Hi, you have just arrived at my blogsite. I'm Artemis Hunt, author, harried employee, long-suffering wife, multi-tasker, Pomeranian lover, stepmother to two grown-up stepkids. I'm going to blog about subjects I feel passionately about. Please browse, and maybe you'll find something you feel passionately about too. For darker adult stories, I write under the name of A.R. Hunt. For straight erotica and erotic romances with mild BDSM (a la Fifty Shades), I write under the name of multiple Amazon and Barnes and Noble bestselling erotica author, Aphrodite Hunt.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Forbidden Desire

Now lovers in every sense, former hotel maid, Liz Turner, and billionaire crown prince, Alexander Vassar, are in Indonesia for a much needed break. Alex has to figure out how to tell his father that he doesn’t to be trapped in a politically-arranged marriage with the beauteous Lady Tatiana.

But when they receive an urgent call that says, “Come home now, your father has had a heart attack”, Liz is hurled unprepared into a royal world where prejudices run high and the classes are clearly divided. Alex’s mother, the Queen, and sister dislike her intensely. The European tabloids declare her a “gold-digger” and the cause for his father’s ill health.

Can Liz and Alex survive the sudden and unpleasant thrust into the limelight?

FORBIDDEN DESIRE is a 17,000-word erotic romance novelette. It is the sequel to MYSTERIOUS DESIRE.

To lighten the mood, I run my soapy hands down his abs – his marvelously sculpted abs, all eight sections of them. They are rock hard, thanks to the hours of gym time he has put in. Alex smiles at me and grabs my hands.

“You’re going to turn me on.”

“I thought you’d be too worried about your father to be turned on.”

“I’m worried all right, but I’m still a regular guy.”

“I’m just going to bathe you as I promised, nothing more.”

“Make sure you keep your word,” he says, still smiling.

I can tell there’s a lot going on behind his weary and black ringed eyes, but I sense he also needs comfort. So I massage his abdomen in circular motions – clockwise, and then counterclockwise. And all this while he sinks deeper and deeper into the water so that its surface is up to his neck. His eyes close. The bathroom air is redolent with the scent of roses.

I can’t help reaching for this cock.

It’s soft, but as I caress it, life begins to stir within its shaft. Alex’s eyes are still closed and he seems to have drowsed off. But there’s an apparent disconnect between his consciousness and his penis, because his shaft becomes semi-hard under my ministrations, and then harder . . . and harder. It rises in the water like a lever, and I grip it. It feels deliciously full.

My own loins stir, and a sliver of deep desire courses through me. My vaginal passage, despite being doused in bathwater, feels hollow and wanting.

A tug and a couple more strokes, and his cock is now at full mast.
Its head is just below the surface of the water – a fraction too deep for me to suck.

I have a better idea.

Taking care not to disturb him (well, not too much anyway), I raise my hips. Rivers of water snake down my thighs and splash back into the bathtub. I lower my hips again onto his erect cock. His thick, warm flesh slides into my sex inch by glorious inch, sending off wild tendrils of pleasure throughout my groin. His girth crowds my passage, pushing my walls apart.


This is where he’s meant to be. I can envision being joined like this to him forever.

I lower myself onto him as far as he can go – his head at the hungry mouth of my cervix. Even then, there’s a spare good inch of him outside. He’s still unresponsive – neck up, that is. His head lolls back against the porcelain and his lips are slightly ajar in the semblance of deep slumber. He could always fall asleep at the wink of an eyelash – an ability I have always envied. Back in our little hut in the Sumatran island of Indonesia, I would still be awake, listening to the cicadas and the night birds, and he would be fast asleep – his breathing slow and measured in the darkness.

I stay on top of him for a long, long while, luxuriating in the silky feel of him. He grows harder inside me, if possible.

I begin to move slowly – up and down movements along the length of his cock. The friction of my flesh against his is delicious. Curls of exquisite erotic sensation blossom in my core and dissipate everywhere else. A particularly thrilling spume zaps right up my spine, causing my throat to gasp.

Alex shifts and turns his head restlessly.

Friday, July 13, 2012

A Virgin Enslaved

Small town girl Beth Tyrell has always planned on losing her virginity on her marriage bed to a man who would love and cherish her forever. But when she meets her new boss, the stunningly handsome and mercurial CEO, Chris Morton, she experiences an all-encompassing, gut-wrenching libidinous 'I want to be taken right here on your desk' desire that she has never known.

What's happening to her? Especially since Chris is a damaged entity who has multiple 'friends with benefits' and a fervent vow to never love a woman again. Even more perplexing is his obvious desire for her - a desire so palpable it borders on obsession.

Then Chris proposes an arrangement to explore their mutual passion: "Try me out for seven days. No penetration, I promise . . . unless you want it."

In this complex passion game, one of them must succumb first, except that things rarely work out as planned.

A VIRGIN ENSLAVED is a 32,000-word erotic romance novel.

Gingerly, I take the handcuffs out. They are the police procedural type - cold metal and clinking chains.

I turn to Chris again. The sight of him naked is like the sun in my eyes - beatifically dazzling. I don't think I have ever seen such a beautiful man in my life. He should be immortalized in sculpture, on frescoes, on naughty calendars.

"You mean . . . on your wrists?"

He sits up, still seated, and puts his wrists behind his firmly muscled back. God, he's beautiful. I'll never stop thinking that. He's the epitome of sex himself. I mean, look at him. You can't help but think of sex when you look at him, and I'm thinking of myself entwined with that wondrous body right now.

But he's bad news, my inner voice hisses.

I know, I know, I know, but I still badly want to touch him.

"Are you sure about this?" I say.

"Yes." He stands up, his back to me. He has a tattoo on his lower back, inscribed in some runic language I can't decipher. I have a mind to ask him about it later, except that he's distracting me in the most distressing of ways.

His tight, tight buttocks are at my eye level, and they are quite a marvel to behold. He spies me looking at them, and turns to grin. "Do you want to touch them?"

I blush. I'm frazzled by such frank sex talk. Maybe it's a good thing that I put these cuffs on him. That way -

"You don't have to worry about me losing control," he says, finishing my thoughts. "You're the one in control now."

He says this in a significant tone. I take it that it's usually the other way around with him where women are concerned.

My hands tremble as I circle his wrists with the cuffs. I lightly brush against his buttocks as I do so - accidentally, mind you. A thrill of deep desire courses through me.


He's now manacled like a common prisoner.

He remains standing as I place my palms upon his butt cheeks. His flesh is warm and soft and hard and taut all at the same time. I can hear him take a sharp breath as I traverse the contours of his flesh, feeling its texture and tensile strength. I roam my hands down the backs of his thighs. A shudder seizes the area between my legs.