Saturday, February 6, 2016

Smut with a Shiver

By Delores Swallows (Guest Blogger)

Hi, I’m Delores Swallows, and I now accept I’ll never drive a Ferrari. I wrote a guest blog for Beyond Romance in July of last year, and Lisabet has been kind enough to invite me back.

My previous post was called ‘Smut with a Smile’ because I write smut, and I smile when I read it back to myself in private. Just joking. I do write smut, but I try to include some humour within the stories to make the readers smile.

But for this post, I thought I’d explain how I tried to make my latest story a little darker. There is less humour, but still quite a bit of smut. Like my other stories, this one also features voyeurism, high-heels and a petite brunette.


In previous stories I’ve found some plots allowed for a variety of sexual scenarios without asking the reader to suspend their disbelief. In Stranger than Fiction it was easy, because my female MC was a figment of the imagination of a smut author. 



In the story Web of Deceit, my female MC ventured into the murky world of cyber-sex in chatrooms. There she was able to flirt and describe her fantasies, and things were fine until she decided the fantasies weren’t enough. I think I over-indulged in the freedom that story gave me, because it’s probably the dirtiest story I’ve written to date. But I’m hoping to top that with my WIP J

My latest release is called Midnight Mirror, and features (as you can probably guess from the title) a mirror that does strange things at midnight. It’s in the genre I’d call Paranormal-Erotic Romance-Voyeurism, or in other words, it’s a PERV story  

 

Okay, I just made that acronym up, although I suspect many others will have also used it in the past. It’s hard to find any pun that’s original, nowadays…

As it’s a paranormal story, this offered another opportunity for me to vary the mood and feel of the sex scenes.

Since I wanted it to have a dark, creepy atmosphere, I needed to find something spooky to focus on. As a kid with an over-active imagination, I was always wary of mirrors—half-expecting strange things to appear in the glass (and I wasn’t referring to my spotty, pre-pubescent face). Mirrors can be spooky for a whole host of reasons.

It’s a common occurrence in films for the person looking in the mirror to see either something behind them, or their own reflection distorted in some freakish way. I remember being really grossed-out by the bathroom scene in ‘Poltergeist’, where the guy peels the face of his reflection, the lumps of flesh landing in the sink.

So when I decided to try my hand at writing a spooky story, involving a mirror was one of my first thoughts. A mirror is also a good way of getting the voyeuristic aspect into the plot, so how could I not use one?

The first house I ever bought was an old derelict terraced cottage. A lady had lived there alone for many years, and after she’d died the house had remained empty for about four years. Many of my friends used to try and wind me up about it being haunted. I should admit up front that although I accept ghost might exist, I’ve never seen one. Nor have I ever experienced anything which can’t be explained logically (and ‘alcohol’ is usually the logical explanation).

But shortly after I’d moved into the house, I had a dream where I was sitting in the lounge when the ghost of an old lady walked through the room. She was wearing a raincoat and headscarf as if she’d just come in from outside, but the thing that scared me enough to wake me was that her eyes were repeatedly blinking at an impossible speed. I don’t know why that freaked me out so much, but it did.

As a result of that dream, rapid-blinking eyes also feature in the story.

Here’s the blurb, followed by an excerpt:

To brighten her dreary flat, Natalie buys an old mirror, soon finding that it isn’t what it seems. At the witching hour, her reflection takes on a life of its own. Natalie finds herself physically sharing the sex scenes taking place inside the glass.

Her mirror is her hot little secret until the scenes on the other side become disturbing, making her frightened to stay in her own home.

She knows she needs to overcome the force behind the glass, but the only thing she can think of is to use herself as bait…​​

x x x

Returning to the lounge to turn off the lamp, she glanced in the mirror on the way. As she looked, the eyes of her reflection started to blink repeatedly. Natalie stopped and stared, her own eyes not blinking at all. The room became cold, and she saw her breath condensing in front of her. Then the eyes in the mirror stopped blinking, and Natalie saw her own eyes staring back at her.

But it wasn’t Natalie in the mirror—or rather it wasn’t how she should have looked.

Reflected-Natalie had her face, but her hair was a deep auburn and cut shorter, the ends curled out from her face. She had bright red lips and looked like someone from an old movie. Her floral dress reached her knees and was fitted at the waist. The room behind reflected-Natalie wasn’t the living room of the flat. It was larger, with retro décor. It had patterned wall-paper and a rug that didn’t reach the walls. The floorboards showing around the rug were waxed to a shine. Framed oil paintings hung from a picture rail which ran round the walls at head height. Reflected-Natalie lifted her arm and straightened her hair, whereas real-Natalie stood stock-still. Rather than looking in a mirror, she seemed to be looking into a window from the past. The large mirror was like a TV screen allowing her to see into another world, but with no sound to accompany the show. All Natalie could hear was her own breathing.

