seemed quite happy together, once the children had come along.  She had her own projects to occupy her mind, once released from the chores of being a full-time mother, and Mike had steeped himself in his career and had risen by degrees in the firm.  But he had never forgotten Polly.  He couldn’t get her out of his mind; throughout their marriage, when he was making love to Ruth, he had been holding Polly’s body in his imagination.

The next morning, memories of the extraordinary offer made to him the previous evening had jolted him awake.  He felt unnerved; it was impossible for him to lie still next to Ruth.  He sat up on the side of the bed, staring out of the window, while she slept on. 

*     *     *

This is currently available on Amazon Kindle and Smashwords.  You'll be able to purchase it through Apple and Barnes & Noble as soon as an ISBN number can be allocated... and this is out of my hands.  Here are the links:



Twitter:  @RachelCray1

Tuesday, 8 October 2013

A new story: A Face from the Past

Hello, everyone!

My latest story - A Face from the Past - has just been published.  This is the ninth title I've written in the series "Law Firm Love", and I hope you enjoy it.  Here's an outline of the story:

When Carolann joins a law firm as a secretary, she doesn't realise there's a guy there with whom she used to work in a previous firm... and who is an old flame.  But he has a new girlfriend now - a jealous woman who warns her off when she discovers her past.  Carolann's not interested in rekindling the relationship until she moves to his department... and she changes her mind.  To complicate things, a young lawyer makes a move to win her affections; when it all goes wrong, there are fireworks - in the office and in the bedroom.... someone is going to get hurt.

And here's a specimen to whet your appetite - please note that this work contains adult themes (including non-violent BDSM) which render this book unsuitable for people under 18 years of age.  It is an erotic romance novella, over 24,000 words long.

     He turned round.  His erection was pushing forward.
     I looked up at him and smiled.  I may have licked my lips.
     “Seduce me,” he whispered.  “Please.”
     I knelt before him and pulled down his zip.  It didn’t take me long to fish inside to draw out his dick; the pink head seemed so inviting, and the little pee-hole at the end glistened in hope of some relief for what might follow. 
     Putting it in my mouth, I rolled it around in my tongue; it continued to grow and very soon it became uncomfortably hard.  I pulled away, and began to massage the shaft.  He was sighing softly; I looked up and saw his face screwed up, his eyes squeezed tight.  I was enjoying his ecstasy, and I delighted in giving him this pleasure, for I had never masturbated a virgin man before.
     I heard a loud grunt and felt his cock pulsate with excitement.  He was about to release his seed at me.  I looked down at my clothes.  Shit! I thought.  I was wearing a sweater; I should have worn an open-necked blouse, or something to have revealed my cleavage.  I wanted him to come over my breasts.  But it was too late.
     Steering his cock to one side, so he wouldn’t come over my sweater, I gave him another couple of strokes.
     “No!” he called.  “Let me, please!”  He pushed my hand away and held his dick in his hand as he ejaculated over the carpet in front of him.
     I didn’t get up; I watched intently as his semen continued to drip down.  I was tempted to catch it in my hand, but he had insisted he needed full control himself.
     There was a silence while he composed himself.  He tucked his cock back inside, and looked down at me.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “It wasn’t meant to be like this.  I wanted it to be... special.  I’ve ruined it.”
     “No, you haven’t,” I replied, trying to reassure him.  I reached my feet.  “These things happen all the time.”
     He looked at me.  “I think you’d better leave, Carolann.  I’ve disgraced myself.  Please don’t tell anyone about this.”
     “Of course I won’t.  But why...?”
     “Go now, please.  We won’t talk of this again.”


This time next week, I hope to announce the completion of my next title, Deception and Denial.
I've been struggling with my conscience in the writing of this story - for reasons which I shall explain in my next blog.  Watch this space!

Best wishes,Rachel

email : rachel (at) rc (dot) com
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Friday, 4 October 2013

Dan's Party

Back in 2011, I wrote a trio of books (not a trilogy, exactly) around a fictitious olde worlde village in England called Maybourne. They were erotic romances, entitled A Close Match, Village Accounts and Kate's Return. I had an idea to write a longer string on stories in this series, but my Muse - bless her! - decided that I should produce other stuff.

I'd like to return to write more about the kinky goings-on in Maybourne one day soon; I wrote a couple of chapters for a fourth in the series, but it opened with a fight at Paula's wedding reception - and there were so many characters involved that I was worried that any reader who was new to the series would get hopelessly confused. Maybe I'll revisit the story and see if we can improve it.  Anyway, I decided instead to turn my attention to Dan's stag party (bachelor party in the U.S.).  I wrote a short story which was offered as a freebie... but it had a mixed reception, and I withdrew it after a few months. Here's why.

One major part of the plot involved an amateur stripper entertaining a bunch of young guys who were hopelessly drunk. I wasn't happy with my initial draft - for those of you who don't know, I've been on this planet quite a long time and seen a lot of things, but I'd never been in a roomful of men watching a stripper.  So I was out of my depth when describing everything and it all came out too "girlie". I asked a male friend (not a relation, I hasten to add!) to have a look at it and suggest some revisions. When it was finally published, some people reacted very positively to it and I had some good reviews.

But one influential reviewer, noted for her incisive perception, wrote something on the lines of "If I didn't know better, I'd say this was written by a guy, and not by Rachel Cray". I didn't want my readers to start thinking that I was routinely getting a ghost writer in to write all my work and then claim the credit entirely for myself, so I pulled it. As a result of this, I shall never ask anyone to rewrite my stuff for me. Certainly my editor can suggest changes to me, but I'll rewrite them all myself.

I'm offering this story - Dan's Party - to you on this site today. Here's the outline, short and simple : Tony is to be best man at Dan's wedding to Paula, and hires Samantha as a stripper at Dan's drinks party. There's a surprise waiting for Samantha....

And whilst I have your attention, I am just putting the finishing touches to my next story, A Face from the Past, which I hope to have published next week.

Thank you all for your continued support,
Best wishes,

Thursday, 26 September 2013

Stuck! (....another short story)

Hello again!

There's another short story - click on the link in the left margin.

Have you ever been stuck in an elevator?  Or, if you speak British English, have you ever been stuck in a lift?  It's happened to me a couple of times, but we were freed within an hour.  And there wasn't time for anyone to attempt relationship-building like the characters in the short story I've put up today.  If it looks a little familiar, it's because I offered it as a freebie a couple years back when I first started publishing on Amazon.  In those days it was called Lift Stop, but I guess a lot of my American readers might not have understood the title.

Whilst writing, I have a quick progress report.  I'm a quarter of the way through my next title - it looks like it's going to be a little longer than originally planned, and there's less erotic content in it than normal - I'd say, at a rough guess, there may only be two or three erotic scenes in it.  Don't blame me, blame my characters!   (How about that for a disclaimer?)  So I'm going to call it an adult romance, not an erotic romance... but I'm still aiming to have a 'happy ever after' ending.

More soon!

Friday, 20 September 2013

Banana Twist - the first short story

If you click on the link in the left margin, you'll be able to read a short story that I wrote a couple years back.  I'm hoping to put another one up again soon - depending on how quickly the Muse delivers it to me!  I have to tell you that this story - Banana Twist - was inspired by this rude picture:

Now on to other things.  I was hoping to get a serial started but there have been a few setbacks with my main writing schedule and that project is going to take some time before it's ready.  If you're desolated to hear this terrible news, I can console you with some more material which I'll be putting up here in the next few days - it won't happen all at once, and will take several weeks to complete, but I hope there will be enough to kee you interested for a while.

I was always told that all the time we write, our style should be improving.  I have four or five unfinished stories that I want to revisit before the end of the year and revise them; more news later.  And I'm just starting the final chapter of my latest law firm romance, A Face from the Past.  I have my editor standing by, ready to work on it as soon as I've finished it, and will announce its publication here.

Keep watching this space for more developments!


