The Little Red Kilt (Matryoshka #1) (2 page)

Dressing
carefully for my Harley Street appointment. A sawbones for my sore
bones.

‘Good
afternoon, Miss Merrywell.’ Chestnut meet cerulean. ‘You’ll be
eager to be free.’

‘Yes, I have
deadlines, some already passed.’

‘I see.’ He
turns my hand this way and that. Long, warm, skilled fingers, make
gentle assessment.

‘I’ll refer to
you to physiotherapy.’

‘Thank
you.’

‘Nurse
Pringle, fetch the necessary paperwork for Miss Merrywell, please.
Soft balls to squeeze periodically for a matter of months,’ he
continues after the nurse’s exit and my healing hand trembles.

‘Thank you.’ I
smile.

‘You look
lovely today, Miss Merrywell. Galway plaid is my family
tartan.’

He leans
towards me.

‘Oh,’ I
breathe, my lips against his, ‘it’s my lucky little red kilt.’

oOo

Miss
Merrywell’s story continues:

A Stranger In
Capricorn (Matryoshka #2)

Kamarovsky’s
Girl (Matryoshka #3)

And coming
soon: Khloya (Matryoshka #4)

About the
Author

Elizabeth lives
and works in London, England. Always passionate and erotic,
sometimes amusing, occasionally harsh, she wishes you as much
pleasure reading her stories as she's had creating them.

Thank you for
your interest in my work, I hope you enjoyed this story, please
keep watch at the website for details of work in progress, new
releases, and free offers. I welcome your thoughts and views, am
eager to hear your opinion and appreciate reviews.

I’ve been interested in pornography and erotica since the day
I found a stash of magazines for men under my parents’
bed.

Alone, in the house I sat in their room surrounded by images
of nude women. I read every word and pored over the pictures. I
didn’t masturbate - that came much later but I loved the warm ache
glowing deep in my stomach.

I had my first orgasm when I was eighteen, delivered by a
married man in his thirties.

He is the basis for many of my male
characters
.
I
like to explore age-gap scenarios and feature older man, younger
woman relationships in
It’s a Sin
and
Eleanor
.

It’s pleasurable to read erotica, and I devour at least five
titles a week. My favourite authors right now are Chloe Thurlow, E
A Chapterhouse, Kay Jaybee, Hedonist Six, and Martin J
Carey.

Now I am grown up, I like few things more than predatory sex.
Indulging my inner kitten
.
I fill my life with hedonistic, sexual
adventures, only coming up for air to commit everything to the
machine. My last affair isn’t yet distant enough to share, but when
Lee is relegated to the past, he’ll appear somewhere in one of my
stories.

I use many different methods to write. Sometimes, everything
goes into a notebook; I buy new notebooks for each story, filling
more than one. I’ve always been passionate about stationery; I find
the smell of new paper
oddly
erotic. I love Kay Jaybee’s story
Cardboard
, which
explores one of my favourite scents.

Many of my tales are
set in London.
It is the city I know best, although I have strong affinity with
Rome and Venice.
Eleanor
was written in Venice. I go every year in October
and take loads of photographs. I simply adore the city and all the
Islands. I could sit on a Venetian bus all day.

I enjoy all types of literature, but prefer to write short
erotica, although I’m aware that readers probably prefer a nice
chunky novel, teeming with romance, sex, and feisty heroines
willing to try anything at least once.

The appetite for BDSM triggered by the Fifty Shades trilogy
has led to a general acceptance of all things erotic, which I guess
must be a good thing. I doubt that everyone wants to be tied to the
bedposts and fucked fifty shades of black and blue, but I like it –
a lot.

My current work in progress,
Falconworth
(sequel to
Eleanor
) has Eleanor and
Matthew experimenting with all forms of sex, and I'm happy to do
the research on their behalf...

Contact me
via…

Click for Website

Elizabeth at Twitter

Blog

Email

Other titles
include:

Novelette:

Eleanor

When Eleanor is invited to the tea dance ‘Jive like it’s
1945’, she assumes it’s going to be another wasted evening. How
wrong could she be? Eleanor meets Matthew, an older man, in
fact
,
much older.
Together they set off on a whirlwind adventure where Matthew
explores her in a way she’s never previously experienced, and
Eleanor discovers her true sexual self.

Matthew
Fletcher lives life his way and having a dominant sexual appetite
demands nothing less than total submission from his partner. Is
Eleanor Grant a suitable prospect? Will she submit and consent to
his terms? Thirty years younger than Matthew, Eleanor's life has
been unremarkable, but somewhere buried inside is a siren waiting
for release. Control, dominance, bindings, and wild sex in every
form, await the reader in a steaming flow of sexual games, offering
a life filled with burning desire only found in dreams.
Eleanor
is a fast paced, raw, erotic adventure between the
male dominant and the younger, less experienced female. It will
leave you squirming in your seat with thoughts of finding your own
release.