Reflected-Natalie turned as the door on the opposite wall opened and a man in army uniform entered the room. As she watched from her own flat, Natalie knew this man was the husband of her reflected-self. He pulled off his peaked cap, showing a disfigured face—his scars a result of a fire. Somehow she knew the Wellington he’d been piloting was shot down over Germany during a bombing campaign, and he’d been a Prisoner-of-War for the last three years. Her reflected-self rushed to his arms, and Natalie heard sobs of relief break from her own throat.

Her heart boomed in her chest as she watched the couple in the mirror cling to each other, the woman kissing his scarred face, running her hands gently over the part of his head where the hair would never grow back.

Suddenly they were tearing at each other’s clothes, and warmth flooded between Natalie’s legs. The woman undid her husband’s uniform jacket as his hands struggled with the buttons at the front of her dress. They fumbled with clothes, still kissing. Natalie noticed the woman crying and felt tears on her own cheeks. As the man’s shirt was removed, the extent of the scarring on his upper body became evident. His wife slowed her eagerness, gently running her fingers over his red and wrinkled flesh.

Natalie watched, and she shared the woman’s anger. How could anyone have done this to such a beautiful body? The wife gently removed his shirt and vest, then started to kiss each inch of his blemished torso.

The husband undid enough of the buttons to allow her to slip the dress back off her shoulders and slide it down her body. She wore a cream longline bra and matching pantie girdle with built-in clips to hold up her seamed stockings. She quickly unfastened her bra, and as Natalie watched the husband bend to take a nipple into his mouth, she felt her own nipple being sucked and nibbled. She felt a need deep within her. The Natalie in the mirror hurriedly unclipped her suspenders and the husband dropped to his knees, carefully rolling the silk stockings down her legs. The girdle and panties were quickly removed, leaving forties-version Natalie completely naked. Her husband fumbled with his boot laces.

Natalie watched the scene, her heart racing with expectation, a strange impatience twisting her stomach. Finally his boots were removed and his wife was undoing the buttons of his uniform trousers. As soon as she pushed the trousers down his cock sprung free, sticking out hard and proud. The only scars below his waist were on the backs of his legs.

Natalie held her breath as she watched her other self encourage the soldier to lay flat on his back on the rug. The wife positioned herself above him and held his erection at the opening of her sex. As she lowered herself slowly down, Natalie experienced being entered, filled, and a groan escaped her lips. Her muscles gripped involuntarily around the phantom shape inside, and the lady in the mirror began to ride her husband. Moving slowly up and down, the wife watched his face.

x x x

At first, the mirror—although a bit freaky—isn’t really a bad thing. My MC has a couple of pleasant experiences, but then things start to get not so pleasant. She has to overcome whatever it is, and so obviously that means it’s time for her to put on her high-heels!

I’m happy with the way the story turned out. It’s different from the stuff I’ve written before (which sounds like I’m not happy with the other stories, which isn’t true. Honest), but I did enjoy writing it.

However, there was the constant temptation to add bits of humour. Although there are some lighter bits, I didn’t want to add something that would break whatever mood I’d managed to create.

When Natalie watches her reflected-selves having sex, she shares their sensations and their orgasms. She also experiences the men coming as an iciness inside her. One of the scenes she witnesses involves a version of herself being double-penetrated during an m/f/m threesome, and the urge to include the term ‘rectoplasm’ was almost over-whelming. But I resisted, and the story is (hopefully) better without it.

I like to think it’s my first example of ‘Smut with a Shiver’.

If it sounds interesting, you can get a copy here (among other places):

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/611333
My current WIP is not paranormal in any way. I’m back to the real-life shenanigans of a wife cuckolding her husband. There’s no rectoplasm or ghost-riders, but there is voyeurism. And high-heels. And a petite brunette.

About Delores Swallows

Delores Swallows has many dirty thoughts, and during his free time he writes them down in the form of stories. Born and bred in the northwest of England, he has a commoner’s accent and a bit of a crush on his future queen (Kate, not Camilla!).

His stories often feature petite brunettes, high-heeled shoes and voyeurism. He claims he didn’t realise these were obsessions until someone pointed out how often they appear in his work.

If you would like to give feedback on his stories or contact him, you can do so via e-mail deloresswallows@gmail.com or twitter @deloresswallows




If you would like to get a free story and updates on all new releases, simply join the mailing list by writing to his e-mail address above.