Wednesday, 11 September 2013

The Girl in the Glade - Author's Note

The first section of this story is intensely personal to me, and one which I was never sure I'd write about. When I was seventeen years old, I had a bad accident which resulted in my having a near-death experience - although people didn't talk much about such things in those days (it was in 1967) and I kept the episode pretty much to myself, thinking I was unique. Yes, I went along the tunnel, saw the light and met people - some who were already dead, and others who later became my children and grandchildren - and, most important to this story, met the soul I have called The Gatekeeper.
When I started the first chapter, I wrote - as in all my stories - from a woman's point of view. Then I thought that I could make the rest of the story far more interesting if I had a hero, rather than a heroine. So I had to backtrack and rewrite everything from a man's point of view - something that's not always so easy to do.

Although I haven't mentioned it here yet, I can assure you that there are plenty of erotic scenes in the story. I couldn't live without them!

Here's the outline:

As a result of a near-death experience during a car crash which kills his wife, Andrew becomes sexually involved with a young woman whom he meets in an idyllic woodland glade. Initially believing her to be his soul-mate, he becomes infatuated with her. His son - endowed with strange abilities - warns him and Andrew soon realises that things are not what they seem. The truth arrives too late: he puts his second marriage at risk and, just when everything seems resolved and he's back in control, he is propelled into a situation where his life - and all those whom he loves - are in imminent danger.


I rang Susie, my sister, first thing the next morning to let her know that I’d be coming alone because Caroline was too busy with her work.
Then I telephoned Caroline to apologise for my behaviour the previous evening – although I considered she was equally at fault.
“I had an awful day at the office, and I took it out on you. You’re a free agent, Caroline. You can go out with any man you like. I was being silly, and I’m very sorry.”
Instead of responding directly to what I had said, she changed track. “I’ve never met your friend Aurelia. But I had another dream about the glade... and it’s occupied my mind ever since. Aurelia came to me in the dream; she said she’d watched us making love against the tree on Sunday afternoon. And she told me not to see you again, otherwise something terrible would happen.”
“You’re not superstitious, are you, Caroline?”
“This isn’t superstition. This was real. It was as if she appeared in my bedroom, looking over me. It was frightening.”
“We all have nightmares.”
“Not like this one. She described what I was wearing, what you were wearing, and how you couldn’t... how you couldn’t reach a climax. She must have been there, watching us.”
“I never saw her,” I lied. “I can’t think of a rational explanation. It’s obviously upset you, so let’s talk about it next week, when I get back. Things should have settled down by then.”
“You’re not seeing her this weekend, are you?”
I lied again. “No. I’m never going to see her again. You know that. I’ve told you so.”
I put the phone down, and felt a stirring between my legs. I was excited; I’d be seeing Aurelia again, on the way back from Susie’s on Sunday afternoon. Aurelia had entranced me; I was in thrall to her, and I didn’t know how to get her out of my head.


More again soon - keep reading!


email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Tuesday, 10 September 2013

September 2013 Update: Planning for Change...

Hello again!

Regular visitors to this site may notice that I'm gradually changing the cover designs for most of my books. Please let me know if you like them... or if you prefer the old designs. Indie authors like me are constantly being reminded that we have to take a more active role in our own marketing, and getting new cover designs is just part of the picture. As if we don't have enough time writing new stories!

I've been doing some planning to make some other changes but they will have to come at a slower pace as I have a lot of new words to get down - my Muse is getting impatient with me because I'm not typing fast enough. And some of the changes will have an impact on this website.

When time permits, I want to put out a weekly (illustrated!) serial and maybe some short stories here, just to whet the appetite of new readers. I'm still planning the opening episodes of the serial in odd moments, but I hope to have the first of the short stories out next week.

Secondly, I'll be changing the links in the right-hand column, but very slowly - each link will go to a free first chapter of the story listed, with links to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Apple, Kobo and whoever else. I want to get my words out there!

Finally, I'm currently half-way through writing a new story in the Law Firm Love series - no, I don't have a title yet. But I'm planning on making it the standard 30,000-word length as all the others. I'm keen to get this out as fast as I can, since I've spent far, far too long writing in the fetish erotica genre, in my guise as C.P. Waterman. My roots are in erotic romance, and I need to get active back here once more.

Any questions? No? Good. Now I can get back to writing Chapter 4....



email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Monday, 9 September 2013

When One Love Is Not Enough

A long time ago, there was a girl in our office who worked part-time. She was married, but she had a sick relative and she had to take turns in caring for her; this meant she was away from home four days every week. Her husband was a good-natured kind of guy. Things unravelled after she'd been in our team for six months; it turned out that there was no sick relative. She was a bigamist, and had another husband a couple of hundred miles away that she saw the other half of each week. Neither of her husbands knew the other existed. She went to prison, and we never heard from her again. Now that sounds like a basis for a good story, doesn't it? Maybe I'll write it one day.

The herone in this story - When One Love Is Not Enough - has two guys in tow, but - unlike the real-life situation I've just described - both men know about each other. She has to reach an important decision.

Here's the storyline:

Kim Beech is a secretary at the London office of an international law firm. She has to rush to hospital when her father falls ill, and has a chance meeting with Andy, her old boyfriend. They fall for each other again, and agree to go out together every weekend when Kim comes to visit her father.
Meanwhile, when she returns to work, she meets Steve - a handsome American lawyer who has just transferred from the New York office - and her loyalty to Andy is put to the test. Steve is prepared to share her with Andy; he'll see her during the weekdays and, over the weekend, Andy can see her. Kim enjoys the sexual attention she receives from both men, but eventually realises she is deceiving them and deceiving herself. She can only have one love. Once she has made up her mind which man she wants, how can she tell the disappointed party...?


“Do you dance?” Without waiting for my answer, he walked over to his CD player and put on some slow, smoochy music. “May I have this dance?”
I had no option but to accept, and he held my waist with both hands, swaying in time with the slow tempo. We said nothing; we maintained a silent eye contact. He wanted me. But I wasn’t available. I shut my eyes, shunning the temptation that his body offered as he pressed himself closer against me while we danced. And, when I opened them, I saw his lips were close to mine, ready to plunge forward and announce his desire to have me, if I were willing.
It was enough. I withdrew. I had had Andy in my bed that morning. I couldn’t betray him that quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I guess I misread the signals.”
“Forget it,” I tried to smile, and walked away. “Do you need a hand in the kitchen? The washing up?”
“You’re a secretary, not my housemaid,” he said as I went into the kitchen and ran some hot water into the sink. “There’s no need for this,” he continued.
I only arrived here fifteen minutes ago, and I can’t really leave so soon, I reasoned. Doing the washing up somehow prevented me from making a hasty, undignified exit so soon after everyone else had left. “I’ll wash, and you can wipe,” I said.
We began, and there was plenty to talk about while we worked.
“O.K., Ms. Beech, can you make yourself available on Wednesday evening? By way of thanks for helping me with the washing up, and as a consolation for not being able to make tonight’s party?”
“What’s the occasion? A supplementary housewarming party?”
“No. I want to entertain you. Just you. Dinner, followed by the theatre.”
I was interested. What harm would it be, after all? He knew that my relationship with Andy was pretty serious now.
“Thank you for coming. And for washing-up.”
“I’ll invoice you for that.”
“Oh, and I’m sorry about the misunderstanding earlier... you know...”
We were relaxed, tired, and happy. Impulsively, I kissed his cheek.
As I turned to the door, he pulled my shoulder back round and kissed my lips.
I felt my tongue enter his mouth. And then I recoiled. Without a word, I rushed out of his apartment and downstairs to my car. What was I doing? What had possessed me?


That's all for this time - thank you for your continued support!


email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Sunday, 8 September 2013

No Way Out - Author's Notes

The sequel to Snatched. Several readers asked for a sequel... so here it is....

