Saturday, June 30, 2018

There will always be storytellers

When I was a child, the principal at my school was an avid storyteller. He would hold assemblies for us students in the gym, which had a gorgeous mural on one wall of the turtle carrying the world on its back. We'd sit cross-legged on the shiny gym floor as our principal brought out his guitar and played along while he told us stories in French and English.

I can't remember which stories he told. What I do remember was the experience. The atmosphere. The rapture and the wonderment.

I loved stories, as a child. I couldn't get enough. My aunts were great storytellers and I gravitated toward them. I could never understand why my mother, who grew up in the same house with them, refused to tell stories. I asked all the time. "Tell me a story from when you were kids." She always said she didn't know any stories, she didn't remember. But my aunts had stories galore. Even if they were the same ones sometimes, I didn't mind.

It didn't bother me to hear the same stories more than once because that's how I memorized them. That's how my family stories became a part of me, handed down from one generation to the next.

When my school principal retired, he went on to become a full-time storyteller. A professional storyteller, a member of Storytellers of Canada/Conteurs du Canada and former president of Storytelling Toronto.

Sometimes we come to our true calling later in life, and I think that was the case with my school principal. We might spend the course of another career honing our craft, gearing up for the big show.

That's sort of how I felt when I started recording my fiction in audio format. I've written a whole lot of erotica and queer fiction in my 12 years as a professional writer, but long before my writing career took off, I was a theatre student. Yes, it's true: I trained as an actor.

Looking back, I see that the impulse to act and the impulse to write come from the same place: the will to tell stories.

Reading my writing is such a powerful experience, for me, because it's a confluence of joys. That's why I appreciate my Audio Erotica patrons so very much. That's why I appreciate those of you who purchase my audiobooks or listen to them via your local library service. Thank you for allowing me to share my voice. It means the world.

These days, it's not so easy to be a writer. Scratch that--it's easier than ever to publish your work. The hard part is making money.

As you know, I make a living from my writing. This is my career. I don't have a part-time (or full-time) job to supplement my income. I rely on book sales, which are quickly swirling toward the drain. As algorithms on big e-commerce sites favour paid advertising, it's harder to make money without a big ad spend. And since I don't spend money on ads, well, that leaves me looking in other directions to earn a living off my fiction.

Audio is quickly becoming my saviour, in that regard. I love telling my stories. I'm able to do it. There are ears out there that want to listen. Your ears. I'm gushing with gratitude. I really am.

Many of the authors I know are about ready to throw in the towel. Quite a few already have. It's frustrating, going from earning a healthy income off your fiction to earning next to nothing. I understand that. Boy, do I understand!

But I also understand that the impulse to tell a story, whether it's on screen or around a campfire or on the page, is impossible to extinguish. Those of us who have chosen to hone our storytelling skills will continue to do so in one form or another.

If you're an author who is struggling, I want you to hold this in your heart: it's only the form that changes. We will go on telling stories. Why? Because there have always been storytellers. There always will be.

Again, my endless gratitude goes out to those who support my audio endeavours on Patreon. If you aren't yet a patron, I encourage you to join up for weekly audio erotica. At last count, there were nearly 10 hours of backlist audio available to patrons. I would be so pleased to share my voice with you.

Tuesday, June 26, 2018

Bobbing for Peaches #Lesbian #Erotica #Audiobook

I've been really bad at keeping you updated lately.

Sorry about that.

Like, one of my main focuses has been turning all these short stories I've written over the past 12 years into audiobooks.

If you're a patron of mine on Patreon, you get to listen to a different story every week--lucky you!

But if you're not my patron and you enjoy audio erotica, you can purchase these shorts as audiobooks or see if they're available from your local library. At the moment I'm working on recording another novel, but meanwhile I'm getting shorts out there. A lot of these ones come in anywhere between 22 and 45 minutes, often hovering around the half hour mark, just like watching a TV show.

One recent addition to the audio erotica roster is my lesbian short story Bobbing for Peaches, which involves warm milk and a hot shower.

Someone's getting busy in the kitchen!

When Jocelyn arrives home from work, she finds her girlfriend Melanie preparing a sweet treat: a warm concoction of milk and peaches, with a dash of cinnamon and a hint of pricey Tahitian vanilla.

Good thing Jocelyn's in the mood to play with her food, because it's time to get naked - and get messy!

There are so many places to find my audiobooks, far more than the usual suspects. As I say, if you don't have money to spend on audiobooks, check out whatever system your library uses for digital downloads or streaming of audio content. Search Giselle Renarde. See what comes up. You might be surprised.