The admin at Facebook don’t like his pen name, but he does have a profile under the name of Delores Jones, and that profile has a page in the pen name: www.facebook.com.deloresswallows

Check out his website for free short stories, blog and info on all his current and upcoming stories: www.deloresswallows.com

Friday, February 5, 2016

Sneak Peek: From the Ashes of Ruin Series by Matthew D. Ryan




Blurb

We vampires do not make easy prey. Our weaknesses are few, our strengths many. Fear is something we do not know, and death but a distant memory. So tread softly, pray to your god, and gird yourself with silver when the moons arise and night’s dark prince awakens. We fear not the wizard, nor the warrior, neither rogue, nor priest; our strength is timeless, drawn from darkness and we know no master save the hot lust of our unending hunger. We long for blood, your blood and no blade, nor spell, nor clever artifice, can keep us long from our prize. Feel our teeth at your throat, your life ebb from you, and know as darkness comes to claim you that the price of your folly is your everlasting soul.


Excerpt

I change shape and take to the air. It is a clear, cold night, with no clouds to hinder my vision. Below me, the dark canopy of the forest bears an even darker scar; the trail of the old river and its sister road to town and Arcalian.

Despite my near limitless power, I am cautious about openly wandering in a human city on a clear night. I have had run-ins with them before and I have no wish to draw undue notice. I soar in a long gliding circle to free my mind for concentration.

It takes but a moment.

Then the storm begins to build, drawing in clouds from the distant sea. They roil and churn in the darkening night, reaching forth with long writhing tendrils as if to grasp the town with a shadowy hand. A chilling gust of wind sweeps through the forest trees and the mists boil forth from the valley floor. All told, I spend an hour circling the town while the storm gathers its strength. Then, as the first lightnings begin to flash and the rains begin to fall, I descend on shadowy wings into the heart of Drisdak, the city on the Sea of Sorrows.

The mages guild is easy to find; its rancid stench of magic can be smelled from blocks away. It’s a tall building, made of stone, looking more like a miniature keep than a guild house. Five circular towers loom up from a central stone edifice. I have no doubt that Arcalian can be found in the highest tower in the room of the guild master, undoubtedly basking in the luxuries my services provided.


About the Author

Matthew D. Ryan lives in northeastern New York on the shores of Lake Champlain. He has been deeply involved in the fantasy genre for most of his life as a reader, writer, and game designer. His writing has been featured at Aphelion.com and YesteryearFiction.com. He is the operator of the web-site matthewdryan.com which features his blog,A Toast to Dragons,(http://matthewdryan.com/a-toast-to-dragons-the-blog/) a blog dedicated to fantasy literature, and, to a lesser extent, sci-fi. He is the author of the dark fantasy novelsDrasmyr,” “The Children of Lubrochius,andThe Sceptre of Morgulan,as well as a growing number of fantasy short stories including:Haladryn and the Minotaur,” “The Rivers Eye,andEscape.

Drasmyr




The Children of Lubrochius





The Sceptre of Morgulan







Giveaway!

Matthew will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner during the tour.

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Thursday, February 4, 2016

Confessions of a Dinosaur

Okay, I’ll admit it. I appreciate the convenience of ebooks. I’m delighted I can stock up on reading without having to find shelf space, or figure out what to do with a book after I’ve finished. Nevertheless, I still prefer a physical, print volume I can hold in my hand. I like a book where I can rifle the pages, flip back and forth, stick in a slip of paper where I want to mark a particularly good part.

I know this makes me a dinosaur. So be it. Ebooks seem ephemeral to me. When I find a book I truly love, I want a print copy, something I won’t lose track of on my hard disk or inadvertently delete.

If you’re at all like me, then you’ll be happy to know that The Gazillionaire and the Virgin is now available in print. You can get your copy from Amazon or Barnes & Noble right now.

Furthermore, if you buy a copy and email proof of purchase to me at lisabet at lisabetsarai dot com, I’ll send you:
  • My autograph and a personal note, on a label you can stick inside the book; 
  • A coupon for a free copy of an ebook from my backlist.
So you can have your cake (a print book) and eat it too (an ebook)!

This offer is good until February 29th, so don’t delay!



Wednesday, February 3, 2016

An Interview with Michael Leon (and a Giveaway!)

[Today I am hosting Michael Leon's blog tour for his new science fiction novel Cubeball. Read on for more info, and don't forget to enter his giveaway at the end! ~ Lisabet]


1. What is your favourite ice cream flavour?

Where do I begin! The best ice cream desert I ever had was named ‘the Apple’. It was served at an inner London restaurant called Sarastro. The desert was shaped like an apple. But the minute you cut into it with a spoon, coconut, banana, apple and cinnamon flavours and aromas sparkled from its core. It motivated me to write the restaurant scene where Mickey and Jules dined.