Once again, Julia Bennett finds herself abducted into a nightmare of sexual humiliation in a foreign land far from home. The man who had kidnapped her in Snatched has broken free and now seeks revenge... assisted by an unlikely companion whom she thought she could trust. Naked, locked in a prison cell, where her captors speak a language she can't understand, how can she escape? Without a passport, can she prove her identity?

Her boyfriend is still searching for her, but has no clue where to start.

How can she reach him from her bleak, far-away dungeon?


The door unlocked again, and in strode Stamm and one of his men. “How did you sleep last night?” he asked.
“All right,” I replied evenly. I was waiting for him to make some remark about my haircut. He didn’t.
“It’s time for breakfast. We’ll take you to the dining room. Come on.”
Still naked, I walked with them along the corridor again; after some small distance we turned through an open doorway and I found I was back in my old cell. A plastic plate, containing bread, and a beaker of water were waiting for me on the floor. A clean plastic chamber pot was in the far corner.
Stamm was trying to humiliate me and, so far, he was doing a very good job to try and make me break. I realised there might come a time soon when I would come close to that point where the world would collapse around me. But I had to steel myself and prepare for it.
“Back in your old home again, Ms. Bennett. I have a lot to do, but I’ll be back to see you later today.”
“May I have a wash?” I asked. “I’m sure I must smell by now.”
He ignored me. The door slammed shut; I was alone once more. I looked around; there was no hint of a camera, a window or any other way in which they could keep an eye on me while I was in here. I was tempted to cry; surely it wouldn’t do any harm, would it? I thought. It might be good to get some of the frustration out of my system.
But I knew that if I had let the tension get the better of me, Stamm would have won the battle. I had to be strong. If he wanted to screw me standing against the wall, then it was fine as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t going to object. I wouldn’t object to anything he was going to do to my body. I just wouldn’t let him mess with my spirit.

More to follow soon!


email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Saturday, 7 September 2013

Dirty Pictures - Author's Notes

I’ll have to come clean with you on this one: when I had finished this book, had it edited and proof-read, and finally had it up on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and all the other distributors… it didn’t sell. Well, I only sold one copy in the first week. And two copies in the second week. I began to wonder whether anyone had found something particularly offensive in the free first chapter (like voyeurism… watching a co-worker masturbating whilst watching two other co-workers copulating). And I withdrew the book and “rested” it for a couple of months.

Then, without revising it, I thought damn it, let’s put it up again and see what happens. And it’s turned out to be very popular. You never can tell!

Much of what I write is based on my own experiences or what I’ve heard over the years. Having read Dirty Pictures, you’re bound to wonder – Is there a law firm in London which contains a basement where the staff can go for free-for-all sex? Well? Gentle reader, my lips are sealed. But, to borrow a couple of lines from a conversation in The New Client,

“People [working all hours in law firms] find it relatively easy to find themselves falling in love with co-workers. This might sound silly to you now but, trust me, it does happen.”

I can certainly vouch for that. No, it never happened to me (I was happily married already) but it was going on around me all the time.

By now, you’ll have realised that I love erotic art – not necessarily pornography – and it turns up time and again in some of my stories – A Close Match (heroine likes to draw), Jack, Me… and His Lodger (“lodger” teaches art and is an art historian – she’s the heroine in Needing Her, Needing Him). I can give you a confident promise that erotic art in one form or another will be re-appearing in a few more titles in the future.

Finally, there’s a strand running through this story: sexual blackmail. It's the first time I’ve ever used it. I hope you enjoy it – and look out for Sally in another title I’ve written – No Way Out – she was too nasty a character to keep for just one book.

Here's the story:

Melanie, a legal secretary, is a key member of a team in a law firm that is head-hunted by a competitor. She falls in love with a senior associate who also is a talented artist with a portfolio of erotic pictures. She is invited to model for him and, when he is moved to their office in Germany, she finds herself blackmailed by a female lawyer who wants to use her for her own sexually perverted ends.

How can Melanie escape from the horrible treadmill that her nemesis has set up for her?


That afternoon, something unexpected happened. I was sitting with Simon Green at his desk, going through a complicated document that needed wholesale revision. Simon was the other associate on Larry’s team. He broke off from what he was saying and, out of the blue, asked me “How about coming out with me this Saturday?”
I was unprepared for this, and had to think of an appropriate reaction – and quickly. “I’m very flattered, Simon, but – as I’m sure you know – Vernon Carpenter and I are going out together.”
“Yes, I know, Melanie. But Vernon’s in Berlin and you’re here. Unless you fly out to Germany every weekend to see him?”
“No, of course not.”
“So how about a little fun? I’m sure you deserve it. I’ve seen how hard you work here. And we’re still keeping fun in our family, so to speak.”
I chuckled. “You make it sound like incest! The answer is still No, Simon. But thanks anyway.” I smiled but hoped he’d realise that my reply was final.
Before the end of the day, I was cornered at the water cooler by Sally. She had crept out of nowhere – I had tried to avoid her all day, unless there was a crowd of other people around.
“I heard Simon tried to date you.”
There was no warm preface like ‘Hi, how are you? Sorry I hurt you on Friday.’ She went straight in with something about Simon’s approach to me. I remained silent.
“I’ve been trying to get a date with him ever since I started here,” she continued. “I’d do anything to get a date with that guy.”
“Ask him.”
“I have, several times. And he always makes excuses.”
“There’s plenty more fish in the sea, Sally.”
“But I want that fish. I’ve paid for sex before, and I’m prepared to pay for it again. Especially with him. I’ve got an idea. We could make up a foursome. You could go back to Simon and say you’ve changed your mind. Fix a date with him, tell me when it is, then I’ll find one of the tame guys here and persuade him to come out with me, and we can make up a foursome. But don’t say anything to Simon about that – it’ll be a nice surprise for him.”
“I don’t like the idea.” I moved to turn back to my desk, but she grabbed my arm.
“You don’t have to like the idea, Melanie. I know about those dirty pictures, remember? Just fix the date with Simon, and I’ll fix the rest. If I get to have sex with him, you get a bonus. Remember I said I’m prepared to pay for sex.”
“I’m not going back to Simon to plead for a date.”
“I think you should. I know too much.”
I walked back to my desk. I was less concerned about the revealing portrait of me. But if she spread the story round about Vernon’s pose in the picture, I could never look him in the eye again. It would be the end of our relationship, and I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t feel I could go to the partners here, as I’d just joined the firm and I’d be marked as a trouble-maker. In only a few weeks, Sally had appointed me to be the office pimp.

That's all for this time - there'll be more to follow soon!


email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Friday, 6 September 2013

One Man Too Many - Author's Notes

This story is another than breaks away from the law firm romance sub-genre that I've been writing - the heroine here is a recruitment consultant. I wanted to put her into a job where she might meet some strange and "interesting" people....

Here's the outline of the story:

After a short and unhappy marriage, Mandy has finally left her husband and is offered refuge by her cousin. She quickly finds a new place to live, a great new job, and... a gorgeous new boyfriend with whom she can have the kind of intimate relationship she could never enjoy with her husband.

Anxious to expand her contacts in her new job, she is invited to a meeting of a group of influential business people whose sexual tastes are more adventurous than her new boyfriend can offer. One contact wants her for his new Domme...

Excited by these activities, she is faced with the choice of staying with her loving but conventional boyfriend or exploring new avenues with her business contact; she can't have both.


