Saturday, December 14, 2013

Laila Blake on Driftwood Deeds

I'm pleased to welcome Laila Blake today, telling us about her new release, Driftwood Deeds!


After a few contributions to anthologies, Driftwood Deeds is my first solo venture into erotica and I couldn't be more excited about it. About 10 years ago, I wrote a story called Stains of Blue – and although you would be hard-pressed to find similar passages, there are definitely parallels in story and feeling. I wanted to write a story like Stains of Blue, a story that would feel similar, a story that would square my own feelings about equality and submission as well as feel positive and, obviously, wet some panties on the way.

Driftwood Deeds is a small story about communication and a sexual awakening, and as such exactly the story I wanted to enter the genre with. I hope you enjoy it!


When journalist Iris Ellis visits a sleepy seaside town to interview recluse screenwriter Paul Archer, he offers her insights into never acted upon fantasies of dominance and submission. Too curious to deny herself a taste of them, Iris gives herself up to Paul’s gentle guidance, but when she realizes that a taste can never be enough, she must find the courage to ask for what she needs or risk losing it all.


Instead of pulling his hand back, however, he let it hang down just in front of my face. It didn’t touch the ground but floated above it by a mere fraction of an inch. Instinctively, I twisted my neck and shoulders further until I could push my nose into his palm.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and his tone made my chest seize up with longing. And again I wanted to plead and whine for more even as his smell and his warm fingers rubbed over my cheeks and my nose, even as the moment was simple and perfect as it was.

“I want you to lick it for me, like a little puppy, can you do that for me?”

My mouth opened but instead of a verbalized answer, I nodded and moved back just enough to find his hand with my mouth. I brushed my lips over the side of his finger, kissed the knuckle of the pinkie one. I was just about to draw it into my mouth again when a sharp smack onto my ass short-circuited my whole body. I jerked and howled out more in surprise than pain. I went tense as a board for a second and then stared up at him with wide eyes.


“I didn’t say kiss my hand. I said lick it like a puppy.” This was the first time I detected any hint of strictness in his voice and I blushed. He had said that.

“Did you lick it like a puppy?”

I shook my head but this time that wasn’t enough. “What was that?”

“N... no, Paul,” I answered and he smiled again, gently petting my ass as he shook his head.

“No, you didn’t. Want to try that again?”

“Yes...” It was more sigh than word, and this time I launched myself into the task with a literal mindedness that felt alien and oddly humiliating—not in the tiny little licks that a kitten might have produced but the eager broad tongue strokes of an over-excited golden retriever, licks that left his fingers wet and shiny and that winded me so that I ended up panting, looking up at him wideeyed and not stopping until he’d tell me to.

“What a good, eager little learner we are...” he whispered and it hit me that this was exactly what I craved, ever since I could remember. He just had to say it, gently and condescending, and I moaned and then licked harder just to hear it again.

“Good puppy, that’s enough, thank you.” He smiled, touched my still lips and brought a finger to his mouth for a taste. I only realized now that his hand was still firmly placed on my rear where I couldn’t feel the sting anymore. The warmth his hand projected seemed to radiate all the way through skin and tissue instead. But again, all I could think about was the next moment and the next—aching for more.

“You liked that,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “And you did so well.” Already his fingers were sneaking under my skirt again but this time, without any hesitation, he hooked them into the elastic of my panties and tights and pulled them down. There was no question in whether he had a right to do so, no careful testing or shy probing. He just took what he wanted and told me to lift my ass so that he could bring them down to my knees but no further.

“My, my... someone wet their panties good, didn’t they?”


Laila Blake ( is a linguist, author and translator. She writes character-driven love stories, whether in romance, erotica, YA or mainstream, co-hosts the podcast Lilt and blogs about writing, feminism and society. The first installment of her Lakeside series, a paranormal romantic fantasy, was published in early 2013. She lives in Cologne/Germany with her cat Nookie, adores obscure folk singers and plays the guitar.


Book Links
A Hotter State:

Amazon US:
Amazon UK:

Driftwood Deeds Pinterest Board:
Driftwood Deeds Playlist:

Author Social Media


  1. Thank you so much for having me, Annabeth! :D

  2. It's my pleasure! I love your excerpt, by the way. You know how certain phrases can just hit, and "like a little puppy" totally does for me.