And if you have a few bucks to throw at audiobooks, here are some links where you can buy Bobbing for Peaches:






If you can't get enough audio erotica, become my patron for erotic stories every Friday, written and narrated by me!

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

#Lesbian #Erotica #FreeRead: The Girl on Your Skin
 The Girl on Your Skin
Lesbian Erotica by Giselle Renarde

How could I complain? I was breaking my own rule.

Nesta and I made lots of rules when we opened up. She wrote them down in the back of her daybook, and we kept those pages pinned to the corkboard by her computer:

-Don’t bring dates home
-Don’t fall in love
-Don’t rave about how great the sex was
-Don’t come to bed smelling like another girl

The list went on, but I was hung up on that last point. All night, I’d been tossing and turning in my sweat-soaked sheets. TV was boring. I went to bed with a book, but the book was boring too. Brought out my vibe. Didn’t do a damn thing. The room felt different when I was alone in it, when I knew Nesta was fucking someone else.

Waiting was killer. Lying alone in our bed, I waited to hear her key in the door, waited for the hinges to creak, for her to unzip those big boots and kick them off in the hallway. Even the sound of her breath, the shallow guilt as she tiptoed to the bathroom, flicked on the light, closed the door—it was all there, right in my ear. The squeal of the shower. I heard every step in the process like an echo as I waited for her Nesta to come home.

I felt feverish, searching for a cool spot on my hot pillow. My head was burning up, and buzzing like a bee hive. I bucked against Nesta’s side of the bed, smelling her hair, her perfume, her body. It was all there in the sheets.

Where the hell was she? Fuck, it was… nine-forty-five? How was it only nine-forty-five? Felt like three in the morning. I covered my eyes and rolled onto my stomach, growling. My breath saturated the pillow, and I rolled again—onto Nesta’s side of the bed this time. I wasn’t going to preserve it anymore. When she got home, she was just going to have to deal with messy covers.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, in my mind. But that was a stupid question, because it wasn’t really late. “I’ve been worried sick.” Or maybe, “Who was she?” Or, “How was she?”

No, I couldn’t ask that question. It was in the rulebook. We weren’t supposed to ask about sexual performance.

I rolled back onto my side of the bed. More and more, I was starting to think it took a special type of person to survive an open relationship, and maybe I wasn’t that special. Did everybody feel this jealous?

When I finally heard Nesta’s key in the door, it came as a surprise. Maybe I’d given up hope or something, because I sat straight up in bed, on high alert, like the figure coming through the front door might not be Nesta at all.

She unzipped her boots, kicked them off in the hall. I couldn’t see her until she tiptoed past the bedroom door, and even then she was only a shadow. The shower would come next…


Something inside me was adamant about this. I whipped off the covers and stomped across the room in basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Nesta shrieked when I grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the bathroom. She shrieked like she didn’t know it was me, like I was some faceless attacker in the night.

I pulled her tight to my body and held her there, like we were dancing. Her breath hit my chin in hot little bursts as I pinned her to the bed.

“I haven’t showered yet,” she said in a whisper.

That day, for the first time, I didn’t care. My lust for Nesta superseded any jealousy. I was so hot for her I didn’t even know where to start.

Pressing my body tight to hers, I kissed her hard. She was too shocked to react, and I had to pry her teeth apart with my tongue, dig inside her perfect mouth.

Her perfect mouth tasted like pussy.

The sweet tang, the aftertaste that stuck at the back of my throat—it was pussy, unmistakeable. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, because I knew what she’d been up to, but knowing and tasting are different things entirely. That girl, that other girl, whoever she was, had found her way inside my mouth. She was a stranger to me, but her pussy was on my tongue. I could taste it.

“She fucked your face,” I said, holding Nesta’s head in my hands. My palms looked huge against the fine line of her jaw. “You ate her. You ate her good. Her pussy’s all over your skin.”

“Is it?” Nesta asked, like she wasn’t sure if I was angry or what.

“Shh, shh, shh!” I didn’t want her being scared. “Baby, it’s all good. It’s all good.”

I licked her cheek and she shuddered. “Oh god.”

“I can taste her pussy,” I said, and kissed Nesta’s chin with an open mouth. “I can taste her cunt. It’s everywhere. That chick must have been riding your face hard.”

“Yeah,” Nesta admitted. “She was.”

“Tell me what she looked like, girl.”