Jake stood, and pulled up his jeans and buckled himself together. He turned and help me unstrap myself. “I could get a hard on, just looking at you with that dildo,” he smiled. “And those stockings... Wow!”
I stepped back into my skirt again, and turned to Jake. “What happens now? Do these people just carry on doing this all night in here?”
“No. A bell will ring in a minute. That’s a five minute warning for everyone to finish. Then drinks are served and we mingle. That’s when I introduce you to a few people here. Then, in another thirty minutes, the bell sounds again and everyone pairs off again, but this time into private rooms upstairs.”
“I’m curious; I always associate BDSM with handcuffs, bondage and other physical stuff. I don’t see any of that here tonight.”
“That happens later, upstairs. Or, for those people who want a dungeon environment, there are four rooms in the cellar downstairs.”
Gradually, people began to uncouple themselves from their activities; collars were removed, and those who were completely naked put on trousers or dresses to make themselves more presentable for the social portion of the occasion; they didn’t bother with underwear, as they would be undressing again for the final - private - part.
The bell sounded; the steward and his assistant brought in drinks - there was a choice of white wine, orange juice or water - and Jake introduced me to about a dozen people. He explained what I did; most of them asked me for my business card, with the promise that they might be in touch if they heard of any useful possibilities in their own business networks.
“How do you feel now?” Jake asked when we had a private moment in our corner of the room.
“It’s all been very strange. But what I did to you” -
“It’s called pegging.”
“- that was fantastic. I felt just like a man, poking my husband.”
“You don’t feel ready to join me upstairs for some more yet, I imagine.”
“No, Jake. But this is a whole new world to me, and I don’t regret coming. And thank you for the invitation.”
“You’re very welcome, my dear. And, as a memento of the occasion, you can take this home with you. I’ll settle up with the steward later.” He handed the strap-on to me.
“I’m not sure....”
“Come on, Mandy. You found it therapeutic, didn’t you? You could wear it again, around the house. Even if you don’t use it with anyone, it might make you feel good.”
I took it. “I really must be going home soon.”
“I’ll order a cab and come to your station with you. Will I ever have the chance to bring you here again?”
“I don’t know, Jake....”
“I’m looking for a new lady to partner me. Someone whom I can serve. You’d fit the bill very nicely.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“No pressure. I’ll give you a call later in the week.”


That's all for this time - thank you for your continued support!


email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Thursday, 5 September 2013

Needing Her, Needing Him - Author's Notes

This is the second in the series "Lucy & Friends", and is a sequel to "Jack and Me... and His Lodger". I must tell you that I had to do a fair amount of research in preparation for this book as it covered a field that I wasn't totally familiar with - relationships between lesbians and bisexuals, and issues such as jealousy that might arise when the bisexual partner wants to "play away" from home with someone of the opposite gender.

Lucy and Angela are lovers and live together; Lucy has a bisexual orientation and Angela is a full-on lesbian. When Lucy meets Ross, an old boyfriend, she hankers to re-establish her close relationship with him. An opportunity arises that could enable her to have the best of both worlds, but it involves subterfuge, and deceiving Angela in a selfish move that threatens to undermine the foundations of their love.

Lucy wants Ross for sex games; he is her willing submissive, and they plan regular meetings to have wild sex together, including pegging and light BDSM.

Ross is interested in a permanent relationship with her, but Lucy doesn't want to risk damaging her close bond with her lover. Can she ever persuade Angela to accept her need to continue seeing Ross? How is she going to achieve this, and still preserve the love that the two women have for each other?


“What had you planned to do during this Easter vacation?” Ross asked me.
“I was going to sit back and recharge my batteries. Anyway, you haven’t told me what your book was going to be about. When we spoke about it on the telephone, you said I’d have to wait and you’d tell me today.”
“It’s going to be an historical novel.”
“Who’s the hero? Or what’s the subject?”
“The hero is unnamed as yet. He travelled all over England in the 13th century, creating frescoes in cathedrals and abbeys. He returned to each place, time and time again, to retouch or expand on his works. And he has a girl – or two – in each town. The church doesn’t like it, of course, but he gets away with it.”
“You know, Lucy, I think there’s something of a male version of you in that story.”
“And, come to think of it, you are one of the best people around to help me in my research, with the historical details I need for the background.”
“I’d do whatever I can. I expect others have written similar tales about medieval artists.”
“But this is going to be different. There’s a twist to the story. My artist – he’s not a monk or a priest – finds a tiny chamber off the monks’ dormitory in each abbey he visits, and designs some erotic frescoes for the walls; the monks can go in there to give themselves sexual relief, inspired by the pictures, and he calls it an onanarium. It’s a word I made up.”
“It sounds like a place to store onans. What are they?”
“No, silly. Think bible and think....”
“Oh. After that Onan...?”
“Got it. The thought of writing about a bunch of guys pleasuring themselves – while looking at medieval pornography – is going to give my own imagination a lot of sexual pleasure and amusement.”
“Does the man in your book go to convents, too? Will he be painting pictures to gratify the nuns?”
“Yes, and I think that’s going to be where he gets unstuck. The Mother Superior finds out, and... oh, I haven’t got that far in the planning yet.”
“I can see this affair never got into the history books, because the church was too embarrassed and would have kept it quiet. That’s very good, Lucy.”
“Now, are you ready to get started again? You want some role play this time?”
“You’ll have to get me hard again. And it might take some work, after the climax I’ve just had.”
“The pleasure will be all mine. But I’m going to have to peg you. Is that O.K.?”

Please feel free to write to me any time - I can always find time to respond personally to my readers.



email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com

Twitter: @RachelCray1

Wednesday, 4 September 2013

Snatched - Author's Notes

This was my first venture that tentatively approached a BDSM theme; I really wanted to explore the subject of humiliation in a sexual setting. There are other authors who are experts in the field of BDSM and, being a nice shy girl, I didn't want to venture too far here. But, as things turned out, the story turned out to be one of my best sellers and I was persuaded to write a sequel - more details below.

Here's the outline of the story:

Julia Bennett works for a prestigious international law firm in London. On her way to meet her boyfriend after work one evening, something happens which threatens to change her entire life. She faces a nightmare of humiliation, and is subjected to some harsh treatment by a group of sexual deviants who think she is someone else; when her identity is established, her contrite captor falls for her and attempts to make amends for her appalling treatment.

But, when the police catch these criminals, her problems are far from over. Can she live a normal life again? Will her boyfriend's love for her still be strong enough, knowing that she is "soiled goods"?

And what about the woman who was the criminal gang's real target?


The floor was carpeted, and the room was heated, unlike the cold reception hall downstairs. I had no idea whether there was anyone else in the room; indeed, the blindfold was so thick I had no idea if the chamber was lit.
I lay on the floor, crying, for five minutes. Then I thought I might get to my feet and walk round to determine the size of the chamber, and to check whether I was alone; there might be other people here, either guards or other prisoners.
I steadily rose to my feet, and made my first uncertain steps.
“All right, boys. Let’s do it!” A male voice yelled past my ear.
His command was met by loud cheering from other men in the room.
When I first entered this place, I was bewildered. But now I was even more confused. They had remained quiet when I had been thrown into this place, had watched me naked, exposed and defenceless, and had observed my stumbling around.
Hands touched me now. I was being pulled towards one side, and lifted on to the cold surface of a table. I was made to lie on my back, and their hands pulled at my ankles, forcing my legs wide apart. I gritted my teeth, preparing myself for the ordeal of gang rape.
But it didn’t happen.
I heard them undressing; they were undoing their belts and pulling their pants down.
“Remember, boys, no touching... anywhere!”
The steel handcuffs pressed into my back as I lay on the table. I moved my arms so that the cuffs were at the side of my body, but I was still very uncomfortable. Then I heard muffled sounds, and couldn’t understand what was going on. I lay still.
After a couple of minutes, I heard one man groan and, in an instant, I felt warm fluid drip on my body. He was ejaculating over me. And another ecstatic moan came from the other side of the table, and my arm was splashed with his semen. The steward of this place had promised me humiliation. But I had no idea I would be debased in this shameful way.
When the fourth man had reached his orgasm, I didn’t bother to count any more. So I never knew how many of them were in the room, enjoying their perversion over my body. While the later ones were still spurting themselves at me, the earlier people were getting dressed again and leaving the room.
At length, there was only one man left, standing at the foot of the table, still holding my ankles apart. He evidently hadn’t joined in this wankfest.
I heard approaching footsteps as someone else came into the room. He walked towards the head of the table, and pulled off my blindfold.
It was the steward.
“Don’t look at me, Ms. Bennett. Look at your body. This is just the first part of your humiliation. There’s a lot worse to come, when my master arrives. I bid you goodnight.”