2. Which mythological creature are you most like?

My mind turns to Jason and the Argonauts. I imagine myself as Jason as he confronts Medusa and the sirens on a distant turbulent shore. Medusa’s mix of goddess-like beauty that could entice any man and her deadly secret that could turn a man to stone is a wonderful idea that plays on human weakness.

3. First book you remember making an incredible impression on you.

I remember going to the movie release of 2001 A Space Odyssey. It so inspired me, I read A.C. Clarke’s book, not long after. I went on to read many more of his novels and enjoyed his brand of hard science fiction.

4. How do you develop your plot and characters?

I’m not from the school of writers who overly plan. Don’t get me wrong, I do research for many months before commencing my novel. But once I start the process of writing a first draft, I try to write it quickly. So I rely more on my creativity to develop the plot and then I work with my characters to move the action forward.

5. Describe your writing space.

I have spaces all over the world, literally! At home, I go out most mornings with paper and pen in hand. My day usually starts with a long walk to allow my imagination to run free. Then I settle in a park, beach or quiet cafe to write new scenes. Typing and editing is left until the afternoon in my lounge room at home. 



Blurb

A naturally gifted ex-national champion and a savant with a computer-like mind compete against the world's best in the 22nd century's most popular sport - CUBEBALL - the chess-like, technology-enhanced, snooker of the future where the world stage is dominated by gambling, drugs and massive audiences.

Excerpt

Jules’ gaze emboldened Mickey to reveal his special gift to her. He strode confidently to the cue-ball and lined up one of the most difficult shots in cubeball. Then with little thought, he cracked the cue-ball with a force that matched the passion he was feeling. The curve on the first line was more pronounced than the programmed line set by the computer.

Mickey had struck the perfect shot. Sam and Riley sat staring at the console, mesmerised by what they had just seen and eager to re-capture its perfection on replay. Only champions could play this way and it was clear to all that Mickey was developing into one.

Fucking incredible,” said Johnnie. His eyes were wide. Filled with awe for Mickey’s skills and expectation with how much he could earn from it.

Mickey didn’t hear his appreciative manager. He didn’t see the small tear that had formed in his kid sister’s admiring eye. His gaze remained on Jules. She brushed her hair back on to her shoulders before resting her slender hands on her hips. Her mouth was wide open, breathing in her excitement for what she had just seen. Then her eyes revealed that there was more to her feelings than that of an adoring fan. Her gaze began to fill with a stirring hunger. Fate was beginning to move into Mickey’s life like an evening moon tide.

About the Author



I worked with national and international organisations as a business analyst in Australia and overseas. I authored many business books analysing the foodservice and food retail industry in Australia, Europe and Asia, as well as agribusiness global trends. I also ran a consultancy business that assisted Australian enterprises to develop new markets in Australia and overseas.

I commenced writing science fiction novels full time in 2009. It was a life-long interest of mine. I have written five novels - all exploring contemporary social issues in future speculative worlds. They are: Shadow Dance; Extinction; Cubeball; Titan Sages and Alive. My novels blend speculative science, new age and poetry. Readers of novels such as Carl Sagan’s Contact would enjoy my novels.

Links





Buy links



Giveaway!

Michael will be giving away a $50 Amazon/BN gift card to one lucky reader. Use the Rafflecopter below to enter. To increase your chances of winning, visit the other stops on his tour.


January 11: Long and Short Reviews
January 11: Reviews by Crystal
January 12: Room With Books
January 13: Lisa Haselton's Reviews and Interviews
January 14: Writer Wonderland
January 14: Unabridged Andra's
January 15: Christine Young
January 15: Independent Authors
January 18: Romorror Fan Girl
January 19: Deal Sharing Aunt
January 19: Cover2Cover
January 20: The Reading Addict
January 20: Liza O'Connor
January 21: Queen of All She Reads
January 22: Sharing Links and Wisdom
January 25: Blog of Jacey Holbrand
January 25: Reviews By Crystal
January 26: Author C.A.Milson
January 27: Where the Story Comes First
January 27: Laurie's Thoughts and Reviews
January 28: Harps Romance Book Review
January 29: Tina Donahue Books - Heat with Heart
January 29: The Avid Reader
February 1: SolaFide Book Club
February 2: LibriAmoriMiei
February 2: It's Raining Books
February 3: Beyond Romance
February 4: BooksChatter
February 4: Harlie's Books
February 5: Welcome to My World of Dreams
 

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Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Review Tuesday: Things That Make Me Give In by Charlotte Stein

The Things That Make Me Give In by Charlotte Stein
Black Lace, 2009
ISBN 9780352345424

Envy. It's one of the hazards of reviewing work in one's own genre. Every so often you encounter a book so wonderful that you can't help wishing you'd written it yourself. If you're not careful, it can spoil your whole day.