Nesta inhaled sharply as I tore open her top. “Are you sure you want to know?” she asked. “I thought we said…”

“Forget the rulebook.” I leaned her down on the bed and kissed a sharp path from her neck to her nipples. They stood up hard against the cool night air, and I asked, “Did she do this too?”

Petting my hair, Nesta said, “Yeah, babe. She did, but not like this. We were standing by the window, all the lights on. She stripped me bare so everyone could see down on the street.”

My pussy clamped tight when I pictured my Nesta naked, all eyes on her, getting her tits licked by some girl I didn’t know.

“Was she wearing lip gloss?” I asked, because Nesta’s nips had a tacky texture that didn’t come from me. And they tasted like strawberries.

“Yeah,” Nesta said. “Gloss over dark lipstick. Fake lashes. Golden eye shadow and thick black liner.”

“A real femme, huh?”

“Yeah, babe.” Nesta pushed down on her pants, and I helped her. God knows what happened to her panties. I’d never seen her go commando before. She must have lost them at this femme’s place. Her pussy was bare where it mattered, with just a tuft of hair like a landing strip.

“You’re still wet,” I said, tracing my fingers over the slick line of her pussy lips. She was drenched with juice, just dripping with it. “Did this girl eat your pussy before you ate hers?”

Nesta nodded. “How’d you know she went first?”

I didn’t know. I wasn’t even thinking anymore. My body was taking her because that’s what my body wanted. There were days when I wished to hell I could grow a cock and fuck her with it, fuck her hard. My system was in overload mode. Too much heat.

“Get me off,” I said, begging for it. I didn’t even know what I wanted her to do, exactly. “Get up on the bed. Spread your legs.”

My cunt was throbbing for real, actually pounding like my clit had its own heartbeat. I pulled off my clothes as Nesta climbed fully onto the bed. Her top was open, hanging off her shoulders. Her bra was pulled down under her tits, but her bottom was bare. Even in the dark I could see her pink glistening. How much of that was pussy juice and how much was a stranger’s saliva?

I’d never wanted to know before. I’d never wanted to think about who Nesta fucked outside our bedroom. But that’s because I was scared. Scared these women were bigger than me, stronger than me, butcher than me, better.

That was it. That’s what I’d been afraid of—that Nesta was looking to replace me, when all that time she’d been looking in the other direction.

I don’t do feline and feminine. I like the look, but it isn’t me. The girl who’d planted her face between my Nesta’s legs had all that going for her. I could practically see her pouty purple lips parting to lap my Nesta’s nectar. Pretty girls playing in front of open windows, for all the world to see.

My pussy pounced. Turning Nesta on her side, I spread her legs so I was straddling one, the other launched over my shoulder. Yeah, I split her right in half and pushed my cunt right up close to hers. She shrieked and grabbed her tits, like that would protect her from me.

“You’re crazy,” she said, and I wasn’t totally sure whether she was amused or afraid. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m getting off on you,” I said, pressing my fuzzy cunt right up against her. “Fuck, your pussy’s wet, girl. You’re all slippery.”

I licked her smooth calf, and she moaned, thumbing both nipples. “God…”

She looked good like that, damn good, and I asked her, “Is that what you were doing while that other girl sucked your fat little clit? You twisted your tits just like that while she ate you?”

Nesta’s eyes were closed, but she nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

“You keep tugging on those tits, baby.” I rammed my cunt right up against hers, banging our bones together, searching for the sweet spot. It wasn’t easy to find. Usually I’d have the patience for all sorts of bumping and grinding, writhing and adjusting, but not this time. “Squeeze your tits, girl, just like that.”

Nesta pushed her big breasts together as I pulled her ass off the bedspread, holding her up until my muscles trembled. She wasn’t heavy, but the effort got to me. I needed to come, and fast. I had to find that perfect place where I could rub my fat clit against her pink. I wasn’t getting there quick enough, and it made me want to scream.

I pictured this girl, this stranger, between Nesta’s thighs, lapping at her soft flesh. Would I be beat by some chick I didn’t know? Never. Never. I traced my clit up and across the plump folds of Nesta’s pussy until I found what I’d been looking for.

An imagined tongue licked our clits as we grinded together—hot, wet, slick and powerful. Every woman had a tongue, but not every woman knew how to use it. Whoever Nesta spent the evening with knew just what to do. I could feel it like an echo in Nesta’s pulsing body. I could feel it in the way she bucked against my pussy while we tribbed. There was something between us, something we could both feel even though it wasn’t physically there.