And, in case you want more after you've read this, I wrote a sequel called No Way Out that might interest you….

That's all for today!


email : rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com
Twitter : @RachelCray1

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

The New Client - Author's Notes

When I was working for a large practice - many years ago now - we had a client from California who visited us in London on a regular basis and used our office as a base to conduct his business, since his firm (a medium-sized bank) didn't have a presence in Europe. Whenever he came, I assigned a secretary to look after him for the two or three weeks he would be with us. Naturally, I'd bill him for her salary while he was over here. And - confession time here! - whenever he was away from the office, visiting his own clients, if the secretary I had given him wasn't busy, I could always find some work for her to do on a pro-bono project we might be working on. So everybody won! The client never knew about this arrangement, and I don't think he even suspected. I certainly don't think his firm - generous people - would have cared.

I used this scenario for The New Client - but, in this case, the hormones in some of my characters were allowed to go a little out of control!

Now for the storyline:

Jenny, a secretary at an international law firm in London, is assigned to look after a new special client from New York who quickly becomes attracted to her. The client soon makes it clear that he wants her to do more than type his letters and update his spreadsheets; he has personal, demanding needs that only she can satisfy. She is under pressure from her senior lawyer boss, who insists that she does everything that the client asks of her.

But she has fallen hopelessly in love with his assistant, a gorgeous man who had a significant place in her distant past.

How can she spend time with the client's assistant, who reciprocates her love?

How can she escape the attentions of the client, a wealthy industrialist, without compromising the law firm that she works for?

And when a female executive arrives with private demands of her own, how can she cope?


Within an hour, I was knocking on the door of Val’s room. She let me in and I looked round to absorb the feeling of the room, how it compared with the Quiet Room we had used, and what changes might have to be made to our routine. There was plenty of space, with the double bed in the far wall, and a large desk and chair on one side by the window.
“Thanks for coming, Jenny,” she said.
Sam walked in from the bathroom. “Yes. Thanks very much.”
“Who’s going first?”
“Me,” said Val. Can we do it on my bed? Will that be O.K.?”
“Face down,” I said. “I’m coming in from behind.”
“I’m sitting down over here,” Sam said, from an upright chair near the bathroom. He had his back to us. “I won’t be watching this. And Val won’t be watching me when it’s my turn.”
I was busy putting on my strap-on under my skirt.
“Right. Let’s begin,” I said.
Val stood facing me, by the bed. I shifted straight into the role-play.
“You’ve been a wicked woman, Val. First of all, you’re going to have to suck me. Get on your knees!”
I was surprised at the speed with which she obeyed me. She looked at the bulge, poking forward under my skirt.
“Take it! And suck it! Hard!”
I pulled faces as men do, when they are enjoying their women giving them fellatio. And I made appropriate ecstatic noises.
After a few minutes, I pulled away. “That’s enough! Now, you horrible bitch, you’ve made me horny! You’re going to have to pleasure me!”
Still kneeling, Val reached for the tube of lube, which had been placed ready on the bed. She applied it and went through the motions of rubbing my plastic toy.
“Oh! That’s good! Rub me all over, Val! Yes! I like it when you do that!” And again, I pulled the excruciating faces to give some semblance of extreme pleasure.
Then I stopped her, and we went into the final routine.
“O.K., Val, I’ve had enough. You've got me worked up now, I want your body. Get on the bed. Now!”


To some people it may seem improbable to have a member of a firm’s staff assigned to a single client on a permanent basis – and in situ, on the firm’s premises – but I can assure you that it often happens. However, they don't often fall in love! Who’s to say that it couldn’t happen?

That's all for now - but I have plenty more to write here again soon.


email : rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com
Twitter : @RachelCray1

Monday, 2 September 2013

Working Overtime : a prequel to Interview For Love - Author's Notes.

After a short break from writing about romance in law firms to pen the Maybourne sequence, we're back again on my favorite subject: love affairs in legal practices.

Sandra is a horny young woman on a mission. One reader commented to me that she thought Sandra was more of a slut than anything else - but, believe me, she (and her behaviour) was based on a real person I knew - although, mercifully, I never had to work with her. Anyway, when Sandra starts her new dream job as a secretary at a big city law firm, she falls for a good-looking paralegal.

But her boss has designs on her; he wants her all to himself. He starts to flex his power by manipulating her relationship with her boyfriend; their careers are balanced in his hands, and she is forced to comply with his demands to satisfy his personal needs by offering herself to him whilst working overtime.

How can Sandra get herself out of this situation and devote herself to loving her paralegal boyfriend? And how can she escape the dominance of her boss without ruining her boyfriend's career?


Next morning, Saturday, I went to the office and decided to wear a pair of stockings under a denim skirt. I wanted to see if David would have the same reaction to them as Gary had. I knew men were all different, and had a variety of obsessions and fetishes. I needed to see which buttons I should press to arouse David. As an afterthought, just as I was leaving my bedroom, I turned back and removed my underwear.
He was waiting by my desk, as he had done the previous Saturday.
“Good morning, Sandra,” he smiled. I sat down in my chair and he leaned over to explain the task that he wanted me to do. And he wanted to look down my cleavage. “I’ve got some files here that need checking; the contents may not be complete, and you will need to make a note of whatever appears to be missing. I estimate that this should take you all morning. There are lawyers and clients around for meetings today, so I’ve booked the Quiet Room for you. You won’t be disturbed there. Except by me. O.K.?”
“That’s fine,” I said.
I reached for the files, to take them from him, but he said “That’s all right, Sandra. I’ll take them up for you. I need to check the room anyway.”
We stopped off at the kitchen to grab ourselves a cup of coffee each, and then made our way to the Quiet Room; predictably, he locked the door behind him and put the files on the table. I lifted my foot on to a chair to expose my thigh, to see whether he would like my stockings.
“Oh, God, Sandra, you know how to get to a man, don’t you?” he said.
“Are you horny so soon?” I smiled, hoping that I might gain control of our situation today.
“Yes, of course I am.” He sat down in a low armchair.
“Do you want me to help you get it out of your system, and then I can start on the documents?”
“That would be good. Can I see you without your skirt?
I unclipped it and let it drop to the floor.

Sunday, 1 September 2013

Village Accounts - Author's Notes

This is the second story that I wrote in the Maybourne sequence – it’s set in an old-world English village with ancient timber-framed structures, a ruined abbey and a few Georgian town houses: the kind of place where everyone seems to know everyone else, with a heroine who’s trying to escape from a dangerous stalker. There are one or two characters here you may recognise who featured in A Close Match.

Here's the story:

Diane Wilson is trying to get over a disastrous relationship and pleads with the boss of her accountancy firm to have her moved to another branch office. When she finally gets her way, she finds herself in the picturesque district of Maybourne, with its old-fashioned houses, the ruins of an ancient abbey... and Arthur, who helps her establish herself in the business community. And with whom she quickly falls in love.

Circumstances change unexpectedly, and her former lover starts stalking her and forces himself on her. How can she escape from her evil Nemesis? And would Arthur take her back if she were to return, knowing what he has done to her? And what is the truth about Arthur's dark past?