Novella:

Kat-Urban
Cougar

Dominant and
seductive, bisexual Kat Francis is accustomed to acquiring anything
she desires. Wealthy and powerful, there are few things she
relishes more than predatory sex, deploying bespoke equipment
designed to inflict pleasure and pain. Kat indulges her inner
cougar, hunting her prey, capture inevitable, satisfying her needs
with scant regard for others, who sometimes discover that wishes
are better left unfulfilled. Kat Francis apparently has it all,
predatory, rich, and ruthless, she fills her hedonistic lifestyle
with erotic adventures uncomplicated by love, but after the
marriage of her daughter, Mae, to Barrister, Scott Masters, Kat
awakens to new possibilities.

Bonus Story

Chapter One
of:
It’s a Sin
, a Novella

Adieu, adieu!
my native shore

Fades o'ver
the waters blue…

‘Do you
remember me? We were at school together.’

The mousy
blonde woman extended her hand.

Struggling for
recall, Owen squeezed her fingers, and forced a smile, which didn’t
quite reach his eyes. Oblivious to his discomfort, the woman
continued, and within a few sentences provided enough information
to stimulate memory. Images tumbled his brain, transporting Owen
back to the final year of school, which coincided with his last
year as a UK resident, his family having emigrated a month after
the end of the school term.

That had been
nearly two decades ago, and he hadn’t returned.

Until now.

‘I’m so sorry,
it’s been such a long time I didn’t recognise you.’

The woman bore
barely any resemblance to the girl he’d once lusted after, along
with most of the other lads in the Upper-Sixth. Unanimously voting
her the hottest girl in the school, everyone fancied her, even some
of the teaching staff. Tall, blonde, curvy, sporty, everything in
the right place, temptingly sexy and bright too. He’d spent many a
night in his darkened room thinking about Barbara Austin, massaging
his cock, and wishing she was in his bed next to him, ready to take
his shaft right up to the hilt.

For a long
while, he’d mentally place her beneath him whenever he had sex with
one of the willing, easy lays among the other girls at school. He
shagged them all, and without fail, imagined his cock buried in
Miss Austin’s lush core, and he seriously doubted he was the only
one.

Unsurprisingly, Barbara had hooked up with the most lusted after
boy in school; they were easily the best-looking couple in the
entire place, and probably the neighbourhood too. They turned heads
wherever they went, her blonde colouring a complete contrast to
Greg’s brooding, dark visage.

Owen didn’t
mind admitting to himself that he’d been as jealous as hell,
lamenting that he didn’t even get to first base with Miss Austin
before his family left Britain for Australia. He had not kept in
touch with anyone from home, there were no strong bonds to break,
and the same applied to the community in his new country too. Being
quite happy to travel around, dedicating himself to his career,
which had now brought him back to his old country.

‘My memory
isn’t great at the best of times, and I’ve got a touch of jet lag
as well,’ he apologised, trying to recover equilibrium, his accent
betraying recent history.

‘That’s okay.
It seems like a different lifetime, are you over for a
holiday?’

‘No. I’m here
for work, I’m an IT specialist. We have offices in London. I’ve
been sent over to deliver some in-house training.’

‘Oh, so you’re
here for a while then?’

‘About twelve
weeks. I’m staying in a flat near Barbican. My company keeps a
couple of places in the city.’

‘Is your
family with you?’

‘Mum and dad
don’t travel with me for work,’ he laughed.

Barbara
laughed nervously too, feeling a little silly, the nosey ruse
having fallen flat.

‘Do you ever
see what’s-his-name?’ said Owen. ‘You were quite an item at school
as I remember. I thought he was an arse, always picked for the
first team in every bloody sporting event. What
was
his
name?’

‘Greg
Carmichael. Yes, I often see the “arse”, I married him,’ she
sparked, eyes flashing.

‘Touché!’ Owen
had the grace to look embarrassed.

Despite the
shaky start, they chatted amicably for the rest of the journey,
before exchanging mobile numbers.

‘If you’re at
a loose end while you’re here, text me, come over, meet the rest of
the family, reconnect with “the arse”,’ said Barbara, before
alighting.

Owen travelled
a further two stations, left the tunnels and made his way to his
company’s building, where he spent the rest of the day immersed in
explaining the intricacies of bespoke software to the new
networking team.