Monday, 29 July 2013


Someone once asked me who I'd want to see play my characters. So here goes.

Since I imagined Lust Ever After as the erotic film Hammer never made, it's hard for me not to see actors from the 1960s/70s in the roles. (Although I do think Alan Rickman would make a splendidly sexy and evil Dr Frankenstein. That voice!)

'You know what they say about curious little pussycats, don’t you, Justine? I’ve never expressly forbidden you to come in here when I’m away – you certainly know where the spare key is kept – but I shouldn’t have thought it necessary. Good little chambermaids do not go sneaking around in their master’s private rooms.’

I can see a young Nastassja Kinski as the reanimated Justine . . .

Her long dark hair fell, wet and steaming, about her shoulders and she lifted her head as he unwound the last length of gauze. Her blue eyes gleamed like jewels in the gaslight as she peered around her without blinking. She was nothing like his first creation, that awkward creature that had stumbled and staggered in its first moments of life. The movement of her head was graceful and fluid, like the water in which she had floated for so long. She fixed him with a piercing, curious gaze and for a moment he was unnerved by the intensity of her stare. It was like being watched by a predator.

Flesh for Frankenstein-era Udo Kier as William . . .

Justine felt her breath catch as he moved closer to her. He stared into her eyes with a frankness that made her feel exposed, as though he could see straight into her mind.
‘I’ve been watching you,’ he said.
Her heart fluttered. Tracking was what he really meant. As though he were a hunter and she a rare animal to be captured and displayed.

For the lustful Daisy I envision Francoise Pascal from Jean Rollin's The Iron Rose . . .

Daisy was back in her oldest and most enduring fantasy. She had been captured, along with a bevy of other girls, and taken by ship to a foreign land. There she stood in a line with the others along a platform in a dusty market square. Men called out in a strange language and one by one each girl was led to the front of the platform and made to undress. Those who disobeyed were whipped.
When it was Daisy’s turn she went where she was led and her clothes were forcibly removed with no resistance from her. She stood there, naked in the heat of the unfamiliar sun, exposed to the eyes of all the men before her. The auctioneer made her turn this way and that and she trembled with fear as he displayed her to the crowd. Her eyes filled with tears of humiliation and yet she couldn’t help the fact that his attentions made her wet with desire.

And the nymphomaniacal sexy widow couldn't be anyone but Ingrid Pitt . . .

Frankenstein was again struck by her beauty. The years had been kind to her, and her wealthy husband’s untimely demise had been kinder still, for mourning truly became her. An alluring woman, her face bore few signs of her fortyish years and her black garments and crepe veil suited her surprisingly well. He supposed it was a bit perverse of him to find her widow’s weeds erotic but then, what was his entire practice if not institutionalised perversion? Most of his lady patients were innocent of what was really going on but Sylvia was a shrewd woman who knew a good thing when she found it. It had taken Frankenstein several ‘treatment sessions’ to realise that neither was fooling the other.

All excerpts © Rose de Fer

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

A Touch of Class, A Bit of Rough

photo by
       Emma blinked in surprise. ‘What, no foreplay?’
       ‘Not yet,’ Patrick said. He was the same age she was and had no authority over her, but he was so cocksure she always wound up deferring to him. Not that she would have had it any other way. She often imagined what it would be like if Patrick were in charge of the hotel, the things he could demand of his best front desk girl, the discipline he could administer when she screwed things up . . .
       ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, giving him a cheeky grin as she began unbuttoning her blouse.
       Patrick watched as she turned the act into a little striptease for him, wiggling her bottom as she shimmied out of her skirt, bending right over to unbuckle her Mary Janes and kick them off, raising her legs to slip off her hold-ups.
       When she was down to her white lace bra and knickers he placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he turned her around and bent her over so her hands were on the bed. A shiver went through her at the submissive posture and she trembled a little as he peeled her knickers down, exposing her bottom. She was still wearing the plug, of course. She wouldn’t have dared remove it without his permission.
       ‘Don’t worry, Em. We’ve got hours yet.’ He unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, then filled his hands with her breasts and pulled her back against him. She sighed as she felt the bulge in his trousers pressing against her.
       She had always wanted to fuck in the Penhaligon Suite. She imagined Patrick using one of the swords to cut her dress away, slashing her knickers and pressing the cold blade up against her warm, willing cunt. The icy shock of it would only make her hotter. She smiled at the thought of replacing it above the fireplace, stained with her juices. 

       Patrick turned her around and stepped back to look at her. She chewed her lip as she watched his cock swell even more, threatening to burst free of his tight black trousers.

from "A Touch of Class, A Bit of Rough" by Rose de Fer

Available in Do Not Disturb: an Erotica Collection 

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Lust Ever After - FREE!

Do you like Victorian erotica, paranormal romance, evil doctors and mad scientists? How about rough sex, bondage, steampunky sexual devices and old-school horror? Well, you're in luck!

This week my kinky Bride of Frankenstein novella is available FREE on Amazon! Quick - grab her before she escapes!

Monday, 1 July 2013

The Fruits of the Forest

photo by kind permission
Kirsty pinned me down in the grass, forcing her tongue inside my mouth. I resisted only a moment more before giving in. She tasted like apples, rich and heady and sweet. Intoxicating.
       The warm weight of her breasts against mine felt wonderful and I moaned as the kiss went on and on. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I’d never even imagined such a thing with her. With any girl, for that matter. My feelings for Kirsty had been alien and unfamiliar to me and something I felt I absolutely must keep hidden. I hadn’t even entertained the thought of what might happen if she found out about my silly little girl-crush. It had certainly never occurred to me that she might feel the same towards me.
       When she finally pulled away she closed her teeth gently on my lower lip. I had kept my eyes closed the entire time, lost in the moment. Now I was too embarrassed to open them. Afraid to look her in the eye, afraid to acknowledge that I had enjoyed the kiss, afraid to confront the possibility that she might be disappointed.
       ‘You taste like forbidden fruit,’ she said, and I could hear the cheeky grin in her voice. Her accent made everything sound irresistibly rude.
       ‘So do you,’ I managed in a hoarse whisper.
       My lips were tingling. I could still taste her. And I wanted to taste her again – everywhere. A hot blush burned my cheeks as I turned my head to press my lips into her palm. I kissed her fingers and tasted apples again.
       She placed her other hand on my chest and I arched my back, wanting her to go further. I licked the tips of her fingers and then I took them into my mouth one by one, sucking off all the juice. I rolled my hips in response to my mounting excitement and the sound of my skirt rustling against the grass made me think of something waking up. Something wild that had been unleashed and now couldn’t be stopped.

from "The Fruits of the Forest" by Rose de Fer

Available in Ladies Who Love: an Erotica Collection

from Mischief Books