I was about to leave, when my phone rang again. I thought it might be Arthur again, with a forgotten postscript to his last call; I merely answered “Hello,” without announcing my name.
“Hello, lovely lady,” the voice said. It wasn’t Arthur. It was that execrable creature, Trevor Thomas.
“What do you want?” I sounded vicious, angry that he was trying to re-enter my world. I had thought I had finally rid myself of him.
“Don’t be annoyed. I heard you’d come back, and thought we could meet up again sometime. How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’m working through the weekend. I’m back here for a specific purpose. The sooner I can get finished, the sooner I can get back home.”
“Yes. Home. You’ve got a new home now, haven’t you. I heard about it. A little bungalow in the country, isn’t it?.”
I said nothing. I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t move.
“If you don’t have time to see me while you’re here, then I’ll have to come and visit you down there after you’ve finished your project here. That will be good, won’t it?”
“You stay away from me!” I hissed.
“Oh, come on, Diane. That’s no way to speak to an old friend.”
“I’ll call the police!”
“They didn’t help you last time, did they? Harassment, you called it? They didn’t believe you then, and so why should they believe you now?”
“Please…” I gasped. “Just fuck off, once and for all!”
I hung up quickly, and looked around to see if anyone had heard me. I turned off my mobile phone. I could pick up any messages later, when I had recovered my composure.
Returning to the hotel, I had a quick shower and went downstairs to the restaurant. I tried hard to get that last phone call out of my mind, but it wasn’t easy. I’ve always found confrontational phone calls to be more difficult to handle than face-to-face arguments.
“You hung up on me,” said the voice behind me. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
I turned round. It was Trevor Thomas. In person. He had followed me here. Or he had found out where I was staying.
The tension that I had only just successfully cleared away now flooded back and hit me hard. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“I wanted to see you again. We have some unfinished business, you and I.”

There's a story that I wrote next - Kate's Return which follows on from Village Accounts - we'll talk about that soon.


email : rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com
Twitter : @RachelCray1

Saturday, 31 August 2013

A Close Match - Author's Notes

A Close Match
Have you ever met your doppelganger? Your double? I’ve met several people who have. And it’s happened to me, too. But the difference in my case was that the double was a man, not another woman. We were the same height, but his hair was shorter and, of course, he shaved.

Everyone remarked how similar we were, and began to wonder if we were related in some way. I checked: we weren’t. There was no sexual attraction between us; I was already married, anyway, and he had a girlfriend.

I met this guy over thirty years ago, and I often had a fantasy about what might have happened if we had been related, and if we had both been single when we met.

Here's the storyline:

Paula is just leaving a bar with her sister one evening, and glances at herself in a dark mirror. But it isn't a mirror, and she's not looking at herself; it's a window, and she's looking at her double. Paula looks again: she's wearing lipstick, but her double has stubble. He's a guy.

When she meets him again, people comment on their close resemblance. She's sexually inexperienced, but she falls for him big-time.

Why does her control-freak father prevent her from seeing him? And what is the dark family secret held by her grandmother? How can she escape from her miserable home life to be happy with this gorgeous man, her soul-mate?

So that you don’t get confused, I compiled a Family Tree associated with this story, and you can see it at this link.

And if you should ever meet your double, you must write and tell me about it!


Gemma, Tony’s girlfriend and co-host at the party, had drawn the curtains in one of the other downstairs rooms and put on some slow music on a CD player. This had obviously been planned, for she had already prepared a printed sign which she stuck on the door: “Smooch Room”. And she began trying to encourage couples to enter her newly-established dance floor. She was trying to make the noisy drinks reception room less crowded.
One couple had already availed themselves of this new facility and began dancing slowly in the darkened room.
“It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?” I asked. “It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon.”
Just then, the second track was starting on the CD player. It was The Mamas and The Papas singing their old sixties hit, California Dreamin’.
“I just love that, don’t you?” he turned to me.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” And I wasn’t just saying that. I meant it. “Shall we? Just this one?”
We put our drinks on a tray at the side.
“O.K., then,” he said, grasping my hand and leading me into the centre of the room. The rugs and carpet had already been taken up ready for dancing.
He held me at the waist, and our cheeks touched. Our bodies swayed and our feet shuffled back and forth in time with the slow tempo. My arms rested on his, my hands on his shoulders. I had never been so close to a man for a long time.
“Do you enjoy dancing?” he asked.
“I never get the chance.”
“We can dance as long as you like in here.”
And we continued until the end of the track. The other couple left the room; without thinking, we remained and danced through the next track.
“Are you all right with this?” he asked.
“I’m very all right with this, thanks,” I whispered and, spontaneously, I kissed his cheek.
“Good.” And he moved his face away, and our lips met. His tongue explored inside my mouth; my hands moved to the back of his neck, and I felt my body close against his. When his tongue withdrew, I took this as an invitation for mine to push its way in between his lips.
We continued rocking lightly, side to side, as our faces were locked together.
It was gorgeous. I didn’t want it to end. He said we could stay here as long as we wanted.
And then it happened. I felt him growing, hardening, in his groin. I pushed myself against it, encouraging it. It thrilled me.
Instinctively, he moved away. “Sorry,” he said.
“What for?” I asked. “Come back. Please.”
He obeyed, and our hands returned to their places on each other.
I kissed him. “I should be flattered that I can do that to you.”
“Don’t tease me, please,” he said.
“I’m not teasing you,” I whispered. “Aren’t you enjoying it?”
“Yes, of course I am.”
“Well, then....” I sensed that I had complete control of the situation.
“I don’t want to have an accident. You understand?”
If he wanted to rub himself against me, I certainly wouldn’t object. But there might be other people around. “All right, Dan. Shall we go outside for a while? We can always come back here later. Is that O.K.?”


Friday, 30 August 2013

Jack and Me... and His Lodger - Author's Notes

I have to admit that, among my early titles, Lucy was one of my favorite characters. I’m not saying that I’d have liked to have her as a friend, but I thought she was interesting and unconventional. She knew a lot about ancient Roman and Greek penises. And she had to say plenty about erotic art.

Just in case you want to do any more research on Sheela Na Gigs, I would recommend you click here. Incidentally, I did make one mistake in the story and I hereby issue a formal retraction: I suggested the Lady Abbess of Romsey was depicted as a Sheela Na Gig. Recent scholarship has decided pretty firmly that the Lady Abbess was posing next to her potty – just to prove she was human and, like the rest of us, had to pee sometime.

Here's the storyline:
Sarah is broke, and makes a crazy decision to supplement her income by offering her body to a stranger one evening. She is rescued by a former co-worker, who provides her with a route out of her financial problems - and, at the same time, becomes her lover. Things get out-of-hand when she meets his larger-than-life house-guest, who wants a menage with her and her hero. How can she get rid of this cuckoo in the love-nest she wants to build?


“I’m so pleased that everything is working out all right for you now,” Jack said.
“Everything... apart from trying to get rid of that pervert Tom,” I replied.
“Pervert?” Lucy looked up from her menu. “That sounds interesting. What is all this about?”
In a low voice, so that nobody on a neighbouring table could listen, I took a deep breath and told her about Tom - how we first met, what he had made me do, and how he had continued to pester me.
Lucy broke into hysterical laughter; she did try to muffle her noise behind her hand.
“My dear Sarah, that’s a fantastic tale! I’ve never heard anything so funny!”
“It’s not funny. He keeps coming round the bank. If I don’t go and perform for him on Monday evening, he’ll be round at the bank the following morning to humiliate me in front of everybody.”
“So you need to humiliate him on Monday night. That will put an end to it. I have an idea. I’d like to help you.” She grew excited. “Can I help? Please? What time does he want to see you?”
“What do you have you in mind, Lucy?” Jack asked, and then turned to warn me. “Sarah, beware of Lucy. She’s devious.”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Jack. I want to help Sarah. To make up for this morning. I was horrid to you.”
“All right, Lucy. I’m listening.”
“You meet this Tom character, and take him to where you went last time – your performance area, if you like – and I shall be there in the dark, pretending to walk my dog.”
“You don’t have a dog,” said Jack. “Are you going to get someone to lend you one?”
“I don’t need one, silly. I have a dog collar in my sex toy collection, and a lead, and I can pretend that I’ve taken it off my dog so he can have a run in the park.”
“And then?”
“Enter Lucy, Stage Right, calling my dog, and I catch him pleasuring himself. I am so disgusted and appalled at his action that I get out my digital camera and take pictures - making sure that his genitals are clear enough in the shots. And I have to make sure that you’re not in camera range, Sarah. So you’ll have to climb off him pretty quickly. Then I tell him to stop harassing you, or we take the pictures to the newspapers.”
Jack and I smiled at each other. “Well, Lucy, we have to give you full marks for imagination!”
“But how can we be sure it’ll work?” I asked.
“Trust me. I shall not fail you.”
More again soon!