The Things That Make Me Give In is one of those books. Charlotte Stein has penned a collection of imaginative, intense and extremely nasty erotic tales which manage to stimulate the senses without neglecting the intellect. I'd love to claim it as my own. This book, though, belongs uniquely to Charlotte, because I believe it's a brazen exploration of her personal fantasies (and perhaps her experiences). Usually I refer more formally to authors in my reviews, but this volume demands a more intimate tone. In this book, Charlotte bares all.

She has a distinctive voice, brash, energetic, self-deprecating, introspective, full of sentence fragments and body parts. Her stories rush forward, born along on the current of an inner monologue. Not every tale is first person (though many of them are), but they might as well be. We're in the head of the main character (in every case but one a woman) who is simultaneously analyzing everything and oozing for some action. To give you a taste, here's a segment from one of my favorite tales, “Dirty Disgusting You”:

His leg brushes mine, and it's terrible but I like it. I think about last week in the cinema, watching pinkly sweet bodies pretend to enjoy each other on the screen, the screen then fading to black just as it got to the really good bits. And him whispering through the darkness at me: Do you want to make our own good bits up?

I did. I do. But then he asked me to touch myself and I couldn't do it. I told him so, too, and he laughed. Though he hadn't laughed at all when I told him that I'd never touched myself. Not ever.

The look on his face! As though a grown woman who never masturbated was the equivalent of a straight man never looking at a big pair of tits. That shocked, slightly condescending expression made me say some spiteful things to him, but none of them landed. Or, at least, he never made me feel bad for saying them.

The voice is cheeky, fresh and a bit wild. The stories vary, but the voice is consistent. This is perhaps, the book's main weakness. In some ways it feels more like a novel than a collection of stories. The woman whose mind we inhabit differs superficially from one story to the next, but somehow I had the sense that she was really a single character, a single woman, whom I'm fairly convinced is Charlotte herself.

This woman likes big men, sometimes more than one at a time. She's turned on by power games, whether she's on the top or the bottom. She pretends to be innocent but is willing to do just about anything if someone teases her enough. She loves to be fucked hard and deluged in come. She's drawn to strangeness, otherness, feeling kinship with people who are “Different on the Inside”, to cite the title of one tale.

In “Because I Made You So”, she's a student lusting helplessly for her stern professor. In “Her Father Disapproves”, she's the girl next door, teasing the junior accountant her father has invited to a summer getaway. “Just Be Good” puts her in the role of the juvenile delinquent, challenging the town sheriff to put her in handcuffs. In “Yes/”, she agrees to do whatever her partner orders; in the paired tale “/Yes”, she's the one giving the orders. In neither case does she get exactly what she expects.

The sex in The Things That Make Me Give In is visceral and messy, but it's never just sex. There's always a subtext, always the analysis. Talking is another kind of fucking (the whole point of her bittersweet tale “Phoned In”). Charlotte understands the feedback loop between mind and body; she can't turn off her mind even when someone is trying to fuck her brains out.

I part the lips of my pussy myself, and let that slippery tip slide against it. Pleasure surges and tries to force me over the edge into orgasm, but I hold off. I want him to rub against my clit and then push his cock into me. I want him to fuck me the way that he just fucked himself, in punishing strokes that make me pant harder and say more than I'm doing now.

And when I tell him all this, he sings my praises.

I sing his right back. I tell him all the things I've always wanted to, but left by the wayside because they sounded too cheesy or too clichéd or too much. When he pushes his cock through my slit and down to my wet and waiting hole, I tell him that he's so big, that he fills me like nothing else, that I love his cock in my pussy.
He tilts my hips to meet his thrusts, one-handed. Just one big hand on my hip. His fingers stir against my clit, and my orgasm begins something like fluttering. Wings beating against my skin. Saying something now only makes them beat harder.

Given all the fucking and sucking and coming in this collection, I find it interesting that my favorite tale involves no physical sex at all – only stories about sex. “For You”, one of the darker contributions in the book, is narrated by a nurse caring for a cardiac patient who is waiting for a transplant heart. Dwelling in the shadow of death, he concocts lascivious fables of irresistible desire for his caretaker. His words leave her damp and twitching as they bear him away to the surgery which he might not survive.

This story could, of course, represent the entire book in a nutshell.