“What’s her name?” I grunted. I could barely speak.

Nesta pinched her tits and squealed. “We said we wouldn’t tell. It’s in the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.” I pounded her pussy with my clit, making it a cock, fucking her like she wanted. “Tell me her name.”

“Won’t you be mad?”

Holding her hips aloft, I traced my clit over hers, feeling her shudder. I trembled so hard I couldn’t speak. I didn’t care about that girl’s name anymore. I didn’t care about anything. My orgasm was coming on strong, riding up my thighs and swelling in my belly before shooting straight to my clit.

It was fireworks, the way we exploded together. Her hips rattled in my hands. My cunt blazed against the soft, wet pink of her pussy. There was another element in the mix, too—a lingering scent, or feeling, or taste. Something foreign, not of us.

Nothing else had ever felt this good, and I knew it was the unnamed femme, the ghost of a threesome. The tang of her pussy clung to my throat as I grunted Nesta’s name. Her tongue was there on my woman’s clit, lapping up hard while we climaxed together. The unnamed girl was there the whole time. No denying it.

My arms lost their strength. I dropped Nesta’s hips to the bed and our hot pussies came apart, making a wet kissing sound. Falling beside her, I spread my legs. My cunt felt so fat I couldn’t close them without sending aftershocks through my whole body.

Nesta was panting wildly when I found her hand with mine. For a long time, we didn’t say a word. We had way too much to talk about—a whole rulebook to re-evaluate. Hard to know where to start.

“I didn’t take my shower,” Nesta said, after a while.

“Yeah.” I slid my arm under her shoulder and rolled in to sniff her neck. The whole room smelled like pussy, but I could still distinguish the one that wasn’t ours. “You want to shower now?”

Nesta hesitated before saying, “Maybe in the morning. I’m too tired to stand.”

We pulled up the covers and buried ourselves underneath. Change was coming, but the conversation could wait. We could sleep together in the scent of that nameless femme who’d taken Nesta up against a window, for all the world to see.

This story appears in my book Spicy Confessions, which is now available as an audiobook from such retailers as Nook Audiobooks and eStories.

If you're a patron of mine on Patreon, I've already read you The Girl On Your Skin. Remember that?

And if you're not yet my patron, get your fine ass over to

Friday, June 1, 2018

I Want Candy! #erotica #anthology

Let me tell you about the saddest day of my life (but not really).

My mother had an extra ticket to a Blue Jays game and she was trying to convince me to come with her. I am not a baseball fan. In fact, I find baseball intolerably boring. My mother knows this about me. That's why she tried to bribe me... with candy.

This method had worked in the past. "Come to the game. I'll buy you gummy worms!" Candy was such a desirable substance that I would sit through 14 hours of baseball just to get a taste.

Oh, and this is not a story from my childhood. I was like... 27 at the time?

I was a candy-loving grown-up.

So when the day came that I could no longer be tempted by candy, I was really quite sad. I felt like the last remaining vestiges of childhood had fallen away. I loved candy for so long... and then I didn't. The sheen wore off. I learned to love vegetables. No more candy for Giselle.

I admit, I still indulge every so often. But usually, if I want a sweet treat, I'll bake something from scratch. Like somebody's grandma. That's me.

The love of candy will forever live on in my soul. I may not have a taste for the sweet stuff in life, but in fiction? Well, just read my story, Sweet Tooth, in Rachel Kramer Bussel's new anthology Candy Lovers: Sugar Erotica.

You'll see.
If you love the sweet taste of sugar melting on your tongue, the allure of chocolate and the exciting feeling of licking a creamy ice cream cone, you'll adore Candy Lovers: Sugar Erotica. These 35 enticing stories of food play delve into the fun of popular desserts used in the most tactile, sensual ways. These men and women pursue their sexual fantasies, opening wide to indulge an offered treat or presenting their bodies to be used for sticky, arousing, totally hot carnal celebrations.

Whether whipping up the perfect confection in the kitchen, feeding a partner a sweet treat direct from your fingertips (or other body parts) or indulging all their senses in a sugar orgy, the characters in these sexy stories are sure to whet your appetite and turn you on. From couples using dessert to add even more intimacy to their relationships to new passions fueled by a shared love of the pleasures of the tongue, Candy Lovers is sure to arouse you. Edited by the award-winning Rachel Kramer Bussel, these are the perfect erotic tales to read whenever you're in the mood…with your favorite candy nearby.

Available from

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