email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com
Twitter: @RachelCray1

Thursday, 29 August 2013

Interview For Love – Author’s Notes

When I first became an “Indie” writer, Interview For Love was the first of the initial three books that I wrote. I worked in the London office of a U.S. law firm for many years, and had a wealth of experience to draw upon for writing romances. Now I enjoy sex – yes, even at my age – and I enjoy writing about it. That’s why I decided to write erotic romances centred round law firms. And you may well wonder whether people who work in organizations like this behave the way I’ve written. To borrow a couple of lines from a conversation in The New Client, a more recent book I wrote, “People [working all hours in law firms] find it relatively easy to find themselves falling in love with co-workers. This might sound silly to you now but, trust me, it does happen.” I can certainly vouch for that. No, it never happened to me (I was happily married already) but it was going on around me all the time.

This book is set in London; I wasn’t sure whether my subsequent stories would be located somewhere else. But readers seem to like the idea of Americans working in London – and there are plenty of them, believe me! – and, although there aren’t too many American characters in this book, there are plenty in other subsequent titles…

Barbara Edwards goes for an interview for a position at a prestigious law firm, and finds herself face-to-face with her former lover. How can she win him back? Complications arise when her former boss seduces her and gives her the best sex she's had in years. What's a girl to do? Is a man in the hand worth two in the bush? Or should she take a wild risk to manipulate her first love into returning to her? And how can she do it without hurting anyone?

Here's the first chapter.  Please note that the paragraphs here are double-spaced; I'm fussy, and I don't like that format but it's out of my control in this blog.  Grrr!  When you read this in any ebook format, the text is formatted so that paragraphs are single-spaced, as I had originally designed.


Interview For Love

by Rachel Cray

Copyright 2011 Rachel Cray


“Hello.  I’m Barbara Edwards, and I’m here to see Mr. Andrews.  We have a meeting scheduled for 6 p.m.”

I had walked confidently into the reception area, deserted except for a pretty clerk, half-hidden behind an array of shelving on her long desk.  I guessed she was wearing the law firm’s standard uniform for receptionists, a dark blue nondescript cotton dress; probably in her early 30s, and wearing a headphone and microphone, she looked at her monitor and smiled back at me.

“Yes, Ms. Edwards.  You’re expected.  I’ll just ring him to let him know that you’re here.  Would you like to take a seat?”

“Thank you.”  I sat in an armchair and watched the receptionist pressing some buttons on her console.

“I have Barbara Edwards in Reception for you,” she announced, and paused.  “Very good.  I’ll tell her.” She turned to me and smiled again.  “He’ll only be a couple of moments.”

I looked round, soaking in the ambience of the place; I particularly liked the fine oak panelling and the royal blue upholstery of the plush seating.   Evans and Carlisle had a very good reputation in the international legal community, and I would love to work here.  My skills as a legal secretary had been honed at one of their smaller competitors, and a situation here could be seen as a logical progression in my career path.  Obviously the Reception area was designed to give visitors a good impression, especially to clients; the standard of decor in the offices behind this facade could be entirely different.  I turned my head to peer through an open door in the far corner, leading to what could be a conference room.

“Barbara!  How lovely to see you again!”

I turned to face Mr. Andrews, a dark-haired 30 year-old who stood smiling in front of me; his whole aura oozed a warm, professional charm, and I was astounded to see this gorgeous face from my past suddenly reappear in my life.

“Peter –” I gasped.  I struggled for words when I realised I was being prematurely familiar with a potential employer.  I rose to my feet and mechanically shook his proffered hand. 

“Come through to my office – this way.”

Feeling a little bewildered, I stepped in the direction he indicated, down a short corridor, and soon found myself sitting in his office; although it looked businesslike, the furnishings still reflected something of the grandeur of the reception area.  Still reeling from surprise, I waited for him to begin.

“So you’ve come about the secretarial position.” He sat down behind his desk. 

“Yes.  But I had no idea that the Mr. Andrews I’d be seeing would be you.”

He grinned.  “I had the advantage there, being able to read your resume.  And when I noticed you graduated at Nottingham University, I just knew it had to be you and I wanted to see you again.” He chuckled.  “Five years is a long time.  And we’ve got a lot to talk about.  But first, let’s get down to business.  I don’t want you to think that I dragged you in here under false pretences.  There is an opening here, and you certainly seem well-qualified to fill it.  So let’s do the interview and then we can catch up with each other.  Is that O.K.?”

I nodded.

“My standard interviews last around 40 minutes,” he began.  “First, I tell candidates about the firm.  Then they tell me about themselves.  Then I go into more detail about the job they’ll be doing here, the benefits, and so on, and then you get the chance to tell me why you are the right person to fill the vacancy.  Finally, we round off with any other questions you might have.  I rather suspect that we just might take a little less than 40 minutes this time.  All right?  So let’s get started....”

*     *     *

I had already prepared for the interview and had most of my answers ready.  Peter Andrews had not presented me with any surprises; he asked me fewer questions about myself than I expected – since we were already acquainted – and, within 30 minutes, it seemed as if everything was drawing to a conclusion.

“How soon can you start?” he asked.

“Does that mean –”

“Yes, you’ve got the job.  If you still want it, that is.  And provided you can give us the commitment.  Remember that I told you we sometimes have to work crazy hours here when the pressure is on – 70 or 80 hours a week – but mercifully not every week.  Much the same demands as your present employers are making on you, I daresay.”

I heard myself sigh with relief.  “Thank you! But won’t there be a second interview?”

“No.  Only if I needed a second opinion.  But this time, I don’t.  So...  are you tied to a notice period with your present firm?”

“One month normally.  But I expect you’ve heard that they’re presently going through a difficult patch and they might be prepared to release me sooner if you wanted.”

“Yes, that would be good.  Let me know when you’ve spoken to them.  Here’s my card.”

He handed me a business card, which I put away in my handbag.

“Now I did say my interviews last 40 minutes and, by my reckoning, we’ve still got ten minutes left.” He stood up and walked across to sit in an armchair on the other side of his desk, so there were no barriers standing between us.

I turned my chair slightly to face him.

“I seem to remember that you stood me up after we’d been going out for seven months.  No message, no explanation.  Your exams were finished, and you went home a couple of days later.  I never saw you again.  You didn’t return my phone calls, and you never replied to my letters or emails.  And I thought our relationship was going places.”

Throughout my meticulous preparation for the interview, I hadn’t prepared myself to answer this question.  Indeed, I hadn’t expected to be interviewed by a former lover.

“Or had I misread all the signals?” He was pressing me now.

“No.  You know we were close.  And I wanted us to get even closer.  Truly, I did.  But I got cold feet.” I looked anxiously around the office as I struggled for words to explain.  “I was just 21, remember.  I was terrified that everything was going too fast.  I’m not sure whether you’ll remember my telling you about a relationship I’d had when I was 18.  He let me down very badly.  If you want the truth, I had fallen in love with you, and I didn’t want to risk losing you.  But something even worse for me was the fear of going through all the pain of a breakup again, in case things didn’t work out between us.  So I panicked; it was easier for me to run away from you.  I’d suddenly lost all my self-esteem.  I know it sounds crazy now, but I was younger then, remember, and my brain was all mixed up.”

He nodded thoughtfully.  “And have you found anyone else since?”

“No.  There’s been nobody.  I’ve immersed myself in work, making a pile of money.  And that’s what I was hoping to continue doing, working here.”

“Perhaps this isn’t the place to continue this conversation,” he smiled.  “I’m just about done here, so may I take you for a drink down the road? Just for old time’s sake?”

“I’m not sure...”

“No strings attached.  I promise.  Just two old friends together, talking about old times.  And, if you’re interested, I can tell you what’s happened to me since I left university too.”

“All right, then.  But I can’t stay too long.  I have an early start tomorrow morning - my firm has a client flying in for an early breakfast meeting and I’ll be very busy.”

“Good.  I’ll walk you back to our Reception.  I won’t keep you more than a couple of minutes while I lock up here.  There’s a cosy bar down the road where we can talk.”

I sat in the same chair that I had used when I first arrived, but I now felt so much more relaxed; I had secured my new job.  But there was a new and unexpected hurdle facing me: Peter might want to ask me some soul-searching questions about our former relationship – questions that I had never even asked myself – and I was unsure whether I could answer them.  The receptionist was still there, typing at her desk and quite oblivious to my return.

True to his word, he came along quickly and took me out for the drink.

*     *     *

When we entered the bar, Peter chose a table at the far end of the room; the lighting was dimmed, and soft, slow music was playing in the background.  This seemed an ideal place to come and unwind after a hectic day before going home.  I asked for a dry white wine, and he soon appeared with two full glasses.

“Cheers!” he smiled, and we clashed our glasses gently together.

“So what happened to you after university?” I asked after I had taken a sip.

“I got my Masters’ degree and, just a few weeks after you left, I was offered this post.  And I’ve been here ever since.”

“You were doing International Business, I seem to remember?”

“Yes, that’s right.  And you got yourself a BA in History, didn’t you?”

“Much good that it did me,” I smiled.  “Landing me a job as a humble legal secretary.”

“But the world needs legal secretaries! And we have one legal secretary working here who is a fully qualified civil engineer, for instance.  Yes, the world needs civil engineers too, but the lady we have says she’s more satisfied doing this job than designing bridges.  And I’m all in favour of people enjoying their work.”

“And you obviously enjoy what you do too.”

“Well, I’ve been able to immerse myself in work, just like you.  Maybe for the same reason.”  He raised his eyebrows, anticipating my reaction.

“You think we’ve both been working to forget each other?” I asked.  “Or, at least, to drown any feelings of regret about breaking up?”

He chuckled.  “I wonder which psychology books you’ve been reading?”

“For what it’s worth,” I continued, “I did really regret breaking up with you.  But I couldn’t bring myself to write to you to explain.  I couldn’t put it into words.  When I spoke about it in your office a few moments ago, it all tumbled out of my brain incoherently.  I knew I’d hurt you, but I didn’t want to prolong the pain with lengthy exchanges of long-distance correspondence.”

He nodded thoughtfully.  “We’ll be seeing each other every day when you start working here.  How do you feel about that?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “It wouldn’t bother me.  And obviously you’re relaxed about it, otherwise you wouldn’t have offered me the job.”

We continued reminiscing about our time together at Nottingham University, and stayed for a second drink.  The more animated our conversation became, the more I found herself looking forward to the prospect of being near Peter again, even though there was no thought of resuming our relationship.

The time came for me to leave; he walked me to the station and, in parting, shook my hand with the same distant professionalism.  He walked off, and I boarded my train home.

*     *     *

When I arrived home at my flat, I began to prepare dinner and, while waiting for it to cook, I turned on the television.  It was too early for the ten o’clock news broadcast, and nothing attracted my attention on any of the main channels, so I turned it off again.  I reached for an old photograph album on the shelf of a bookcase, and put it on the coffee table.  After dinner, I decided, I would explore my old memories of the months I had together with Peter.

I ate somewhat mechanically, hardly able to wait to get it finished so that I could delve into my photograph album.  When I had finished, I put the plate in the kitchen sink, rinsed it, and sat on the sofa to look at the pictures.

The memories quickly came in a flood.  Peter looked younger, certainly, but he still retained that self-assured maturity that had attracted me to him in the first place.  I pored over the scenes, trying to remember the occasions on which the photographs had been taken; in one, we were dressed for dinner together - he in black tie, I in a long flowing evening dress - where was that? And when? In another, he posed on the beach in his swimming trunks, smiling at the camera; I had not previously noticed his semi-erect penis and bulging testicles under his close-fitting attire.

My mind turned to the times when we had made love together in his bed.  He had been such a kind, understanding and patient lover, but all I had left now were memories of the intense pleasures we had shared - not only his absorbing, intellectual conversation, but the most exquisite orgasms he had given me.  He had treated me as an equal in all things.

And now there was so little that remained of him in my life.  True, I was going to re-enter a world where he occupied centre stage, and in a strange, new capacity, but it would never be the same again.  All that I had in front of me as a memory of his closeness was these photographs.

I felt a sudden twitch between my legs.  It was as if the photograph of Peter on the beach had stimulated a primitive desire within.  I felt my crotch; my sex had lubricated itself quite unexpectedly. 

I looked at his picture again.  His private parts appeared about to explode.  I began to rub myself, and felt ashamed.  I had not masturbated for years, it seemed, and now - out of the blue - I felt the urge for a climax.  My selfish, inner being demanded it.  Right now.

I rubbed harder this time.  Furiously, with my middle finger.  And then with two fingers, and they slid into my vagina.  I pulled my panties to one side so that my fingers would be in direct contact with my sex.

I remembered how Peter had done this to me.  We had stood against the doorway in his room when he had first entertained me there.  In the middle of a violent kiss, he had put his tongue deep into my mouth, and I had willingly given way to him; he had then put his hand up my skirt - and I had not resisted.  Reaching the top of my thigh, his fingers had found their way through one leg of my panties and had caressed my damp public hair before descending into my secret crevice and discovering my clit, stiffening with an urgent desire for him to take me. 

I had felt his erection pressing against my thigh, and had pressed my hand against it, and round its thickness, through his trousers, encouraging it to grow even bigger and to harden into steel.  It would not be denied its fulfilment, I had promised myself.

Then Peter had got on his knees and pulled my panties down; holding up my skirt, his head had reached forward and begun to give me oral sex.  Nobody had ever done this to me before; of course, I had fantasised about it, but it had brought a new private delight to me and I had no desire for it to stop.

But this had not been the only “first” for me, I remembered now.  When I climaxed - in the doorway, before we had reached his bed - I had actually ejaculated.  My very first time.  And I had felt totally bewildered and embarassed, but Peter had been very kind and understanding about it.

I could not continue this reverie here on the sofa.  I needed to go somewhere more comfortable, and decided to go to the bedroom, where I immediately pulled down my panties and, laying on the bed with a pillow between my thighs, began to writhe.  I put one corner of the pillow inside my moist vagina, and rubbed the side of the pillow against my clitoris.  It was as if he, Peter, had re-entered into my body once more.  I longed to have him, to hold him, to explore his body, to share his innermost thoughts and, most of all, to share his life again.

In my mind, Peter was thrusting into me; I wished I could have stretched my arm between my legs to cup his testicles.  I used to run two fingers gently over his balls while we were making love - that made him climax so much faster, he said.  But he always held back for me to come first.

And I was not going to take long now, I thought.  I was nearly there.  I pushed harder and harder against the pillow and then...  the excitement reached its peak, I felt a gush of joy overwhelm me, and I collapsed on my back on the bed.  I had forgotten what it had been like.  Sidestepping all approaches from potential suitors, and deliberately avoiding any temptations to pleasure myself, I had never bothered with the Pill or purchased a vibrator.  All thoughts of sex had been banished from my mind ever since Peter left my life.

And now he was returning into my world.  But that return did not signify that we were taking up the strands of the relationship where we had left off. 

Or did it? He, too, had not taken a lover since we parted. 

Surely this was some kind of sign?


I do hope you enjoyed that!


email: rc (at) rachelcray (dot) com
Twitter: @RachelCray1